ORI GIN AL PA PER

The Freedom of the Seas: Untapping the ArchaeologicalPotential of Marine Debris

Mirja Arnshav

Published online: 13 March 2014� Springer Science+Business Media New York 2014

Abstract The issue of marine debris is of a growing concern to present day society.

Nonetheless, the occurrence of garbage on the sea floor is widely ignored by the marine

archaeological body. The main purpose of this article is to discuss archaeological aspects

of marine debris of the contemporary past. In particular, the article explores the phe-

nomenon of marine dumping, the active use of raised debris for the sake of education and

opinion forming and the human footprint of holiday boating. Drawing from this, it is

argued that a maritime garbology—a maritime archaeology that intersects both with the

archaeology of the contemporary past and the multidisciplinary field of consumption- and

garbage studies—is not only possible but also a promising and relevant field of research.

Keywords Marine debris � Garbology � Maritime cultural landscape � Heterotopia

Maritime archaeology has a rich tradition of studying post-medieval sites. The subjects

have often been related to old shipwrecks and other historic structures. However, the recent

and the contemporary have generally—at least in Nordic maritime archaeology—been

viewed as a ‘‘pollutant’’ of a static, traditional heritage. It is all too often left out in

excavation reports and has seldom been safeguarded or studied in its own right (compare

Burstrom 2009:131; Graves-Brown 2011:169).

In the meanwhile archaeology of the contemporary past has established itself as a

specific and recognized and subfield (Burstrom 2007; Harrison and Schofield 2010:21–53).

And within this subdiscipline garbology—the archaeological study of recent garbage—has

proved to be one of the most prospering fields of research (Rathje and Murphy 2001).

However, so far this research has been limited to the terrestrial and the built environment.

Yet the marine environment is also heavily used and has been for almost as long as the

land has been used, and consequently garbage does appear in the marine archaeological

record (especially in the exploration of relict landscapes, urban cultural layers and

M. Arnshav (&)The National Maritime Museum, Stockholm, Swedene-mail: mirja.arnshav@maritima.se

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J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25DOI 10.1007/s11457-014-9129-5

harbours). Nevertheless, within maritime archaeological research, it has not yet been

interpreted in relation to the intellectual framework of discard studies. There is presently

no interdisciplinary bridge between maritime archaeology and garbology.

Having said that, this does not mean that there is no scientific interest in maritime debris

of the contemporary period. On the contrary, within the natural sciences the issue of marine

pollution is quite a hot topic. However the focus has mainly been set on water analysis,

flotsam and debris floating close to the water surface. As a result, there is a lack of

knowledge on the garbage situation under water, and a poor humanistic understanding of

the situation.

Given the notion of the Anthropocene, which implies an integration of biophysical and

human history, this is far from an ideal situation. It is time for maritime archaeology to

come to terms with the fact that these pollutants are of interest in their own right (compare

Graves-Brown 2011:169), be it with reference to environmentalist issues or as archaeo-

logical source material.

There are plenty of reasons for maritime archaeology to recuperate recent waste from

the intellectual dustbin and engage in garbage studies. For as been stated by the editors of a

forthcoming compendium of the interdisciplinary field of discard studies:

Through waste, we can see the world. Our practices, beliefs, rituals, and emotions

around discarding shape our everyday actions. Municipal and industrial waste

organizes people and work along lines of class, race, gender, age, and geography,

making imbedded cultural norms and assumptions manifest. Trash, waste and dis-

cards have environmental impacts; cultural and social ramifications; and define and

are defined by economic and governance systems. Waste is both familiar and per-

vasive, but is also largely ‘black-boxed’ out of sight, silently flowing into, out of, and

between households, neighbourhoods, cities, countries, and economics (Liboiron

et al. 2013).

This essay seeks to sketch some of the key features and implications of a maritime

garbology, i.e. the study of modern refuse from a seafloor based reference point. An origin

of the paper is the fascinating materiality of the underwater landscape and the observation

that one of its main components—marine debris—is most often neglected by the marine

archaeological body.

