Community-Centered Research in Archaeology and Oaxaca

Archaeologists in Oaxaca have tended to focus only on the material culture of a place, disassociating it from the community; however, it is defined through space and time by its constitutive members who care for it, even when these same members were hired as labor (Kakaliouras Reference Kakaliouras2017). We believe that to create bridges and connect communities to archaeological research in Oaxaca (and elsewhere wherever possible), archaeologists must be at the service of communities. We should recognize that archaeological projects bring in foreign research agendas, and therefore these agendas need to be explained to local and descendant communities in culturally competent ways. It is time to engage in better collaborative practices.

In this article we propose four guiding principles to achieve socially meaningful archaeological projects whose results are relevant to both researchers and local community members: (1) incorporate community perspectives on the nature of archaeological sites into study designs and method strategies; (2) contextualize the archaeological sites, communities, and scholars as interconnected elements of the physical and research landscapes; (3) address the value of ethnography and the involvement of local peoples, descendant communities, and their heritage in the elaboration of the research design of any project; and (4) acknowledge that local community members are not simply sources of labor but are also important Knowledge experts and Knowledge recipients.

To achieve these goals, archaeologists must consider that, for many people living in Oaxaca, social, cultural, political, and economic relations are shaped not only by the living members of a population but also the ancestors who inhabit special places (Gallegos Pérez and Ramón Celis Reference Pérez, Carlos and Guillermo Ramón Celis2020). That is why a community perspective should guide the research process and outcomes. Having such a perspective is unavoidable in places such as Tehuantepec, where study of the archaeological sites includes a rich oral tradition involving a considerable number of accounts about the meaning and importance of archaeological objects and prehispanic remains. The perspectives of community members represent a great source of Knowledge that provides a better understanding of the history of a place and the people dead and living who inhabit it in both metaphysical and physical ways. It is through the social relationships that archaeologists create with the living and supernatural members of a community that we will find the elements that allow us to “re-create” the social practices and cultural dynamics of a past human group.

Confronting commonly accepted notions on the validity of local Knowledge, especially Indigenous Knowledges of their past, Latin American scholars Quijano (Reference Quijano and Lander2000), Dussel (Reference Dussel2020), Grosfógel (Reference Grosfoguel2018), and Millán Moncayo (Reference Millán Moncayo2020) argue that Western science is part of a civilizing system imposed from the Global North that has placed science under a regime in which there is only one valid way of thinking. This mechanism occurs through the process of colonialidad del saber, or coloniality of Knowledge, in which all truth not produced from Western institutions through validated procedures and through an objective and institutionalized science simply cannot be true.

Argentinian philosopher Maria Lugones wrote that for scholars from colonial institutions like universities, the colonized subject is imagined as a nonhuman being, incapable of rational thinking and scientific production. She argues that comprehending the daily resistance interactions against the colonial difference will allow scholars to better address new ways of understanding society (Lugones Reference Lugones2016). The recognition of other types of Knowledge should complement our Western methods of research and analysis. Márgara Millán Moncayo (Reference Millán Moncayo2011, Reference Millán Moncayo2020) is clear when she asserts that in Mexico, decolonizing perspectives have encouraged critiques of capitalist modernity, of which scientific production is a part.

We have been greatly influenced by this approach, particularly in terms of our research’s reflexivity. We recognize that, despite years of experience as archaeologists there and our deep personal connections to Oaxaca, including Ramón Celis’s ancestry in Tehuantepec, we are addressing the topic from a privileged position within the academic sphere in the United States. Moreover, we acknowledge that our presence and work in Oaxaca may be biased and that the local community is aware of the economic disparities that our presence represents.