Dwelling on marine debris it sets out to connect maritime archaeology with the

archaeology of the recent past and the academic field of garbage studies. The aim is to

explore what understandings such a merger can give access to. The key point concerns the

archaeological potentials of marine debris; what discussions can be drawn from studying

its materiality, what can be told about the entanglement between humans, things and the

sea?

In order to approach these matters, the paper addresses three issues of concern; the

practice of marine dumping, garbage within the process of opinion forming (as exemplified

through a political meeting) and, finally, as an archaeological record (derived from holiday

boating). Also, some introductory remarks on the character of the sea floor as a cultural

landscape are put forward. Drawing from this, it is argued that there is a good potential for

the development of a maritime garbology.

It is not the intention of the paper to undertake a substantial analysis of the ambiguous

concept of garbage. However it is worth pointing out that whilst the connotations of the

word have changed over time, it retains a general meaning as referring to anything that has

been separated, removed and devalued (Scanlan 2005:10). It is also worth mentioning that

the language of garbage includes a number of associated terms like rubbish, refuse, litter,

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waste, debris, dirt, pollution, discard, scrap, junk, mess, filth and the like, and that the

distinction between these categories often seem highly permeable (compare Cohen 2005:

ix–xvii; Scanlan 2005:9–10).

The Seafloorscape

A good point of departure for grasping the character of marine debris is to discuss its

geographical site context and picture how it presents itself to diving archaeologists. Let me

therefore start off with some remarks on the setting—the seafloor cultural landscape—and

suggestions on how it may be approached from an archaeological point of view.

In recent years, maritime landscape archaeology has received increased attention. The

interaction between humans and the maritime coastal landscape, as well as cognitive and

mental aspects of the presence of water has been analyzed from a range of theoretical,

spatial, historical and environmental horizons (Ford 2011). Two major landscape concepts,

‘‘seascape’’ and ‘‘maritime cultural landscape’’, have developed out of the study of land-

scapes in maritime archaeology (see Ford 2011:4–5 for a summary). In a broader sense,

these concepts might very well be applicable to this study. However, I would like to mark

out the landscape in focus—the seafloor—as a specific one, demanding its own interpre-

tative framework. Uninhabitable for humans, the sea floor is an antithesis of land (Patton

2007:11), a true non-place (Auge 2008:63; see also Westerdahl 2011:303–304 on the

Otherness of the open sea). Hence, I prefer to talk about a ‘‘Seafloorscape’’, avoiding the

biases of the world ‘‘maritime’’ (Tuddenham 2010) and ‘‘maritime landscape’’ (as a past

visible and visited/inhabited landscape, reconstructed by archaeologists).

During the history of human kind the seafloor has not been constant. There are many

areas around the world where geological processes have turned seascapes into landscapes

and landscapes into seascapes (Benjamin et al. 2011). In northern Europe, the last ice age

triggered a great fluctuation of the shoreline due to land elevation and ice melting. Hence

there are vast areas where the present seafloors entail relict, flooded landscapes (whilst in

northern Scandinavia, Mesolithic seafloors have turned into land).

For most of history however, the underwater world (of its time) was a terra incognita,

just about inaccessible to mankind. Today the situation is somewhat changed. Due to

technological innovations such as the aqualung, remotely operated underwater vehicles and

acoustic survey instruments, the seafloor is presently being discovered bit by bit. As this

process proceeds, we are becoming increasingly aware of the fact that the footprint of

modern civilization on the sea floor is extensive, represented by shipwrecks and con-

struction works as well as trawl marks, dead bottoms—and garbage.

Although marine debris in a sense offers a familiar element in a milieu different in flora,

fauna and bodily experience, the overall impression of the materiality is strangeness

(Arnshav 2011:95). Without doubt, the material culture situation of the underwater world

stands in sharp contrast to our often studiously planned and managed everyday environ-

ment (compare Edensor 2009:94–95) and to the general layering of deposits in archaeol-

ogy. By means of river outlets, tsunamis, currents and marine dumping practices, more or

less all kinds of things are able to find their way even to the outermost seas. And because of

erosion and low sedimentation, many things—ancient as well as recent—remain com-

paratively uncovered.

The result of these site formation processes is somewhat peculiar. To begin with, there

are things where no things are expected to be. Secondly, many of these findings are

generally not considered having ‘‘maritime’’ connotations or applications. And thirdly,

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they tend to form a material medley that all too often seem unfamiliar to us. On an ordinary

archaeological site, it is not unusual to find plastic furniture, household electronics,

armaments or other effects of the twentieth century mingling with wrecks, submerged

Stone Age tree stumps or other ancient remains. The overall impression is a random

juxtaposition of incommensurate things, creating a bizarre, almost surrealistic collage that

stands in contrast to the taken-for-granted mundane idea of social and material order.

As spaces of an alternative ordering, the sea and the seafloor might be regarded as

places of Otherness. In some cases, this Otherness may be perceived as exiting and

amusing. For example, it has been noticed that scuba divers sometimes make playful

underwater installations by placing everyday terrestrial objects on the sea floor (thereby

creating effects much comparable to the Ready-made art (Arnshav 2011:95).

However, this Otherness is not always pleasant. When confronted with an assemblage

of recent beer bottles on a seventeenth century wreck site, most people would probably

reckon the mixture a bit queer, and object to the bottles rather that to the wreck. As may be

illustrated by a statement of Captain Moore, garbage at sea generally evokes a strong

feeling of wrongness:

Over the decades we0d gotten used to the sight of trash on the beach, by roadsides,

and in riverbeds, of shopping bags fluttering fences and branches, near-weightless

foamed polystyrene cups skittering on the breeze, cigarette butts and bottle caps

everywhere…. But something seemed very wrong about this plastic trash in the mid-

Pacific (Moore and Phillips 2011:17).

To me, the Otherness of the seafloor as regards its materiality is one of its most striking

and fascinating features, doubtless worthy the attention of maritime archaeologists, garb-

ologists as well as anyone with an interest in material culture studies. But as far as I am

concerned, marine debris has barely been highlighted from such a point of view. At best,

you can catch a glimpse of it in archaeological reports (for example see Hjulhammar

2008), but it has seldom been in focus.

How then are we to get a grip on these kinds of underwater sites? What theoretical

framing can be used in order to unfold their nature and make sense of their confusing

materiality?

One viable point of departure might be to regard them as heterotopias. A significant

quality of heterotopias is that they hold heterogeneous collections of unusual things

without allowing them a unity or order established through resemblance. It goes without

saying that such representations create confusion. Heterotopias are challenging to all

settled representations, they challenge order itself and its sense of fixity and certainty. Not

uncommonly, they can have a shock effect, deriving from their different mode of ordering

(Hetherington 2003:40–44; Fig. 1).

The concept of heterotopias was originally developed by Michael Focault in order to

discuss sites that are constituted in relation to other sites by their difference (Focault 2012).

In recent years, it has been used in a number of ways within the scope of social science (see

Hetherington 2003:41 for the genesis of the concept and a summary of applications). On

the whole, it seems the major merit of the concept lies in understanding the spatiality of

modernity.

In this particular context, one should not forget to mention the Swedish ethnologist

Lynn Akesson, who has suggested that landfills and the like share the basic features of

heterotopias (Akesson 2008:149). It is also notable that the concept of heterotopia corre-

sponds well to the social anthropologist Mary Douglas famous and wildly embraced

definition of dirt as ‘‘matter out of place’’ (Douglas 2002:44–50). According to this,

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pollution occurs when matter escapes the conventional ordering of things (which explains

why the same chemicals that are considered fertilizers when applied to a field turns into

pollutants if they reach an aquifer).