There have been important recent discussions on collaborative and decolonial approaches in archaeology that recognize the value of Indigenous interpretation in archaeological contexts (Atalay Reference Atalay, Habu, Fawcett and Matsunago2008, Reference Atalay2019; Overholtzer and Bolnick Reference Overholtzer and Bolnick2017; Smith and Jackson Reference Smith and Jackson2006; Supernant and Warrick Reference Supernant and Warrick2014). Likewise, Nicholas (Reference Nicholas2006) shows how Indigenous Knowledge helps in the interpretation of archaeological sites and in identifying the cultural patterns of which they are part. Stephen Silliman and Sebastian Dring (Reference Silliman, Sebastian Dring and Stephen2008) are more vocal in this regard, arguing that archaeology and social sciences in general exist in the same hierarchical level as any other form of Knowledge production, such as legends, paintings, or traditions. Archaeology crafts not only history and Knowledge but also re-creates (as close to an assumed reality as possible) relationships between the present and the past. Silliman (Reference Silliman2009) reflects on how archaeological research should be sensitive to the social memories that descendant populations have of their ancestors and not just to what archaeology and history have created of this past. Giovanna Vitelli (Reference Vitelli2011) emphasizes the importance of recognizing social memory as a form of Knowledge production and preservation; doing so reinforces the cultural and identitarian elements of a community through material culture and materiality.

Moving archaeology in Oaxaca toward a community-centered approach involving heritage and descendant communities means also addressing the rich oral traditions they possess. Including oral accounts is fundamental to centering archaeological practice in the community instead of on the values and prejudgments of the archaeologists who are not part of and have not experienced the deep and intricate relationships that local people have with their heritage. In this scenario, archaeology and the production of Knowledge would stop being solely focused on satisfying the scientific community and instead would be used more to address local people’s cultural needs, which are often seen as less legitimate than the research interests of outsiders.

Moreover, when working on a project that aims to address “community needs,” it is common to prioritize economic needs, viewing the project solely as a means of providing employment and improving local incomes for brief periods of time. Although this is valid in a real sense, particularly in areas such as Oaxaca where job opportunities and economic development are crucial but scarce, it is important to recognize that archaeological projects also interact with the cultural heritage of one or several communities. We want to emphasize that only some things can be resolved with money; certainly, research with the intention or motive of tourism in the future is not always the answer. There are significant cultural needs that an archaeological project should consider during the research design and the project outcomes. In other words, archaeology should be conducted not just for the sake of research and to fulfill the curiosity of the (Western) academy but should also be at the service of the community to help them reclaim, document, and preserve their histories.

Community-centered research in archaeology represents a paradigm shift from traditional approaches in the field and has proved to be instrumental in combating official narratives about Indigenous peoples, especially in settler-colonial contexts (Mrozowski and Gould Reference Mrozowski and Rae Gould2019). At its core, it is a collaborative approach that recognizes the significance of engaging with and empowering the communities in which archaeological projects are conducted. In this framework, archaeologists work hand in hand with local communities, acknowledging their expertise, perspectives, and concerns as vital components of the research process. Community-centered research prioritizes the co-creation of Knowledge (Silliman and Sebastian Dring Reference Silliman, Sebastian Dring and Stephen2008), involving community members in all stages of archaeological work, from project inception and design to fieldwork methods and the interpretation of findings. This approach also seeks to rectify historical imbalances by giving a voice to marginalized groups, fostering a deeper understanding of their cultural heritage, and ensuring that archaeological research is not only an academic exercise but is also a means of benefiting and empowering the communities it touches (Clark and Horning Reference Clark and Horning2019).

Additionally, what distinguishes community-centered research is its commitment to ethical, collaborative, and socially responsible archaeological practices and the fundamental recognition that archaeological projects are not isolated endeavors but are embedded within broader social contexts. Archaeologists conducting community-centered research take on roles as facilitators and partners rather than sole experts, acknowledging that local Knowledge is invaluable. Critically, this approach fosters a sense of ownership and stewardship among community members, enabling a greater alignment of the archaeological endeavor with the community’s interests and values. Ultimately, community-centered archaeology seeks to bridge the gap between the closed and endogamic scholar-circles and the people with legitimate interests and identity attachments to archaeological sites. It is our goal that these open dialogues promote cultural heritage preservation, social justice, and a more holistic understanding of the human past.