Marine Dumping: A Widespread Phenomenon

Water is an element with a manifold nature; central yet peripheral, separating yet

attracting, reflecting yet obscuring. From the Mesolithic onwards, different waterscapes

have had various meanings and affordances, giving rise to a range of strategies and

structures. Yet, regardless of this, there are some common properties of water worthy of

attention. One such quality is the ability of swallowing and obscuring anything with a

higher density than the water itself. Needless to say, this capability has been exploited for

various different purposes throughout history.

In archaeology, the by far most highlighted behavior in relation to waters ability to

engulf artifacts and ecofacts ought to be the phenomenon of the wetland scarification. In

addition to that, the history of religion shows that a wide range of cultures have taken

advantage of the sea in order to wash away whatever was construed as dangerous, dirty or

morally contaminating. As Kimberley Patton has stated:

Religious notions of purity and pollution, particularly for oceangoing or shoreline

people, chronically regard the sea as the most powerful vehicle for purification,

which can absolve – and dissolve – moral and ritual contamination. The ocean is the

place that can make religious contamination literally disappear (Patton 2007:8).

Another institutional concern in archaeology is the relationship between settlements and

maritime garbage depositions. There are many examples of coastal cities which are partly

built on landfills in former water areas. In medieval Stockholm, disposal of garbage at the

waterfront was a thoroughly planned tactic for getting rid of discard and, at the same time,

gain new land (Hjulhammar 2010).

Other settlements have formed discrete offshore garbage disposal areas. For instance, in

the early twentieth century the Norwegian city of Olso was facing a garbage disposal

Fig. 1 The underwater world is full of matter (seemingly) out of place. these recycling bins for metal,plastic and organic materials were set under water at Gulen Dive Resort at the Norwegian west coast toencourage clean-up of the littered seafloor. � Christian Skauge

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problem, due to rapid population growth. It was then decided to dump the discard in a

sound between two islands, Langøerne, situated a few kilometers outside the capital. In a

few decades the garbage begun to surface, causing with smell, flies and jetsam. Eventually

the former sound was turned into a park area and a popular camping site. But at 20 m

depth, at the foot of the underwater garbage mountain, all kinds of material culture of past

urban life still remain (Johannessen 2011). In a way, concentrated areas of maritime

garbage deposition are much like midden sites in a landsite, where all aspects of a set-

tlement have intrinsic archaeological value.

A less researched aspect however is the how these natural qualities of water is used by

contemporary human societies. However, examples of the habit are easily spotted. Many

are clearly related to waste disposal, whilst others seem to spring from spontaneous mis-

chief or a need to conceal items related to ‘‘shady business’’. Needless to say, there are also

practices having to do with superstition or rituals (of course, the boundary between discard

and sanctity, between ritual and environmental pollution, can be vague. Slippages of

meaning from everydayness-to sacredness are traceable in virtually any society and culture

(for examples, see Svenska kyrkan 2012; Hill 1995).

When city rivers are cleaned out, they usually reveal a stunning number of bicycles,

furniture and all sorts of consumables (for example, see FRP AB 2012). The remains of

spacecraft are deposited at a deep and remote area of the South Pacific, known as the The

Spacecraft Cemetery (Autonomous Nonprofit Organization ‘‘TV-Novosti’’ 2012). In cities

all across Europe, sweethearts who wish for eternal love throw keys to padlocks into the

water from special bridges, where so called ‘‘love locks’’ are affixed to the railings. A few

years ago in Amsterdam, there were advanced plans to sink a 100-foot welded steel-framed

human figure, stuffed with 20,000 loaves of bread, out into the North sea as a thank-

offering (Patton 2007:1–2).