Moving the research in Oaxaca to understudied areas is also important in the context of community-centered research. Although Oaxaca has been the intensive focus of archaeological research for decades, many areas remain unexplored or understudied (Stoll Reference Stoll2018). The contributions made by Oaxaca’s prehispanic societies have received little attention within the larger context of Mesoamerican archaeology in contrast to those in Central Mexico, the Gulf Coast, and the Maya area. Yet archaeological evidence has increasingly shown that these societies were significant participants in panregional economic and sociopolitical networks (Blomster Reference Blomster2008; Feinman et al. Reference Feinman, Nicholas, Robles García, Golitko, Elson, Faulseit and González Licón2018; Joyce Reference Joyce2010; Joyce et al. Reference Joyce, Neff, Thieme, Marcus Winter and Workinger2006; King Reference King and Rosemary2021; Winter and Sánchez Santiago Reference Winter and Sánchez Santiago2014). At the same time, although the Central Valleys and the Mixteca Alta have been extensively investigated since the early 1900s (Kowalewski et al. Reference Kowalewski, Balkansky, Stiver Walsh, Pluckhahn, Chamblee and Pérez Rodríguez2009; Spores Reference Spores2018), research has been more limited outside these areas. This means that there are large gaps in our Knowledge of Oaxacan history, leading to a somewhat skewed vision that has long been shaped by an imagined aggressive and expanding early Zapotec state (Balkansky Reference Balkansky2002; Barber et al. Reference Barber, Workinger, Joyce, Kovacevich and Callaghan2013; Levine Reference Levine and Arthur2013; Marcus and Flannery Reference Marcus and Flannery2001; Workinger Reference Workinger and Arthur2013).

The exploration of understudied regions holds immense significance in expanding our understanding and interpretation of the region’s rich and diverse cultural history. These often-overlooked areas provide invaluable insights into the lives, traditions, and practices of Indigenous communities whose stories have been marginalized or erased over time. However, this pursuit must be undertaken with the utmost respect for the wishes and perspectives of the descendant populations and without adding to existing inequities and historical traumas. Oaxaca’s Indigenous communities possess a profound connection to their ancestral heritage; therefore, their voices must guide the archaeological research process. By involving these groups in our research agendas and decisions, archaeologists engage in direct partnership and mutual respect. Such an approach not only ensures ethical research practices through discussion and collaboration between archaeologists and the communities with whom they are working but also empowers local or descendant populations to reclaim their heritage and actively participate in the interpretation and preservation of their cultural legacies.

Eastern Sierra Sur and Guiengola Archaeological Projects

What are the practical manifestations of an archaeology that is actively engaged with local and descendant communities? It is always essential to connect our concepts to tangible examples, especially as we attempt research that embodies the intersection of academic inquiry and Indigenous worldviews. In the following sections, we examine two distinct yet interconnected case studies situated within the rich cultural landscapes of Oaxaca. These examples from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and the Sierra Sur regions illuminate the dynamic interplay between archaeological research methodologies and the diverse and sometimes conflicting perspectives interwoven within and between the local and descendant communities, as well as their interactions with archaeologists. By examining these two projects, we show that a collaborative approach in archaeology that centers community does not negatively affect the outcomes of scientific studies. These projects demonstrate a comprehensive understanding of the past interwoven with the living traditions and Knowledge systems of the local inhabitants.

Guiengola Archaeological Project

The Zapotec site of Guiengola is located in the southern Isthmus of Tehuantepec on the eastern coast of Oaxaca. When the Zapotecs migrated to this area from the Central Valleys, the isthmus was already populated by Chontal, Mixe, Zoque, and Huave people. Ethnohistorical research traces the Zapotec’s initial migration and their colonization of the isthmus to AD 1350, when the royal family of Zaachila, a powerful town in the Central Valleys, began a series of conquests aimed at controlling important commercial routes between the Mexican highlands and tropical lowlands. During this expansion, the Zapotecs from Zaachila built a series of fortified sites, including Guiengola (Oudijk Reference Oudijk2019; Ramón Celis et al. Reference Celis, Guillermo, Chagoya Ayala and Alberto Soto Fuentes2024; Reina Reference Reina2019).

Guiengola is well known as the fortress stronghold where the Zapotecs defended themselves from the Mexica armies in 1497. However, subsequent archaeological research has shown that this site was also a significant urban settlement. Its actual size, however, remained unknown because of the thick canopy (Fernández Dávila Reference Fernández Dávila2021; Peterson and Mac Dougall Reference Peterson and Mac Dougall1974). Therefore, the Guiengola Archaeological Project focused on documenting the site’s layout to understand the way Zapotec migrants adapted and transformed their landscape and created new urban spaces. The mapping results (Figure 2) show the site’s social organization based on neighborhoods, or barrios, and its identification as a regional center with a seated nobility (Ramón Celis et al. Reference Celis, Guillermo, Chagoya Ayala and Alberto Soto Fuentes2023).