Within maritime archaeology yet other examples manifest themselves. It is not unusual

that diving archaeologists in peri-urban waters come across dumped weapons, stolen

wallets, marine insurance frauds and other traces of crime (for example see Hjulhammar

2008; Wiklund 2008). Figure 2 Surveying coastal areas near former industries often

reveals clusters of outdated prams and cargo boats, ‘‘ship graveyards’’. Along shipping

lanes, side scan- and multibeam sonar analyses often show heaps of ship-derived deposits

(recognized as Acoustic Backscatter Anomalies (Ferrini and Flood 2001; Lewis et al. 2000;

Flood and Tornqvist 2010).

Even ancient wreck sites tend to hold examples of recent finds—which somewhat

troubles the popular notion of wrecks as places where time has stood still until discovered

by mankind. For example the fluit called The Ghostship, discovered in the middle of the

Baltic in 2003, was found to have plastics in its rigging (Eriksson and Ronnby 2012) and at

the remote wreck site of the Swedish seventeenth century man of war The Sword, dis-

covered in 2011, there was an assemblage of pilsner beer bottles on the seabed at the port

side beneath the bow (pers. comm. archaeologist Niklas Eriksson). It seems that encounters

with recent discard are the rule rather than the exception in maritime archaeology (Fig. 3).

One of the first to call attention to the fact that the world’s oceans were used as dumping

ground for imperishable human refuse was Rachel Carson, author of the groundbreaking

Silent Spring. In the second edition of her previous publication The Sea Around Us,

commenting on the fact that the sea was selected as a burying place for the radioactive

contamination, she stated that ‘‘By its very vastness and its seeming remoteness, the sea

has invited the attention of those who have a problem of disposal…’’ (Carson 1961:xi).

Another pioneer as regards the mediation of the fact that the oceans were used for

garbage dumping was Thor Heyerdahl. On his voyage with Ra I, he observed the Atlantic

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Ocean was becoming seriously littered, and during the following voyage with Ra II, he

took samples and kept a daily pollution log during the voyage (Moore and Phillips

2011:66–67; Heyerdahl 1993).

In those days, it was legal to dump any type of garbage on international waters. The first

treaty to control ocean pollution by dumping (the London convention) entered into force in

the mid 1970s. Since then, it has been followed by several international conventions and

regulations (International Maritime Organization 2011). In spite of this, there is plenty of

evidence that the practice is still going strong (Moore and Phillips 2011). Obviously, it

cannot simply be attributed to ‘‘the Tragedy of the Commons’’ (compare Hardin 1968) and

a lack of regulations.

How then, are we to understand this engagement with the sea? The natural properties of

water are a key to understanding humanity’s relation with it. Within the field of garbage

studies, waste disposal is often discussed with reference to the truism ‘‘out of sight, out of

Fig. 2 An example of marine dumping in relation to shady business: an assemblage of fake IDs anddriver’s licenses found during an archaeological survey in the autumn 2012. � Jens Lindstrom

Fig. 3 Even previously unvisited and remote wreck sites tend to involve recent debris. At the discovery ofthe seventeenth century flute ship ‘‘the Ghost ship’’ at a depth of 125 m in the middle of the Baltic, severalfinds of plastics were observed. � Deep Sea Productions

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mind’’ (Scanlan 2005:157–158; Shanks et al. 2004:70; Thompson 2008:3). As has already

been touched upon, there is a strong tendency in modern society to conceal waste and

create a distance to it (Akesson 2005a:146–147, 2008:147–150). Needless to say, the

physical properties of water correspond very well to such requirements. Hiding and sep-

arating whatever has been dumped, waterscapes make perfect places for oblivion. As been

pointed out by Swedish maritime archaeologist Carl Olof Cederlund, the surface of the sea

has commonly been designated as ‘‘a limit to our perception’’ (my translation) (Cederlund

1995:41, 1996:168).