Figure 2.

Map of the Late Postclassic fortified city of Guiengola in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.

From archaeologists’ perspective, Guinegola is a key site for understanding the political landscape of the late Postclassic period, especially in the context of the Zapotec migrations and colonization of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Yet this is not the only perspective that should matter in why we study this site. There is immense public interest in Guiengola as part of a complex set of places, locations, and significant spots essential to the different identities of the surrounding communities. In the public imagination, Guiengola represents not just Zapotec history but is also a component of other identities, attachments, and bonds, comparable with the Tehuana, Ismeña, Oaxaqueña, and Mexican identities. Therefore, any archaeological work in Tehuantepec and Guiengola needs to incorporate a deep social engagement with the diverse actors presently involved with the site. This includes authorities at the local, state, and federal levels; landowners; schoolteachers; painters, songwriters, poets, and street artists, as well as other people involved with the diversity of human expressions—in general, any group and individual who holds some interest in the archaeological site.

A primary concern of Ramon Celis’s investigation was to understand the ways in which people in Tehuantepec relate to the site and how an archaeological project could represent a positive outcome for their diverse interests in it. During the summer of 2019, he conducted an eight-week ethnographic study documenting the different perceptions and connections that members of different collectives in Tehuantepec have developed with Guiengola. The ethnographic study also facilitated direct interactions with the people who control the lands where the archaeological site lies. Ramón Celis structured his ethnographic work into two activities. First, he interviewed people who referred to themselves as carriers of the Zapotec or Tehuantepec culture. This put him in touch with poets, writers, photographers, painters, muralists, and even an archaeologist from the area.

All these individuals were willing to share their experiences with the mountain. Ramón Celis recorded people’s first experiences with and memories of Guiengola, when and why they visited it for the first time, how often they visited it, and what the mountain meant to them and whether they would like to see more archaeological work in the site, especially if such research would conflict with the official narratives about their ancestors. Elder people were also interviewed because they were often the ones from whom people learned about Guiengola for the first time. Other important moments of connections happened when families gathered. After returning from their duties on the mountain, the adults shared stories; haunted tales about Guiengola were often told to children.

For the second activity, Ramón Celis accompanied several individuals on daylong trips to the mountain of Guiengola as they undertook tasks associated with daily life (Figure 3). Listening and observing as people interacted directly with the mountain, he documented unique names for different areas and learned how the people found paths in the diverse ecosystems of the mountain, where it was possible to eat, and the variety of petitions and offering rituals that they had to fulfill if they wanted a successful expedition. He also recorded how people spoke about their experiences after these trips. Being present at these moments with family and neighbors underscored the relevance of certain behaviors that are expected in this place, such as what to do if you offend the spirits in the mountain, where these spirits live, and why they will punish a person.

Figure 3.

Wood gatherers in Guiengola. People from Tehuantepec collect ocote from fallen trees that can only be found in the summit of Guiengola mountain above 900 m asl. Photograph courtesy of Pedro Guillermo Ramón Celis. (Color online)

Through these two community dynamics, Ramón Celis realized that one of the critical misconceptions that scholars have about Guiengola is that it is simply an archaeological site, just a place full of abandoned buildings and the empty ruins of a Zapotec city in the mountains. Usually, it is depicted as a tiny dot on maps (in comparison to the larger dots used by archaeologists to connote interest, importance, or both). But this depiction is only partially true for the people of modern Tehuantepec. Ana X., a Zapotec muralist and graphic artist from San Blas Atempa, said that from her point of view as a Zapotec speaker, just naming Guiengola makes you think of a big boulder. “You immediately think of a rock, not an archaeological site,” she said. Later, it would become evident to the researchers that Guiengola is the entire mountain and everything it contains, including the forest, animals, and, of course, the archaeological remains that are also the “ruins” or trincheras (trenches, from when Guiengola was seen as only a fortress) of the Binnigulasa, the Zapotec ancestors.

Thought of in this way, Guiengola is a place where an important part of the history of Tehuantepec occurred in an idealized space where supernatural beings live among the Binnigulasa and the living people; it is also a space where people can supply their basic needs and perform rituals to balance their relationship with the place and the ancestors that live there. For Barabás and colleagues (Reference Barabas, Winter, del Carmen Castillo and Moreno2005), this type of relationship emerges out of and depends on the bond between people and their territory. Inside this space, a group’s historical trajectory is passed down from generation to generation, creating their positionality and ethnic identity.

Frank, a peasant and craft maker from Tehuantepec, refers to Guiengola this way: “It is like the heart, it is like a flag, like the icon of a nation, like an important symbol that identifies you, that you are from a certain place, or you are of a certain lineage, so for me that is the meaning of Guiengola” (Figure 4).

Figure 4.

Frank in his workshop. His memories of Guiengola go back to his childhood, when his grandfather returned from hunting in the mountain and gathered the family to tell his stories. Photograph courtesy of Pedro Guillermo Ramón Celis. (Color online)

Rómulo Jimenez, historical journalist and official chronicler of Tehuantepec, in an interview with Ramón Celis describes Guiengola as a “watershed” a material reminder of the uniqueness of the Isthmian Zapotec identity because it is the physical reminder and embodiment of their legendary migration to the coast: “Guiengola is the father and mother of all the peoples of the Isthmus. . . . Isthmian Zapotecs.”

This embedded history, the transcendental events that occurred among their ruins, and their beliefs about the ancestors and other supernatural beings that dwell and interact with the living are profoundly important for the Tehuantepec people. A place like Guiengola is a fundamental piece of the sociocultural structures supporting a community’s identity. It is in this type of place where it is possible to find the myths, legends, and stories that can explain how people, the natural world, and supernatural forces live together through rituals that sacralize a space and idealize the territory, thereby creating a symbolic appropriation of that place. In this regard, the most profound impact of the ethnography for Ramón Celis was his becoming aware of the conceptual differences between the archaeological idea of Guiengola and what Guiengola means for the Tehuantepec people.

A Landscape Ethnography of San Carlos Yautepec

Although one of the main techniques for modeling how individuals travel through different landscape terrains, least-cost path (LCP) analyses in GIS tend to fail in rugged, high-elevation environments because of built-in biases against steep slopes and assumptions about energy expenditure costs when traveling. However, the intense occupation of the hilltops, ridgelines, and slopes of the hills and mountains of Nejapa, the eastern Sierra Sur, and Oaxaca in general demonstrates that people in the past regularly traversed rugged, steep terrain with high energy costs. While surveying with local guides in the Mixteca Alta and excavating and mapping in the mountains of the Nejapa Valley, Stoll observed that they did not move through the landscape as is often assumed—and how students are taught—in GIS. Inspired by these observations, conversations with locals, and Amani Hassani’s (Reference Hassani2018) ethnographic walking method, Stoll designed a research project to investigate movement in the mountains in the present with the goal of understanding movement in the past.

In her initial meetings with local authorities from San Carlos Yautepec and San Antonio La Baeza (Figure 5), Stoll asked for their thoughts on the project’s feasibility, any suggestions they may have, and if they thought people would be interested in participating. She also gave a presentation about the project at a public assembly, or asemblea, to gain the permission of the townspeople. After obtaining approval, she recruited volunteers from San Carlos and San Antonio. Semi-structured interviews were recorded during walking tours guided by local interlocuters to places in the landscape of their choosing. Concurrent with the ethnographic data, she collected important spatial data about the trips, such as the direction of travel, elevations, changing slope grades, and the length in time and distance.

Figure 5.

A map showing the paths and locations we visited during the guided walking tours (some information withheld by community request). (Color online)

San Antonio is a small community of around 80 inhabitants, delicately perched on a hillside at 1,580 m asl, whereas San Carlos is the municipal seat with about 3,000 inhabitants at 1,200 m asl. Both are located around 45 minutes to more than an hour from the nearest town on Highway 190, El Camarón. The economy for both towns is primarily subsistence agriculture, making frequent trips into the surrounding mountains necessary where travel is still predominantly on foot. People travel to the mountains to tend their milpas, gather firewood, collect and harvest copal sap to sell as incense, pasture their animals, and hunt. Individuals who do not have their own milpa rent land from others. Typical subsistence crops include various types of maize, squashes, tomatoes, and beans that can grow at high elevations.

Not far from San Antonio is Pueblo Viejo, a rancho once occupied by at least three related families and then abandoned at some time during the 1930s. The land was later repurposed for growing crops. What remains is a tiny, crumbling adobe church that could fit about 20 or so individuals. Just underneath the soil are the old foundations of the houses, built with finely carved stone blocks taken from the archaeological site on the ridgeline, a possibly Late Classic to Early Postclassic monumental residential settlement known as La Baeza. There are also a few tombs left from an old cemetery located at the Portillo (mountain pass) de Baeza.

One local took Stoll to several different places. An abandoned colonial-era mine, likely still productive, had collapsed, burying several individuals alive. Despite pleadings and incentive offers from Spanish colonial authorities, the local people refused to return to the mine, which remains untouched to this day. There was no path for the second part of the trip down to some archaeological features, consisting of a small platform and a patio. When asked if he took this route every time to reach his fields, the guide commented that he normally goes another way that is “much more dangerous”; he chose this path instead out of consideration for Stoll. A half century ago his grandfather, who had first shown him this place, had explored two tombs located next to the patio. Immediately after this, he fell sick with an unknown illness, perhaps as a punishment for disturbing the spirits.

The people of San Carlos and San Antonio represent communities of practice adapted for living in the mountains and mitigating risk when transversing the landscape and extracting resources. Training in these localized Knowledge strategies begins early, with children (primarily boys) going out with their fathers or other older male relatives to learn the various mountain paths beginning around the age of five or so. Even puppies are taken out when they are less than a year old so that they become familiar with the landscape and learn how to return home on their own (Figure 6). Part of this Knowledge acquisition process includes learning the names of the places the trails pass through. Nearly every place has a name, such as El Bosque de Aguacate (no aguacate), Las Palmas (no palm trees), La Quemada (which is green today), Aguas Frías (no water), and El Chocolate (no cacao trees). Then there is Mala Chica, a name that no one could explain nor recall the story behind it (Figure 7). Although the stories had already been forgotten in their grandparents’ time, the names of these places remain and are being passed down today.

Figure 6.

Both animals and humans have to learn the local trails and how to survive in the mountains. On the left, a local man teaches his sons how to harvest copal sap. On the right is Perro, a dog from San Carlos Yautepec who disappeared into the mountains for more than a month. He returned skinnier but alive and well. Photographs courtesy of Marijke M. Stoll. (Color online)

Figure 7.

(Left) On the trip to Las Palmas, the men spent the day removing the dried corn cobs from their stalks, the Cerro San Antonio looming overhead; (right) two photos of the place known as Mala Chica. Photographs courtesy of Marijke M. Stoll. (Color online)

Movement in LCP analyses is understood as the expenditure of energy or “calorics.” However, thinking only in terms of expending energy is not reflective of the ethnographic reality of how humans move through rugged landscapes. When people set out from San Antonio and San Carlos, they always bring enough food with them for the duration of the journey, however long it takes. For overnight or longer trips, they cache food and water along the routes or at the rancho, a small shelter for storing supplies and sleeping. Although modern packing and canning technology makes this much easier today, there are many Oaxacan foods and cooking techniques with ancestral roots developed so the supplies last when traveling, such as tlayudas, totopos, mountain salsa, and a method for extremely dried, salty meat. People also hunt and gather on these trips (sometimes hunting is the main purpose of the trip), taking advantage of any opportunities that the natural environment presents such as herbal remedies, spices, and a source for water derived from plants.

The ethnographic data also challenge the assumption that people avoid slopes greater than 35°. Instead, when traveling along the mountain trails and even in creating them, people choose the path of least resistance until they cannot because of steep or extremely rugged topography, impassable conditions, or other territorial boundaries. On these walks, there were times when we followed paths winding through the saddles between mountain peaks and ridgelines; in others, the gentle path would suddenly veer vertically upward or dizzyingly downward, hugging steep sides that left barely enough space to place one foot in front of another. Vertical distances of 500 m to 1 km are routinely covered in a day’s trip, many times over slopes that range from 1° to 42°. Many people remarked that the antepasados, those who had lived there very long ago, were much braver and stronger, climbing to much greater heights and more dangerous places.

Discussion and Conclusion

As a living entity for the people of Tehuantepec, the archaeological site of Guiengola has different manifestations in people’s cosmovision. It is a place that contains treasures, which could be the typical gold coffer or a pot of gold. But it is also represented as a “place of enchantment.” The ethnographic interviews, artwork, and cultural workshops organized through the Guiengola Archaeological Project allowed locals and archaeologists to participate in the production of Knowledge about Guiengola. They also permitted insight into and reflection on the different meanings and uses of Guiengola and why it is important for archaeologists to understand these different perspectives. There are many social collectives with diverse ideas of what this place is, from the academic community to the hunters who dwell in its forest.

Although ongoing, the ethnography of the people and their lived experiences in the mountain landscape around San Antonio La Baeza and San Carlos Yautepec has already demonstrated its incredible value for understanding how people moved about in the past and present. This project was directly inspired by Stoll’s observations of local community members and their practices. Walking alongside the volunteer guides and engaging in open-ended conversations with them, using a short list of questions as starting points, Stoll had complete trust in the guides, listening with an open mind and recording their perspectives without imposing outside theoretical ontologies. The ethnographic data not only challenged a lot of what Stoll had learned about human movement in her graduate coursework but also greatly helped her understand the transmission of Knowledge over generations, even as people adapted to changing sociopolitical circumstances. The ethnography also revealed an interesting contrast between the people of San Antonio and San Carlos and those of Tehuantepec. People in the former villages identify more with the colonial-era settlement of Pueblo Viejo than the more mysterious prehispanic occupation on the mountain ridgeline, La Baeza. For them, the archaeological remains in their landscape belong to a forgotten past, one they feel affinity for but know little about. These ruins, although resources were and are extracted from them, are also regarded as being haunted by fantasmas, or spirits, ones to be avoided at night.

Both projects highlight how local interlocuters experience being-in-the-landscape in rural and nonurban spaces and how connections to these landscapes are formed through both actual and imagined Knowledge of them. These deep connections to the local landscape are forged through the bodily experience of it, reinforced through these communal practices of moving in mountainous spaces. Accompanying people on their journeys to the mountain and witnessing their experiences in the sacred landscape was essential to understanding Guiengola’s significance. Observing their daily activities and their conduct and how they are-in-the-landscape enabled a better comprehension of the legends and taboos surrounding the place. It was through these practices that it was possible to understand Guiengola as alive, possessing a powerful presence among the rest of the ancestors of Tehuantepec.

Similarly, walking with local volunteers showed that in the past and present, places of difficult and inaccessible terrain were desirable for occupation. One could remain invisible while being able to see other important settlements located in the nearby mountains and valleys and to observe the interregional trade routes that traveled through them. Their natural defensiveness and isolation were important, particularly during periods of conflict or political instability, and for status-related purposes (e.g., the sacred mountain in Mesoamerican religions and philosophy). For example, scattered throughout the mountains are ancient lookout boxes. Even today, San Antonio is accessible only by a very precarious and dangerous road, whereas San Carlos lies at lower elevations but deeper within the mountain range. For these reasons we argue that it is important to record these spatial narratives because few studies have done so, especially for both rural/nonurban inhabitants and Indigenous peoples in general, no matter where they live, while also centering the local/Indigenous perspective.

Our aim here is to prioritize community-centered research and underscore the utility of this approach for archaeologists engaged in heritage. To better understand a population in the past, we need to comprehend how contemporary and descendant communities relate to that past and its peoples, as well as how contemporary people interact with each other, even those individuals who may not be living there currently but still maintain ties to the area. The recent decolonial turn in the social sciences requires we make more than superficial gestures toward community involvement, moving away from viewing local communities only as sources of labor to active participants in the production of localized and regional Knowledges. The activities of excavating or exploring an archaeological site that occur at these kinds of places are not and never have been exclusively for academics or scholars alone. Reflecting on these boundaries is essential for the archaeological discipline as it moves forward the ethical practices of academic work.

Another key lesson is that ethically designed and executed ethnography, one that centers on local and descendent communities as much as possible has a very valuable role to play in archaeological research. This is especially true in a place as ethnographically rich as Oaxaca. Qualitative data in archaeology is absolutely necessary because though we work with the material residues of the past, we are still exploring human communities and attempting to interpret lived human experiences. Our data demonstrate ethnography’s continuing potential for insights into processes of social memory and communities of practice, even those less tangible—for example, how intimate Knowledge of the local landscape is gained through instruction and learned experience across generations, what ties people to the places where they were born, where they grew up, and where their ancestors are buried. Ethnography today is not about studying “Others” but should be and is about understanding and respecting people’s values, wisdom, and Knowledge of their own heritages. In this way, we archaeologists can move beyond labor extraction and temporary economic infusions as the only way we directly engage with local communities to a genuinely real connection to their heritage and vested interests.

By collaborating with local and descendant communities in Oaxaca, we identified benefits that extend beyond short-term economic gains. A key aspect of this collaboration is that community members are not relegated to a passive role; instead, they actively shape the research by influencing the questions posed, the methodologies used, and the interpretations made. This active involvement encourages a sense of ownership over the process and outcomes of the projects.

Incorporating local perspectives and ontologies into the development of the research design has helped validate and elevate the Knowledge systems and worldviews of the people from Tehuantepec and San Carlos Yautepec. Through these collaborative efforts, the archaeological projects have contextualized the historical and cultural significance of the cultural landscapes of the Isthmus and the Sierra Sur in ways that resonate with local experiences and understandings.

In particular, efforts to preserve the site of Guiengola in Tehuantepec have become more robust because local authorities have effectively communicated to state and federal governments that the site’s importance extends beyond its archaeological context: it encompasses the entire mountain. Consequently, local people and authorities can strategize plans for holistic protection of the area’s cultural landscape, involving institutions like the National Commission of Natural Protected Areas (CONANP), the Agrarian National Register (RAN), and other agencies that offer opportunities for the protection of their heritage—and not just the National Institute of Anthropology and History as they were doing before.

The ethnoarchaeology project in the San Carlos Yautepec municipality was a pilot study that Stoll hopes to continue. In conversations with community members from both villages, one of the possible benefits of such a project that were discussed was recording local histories to preserve the Knowledge of older generations, thereby creating a landscape ethnography of the San Carlos area and connecting the people living today with the archaeological past that is present all around them. The common thread is the desire to document the histories, stories, legends, and local practices of the past and present so that they are preserved and available for future generations. The ever-increasing encroachment of cellular phones, the internet (Wi-Fi is now available in town when only a few years ago a smartphone did not work), and other technologies have increased concern among older members that younger generations will lose that important connection to their land, their community, and their history.

The Guiengola Archaeological Project and the ethnography in San Carlos Yautepec successfully followed four critical guidelines aimed at achieving socially meaningful archaeological research. First, both projects incorporated community perspectives on the nature of archaeological sites into study designs and methodological strategies, ensuring that the research was reflective of local values and concerns. Second, they contextualized archaeological sites, communities, and scholars as interconnected elements of both the physical and research landscapes, recognizing the deep entanglement of these elements in the process of Knowledge production. Third, both projects emphasized the value of ethnography by involving local peoples, descendant communities, and their heritage in the research design, ensuring that the work is collaborative and culturally responsive. Finally, these efforts acknowledged that local community members are not merely sources of labor but are also crucial Knowledge experts and recipients, whose insights and expertise are integral to the success of the research.

Looking ahead, our projects can further enhance this community-centered approach by deepening our engagement with local Knowledge systems and expanding opportunities for community-led research initiatives. By continually refining our methodologies to be even more inclusive of community input and by exploring new ways to integrate local expertise into all phases of the research process, we can ensure that our work not only respects but also amplifies the voices of those most connected to the heritage we study. This ongoing commitment to collaborative, community-centered research will not only contribute to a more equitable and socially responsible archaeology but will also enrich the academic understanding of the complex relationships between people, places, and the past.