Similar reflections have been put forward by Kimberly Patton, discussing the conceptual

underpinnings of marine pollution. According to her, the treatment of the world’s oceans

by industrialized nations arises from traditional beliefs, traceably in myths and religious

narratives, about the oceans inviolability. The genesis of these habits and attitudes are in

turn located in the sea’s own natural qualities: its vast size and depth; its chronic motion in

currents, tides and waves, its apparent inexhaustibility (see also Simmons 1994:109). As

Patton puts it:

…I have… tried to argue that human habits of thought and action were, and still

remain, a kind of ritualized response to human constructions of the ocean’s physical

qualities. Such ideas about the nature of the sea may be culturally reinforced, but

they are daily reinscribed by the testimony of our eyes. In tons of water, in saltiness,

in bottomless depth and endless horizon, and, above all, in many forms of ceaseless

motion, human populations, especially those who live along the littoral, see—and

have always seen—in the world0s oceans a mighty, efficacious means of ‘‘cleaning’’

our habitous and making it safe, clean, and viable. Our impressions have lent

themselves over the years to chronic, unreflective marine pollution (Patton

2007:133).

In trying to understand the phenomenon of marine dumping, I would like to put forward

yet another potentially explanatory aspect, namely the suggestion that people living in a

seascape tend to cultivate a special linking for freedom (Ronnby 2010:77; Arnshav

2011:95). Although an argument still in its infancy, such a notion might very well be of

importance for the understanding of the conceptual underpinnings of marine dumping. It is

notable that the legal concept of ‘‘freedom of the seas’’ was one of the earliest tenets of

international law. And as been observed by Charles Moore:

Even now, with anti-pollution rules firmly in place, the notion of ‘‘freedom’’ per-

sists… if not only legally, then in the minds of many who ply the seas. It0s a hard

thing to surrender: the idea of a place left on earth where anything goes and no one

will know better. (Moore and Phillips 2011:68).

Regardless of why, the practice of marine dumping represents an interesting example

of humaity’s entanglement with the sea. Within maritime archaeology, the agency of

waterscapes and influence on human actions has been discussed in terms of ‘‘the

maritime factor’’. Also, the existence of ‘‘maritime durees’’, i.e. long-time structures as

regards the interaction between people and the sea, has been put forward (Ronnby

2010). With reference to the examples presented above, the tenacious human tendency

to turn to waterscapes for the purpose of waste disposal can be labeled yet another

‘‘maritime duree’’, and that the natural properties of water are essential for under-

standing such a strategy.

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Garbage in Action: A Mess with a Message

In Sweden, the issue of marine littering is a hot topic. It is recurrently highlighted in the

press, and there are several municipalities and environmental organizations engaged in

cleaning operations and education campaigns (for example see FRP AB 2012; Kimo 2012;

Skargardsstiftelsen 2011a).

In July 2012, I attended an event which aimed to draw public attention to the question of

marine debris. The happening was jointly arranged by some of the leading partners and

authorities dealing with the issue. It was held at Visby, Gotland, during the so called

Almedalsveckan (Sweden’s biggest annual political meeting, gathering hundreds of

exhibitors, program items and journalists).

Centered around the brig replica Tre Kronor a wide range of actors were mobilized. On

the quay two fishermen presented some examples from their recent by-catch—a tangled

skein of synthetic cloths, a bicycle, a couple of chemicals drums and an old Russian ship

telephone. Next by was a touring poster exhibition on marine pollution. Two divers went

into the water and returned with a few examples of the scrappy contents of the harbour.

And in the meanwhile, a pair of entertainers, known from a children’s tv-show as envi-

ronmentally-minded diving characters, amused the audience. Later, a seminar focusing on

environmental aspects of marine debris was held onboard the ship (FRP AB 2012; Fig. 4).

In the mingle that followed, I spoke to a man in the recycling business. ‘‘Why, he said,

does everyone go on talking about litter instead of material? Why do they focus on the

costs and not the economical values? I refuse to term it garbage. To me, it is nothing else

than materials, and as such it ought to be useful!’’ (Pontus Almen, Stena, 2012-07-04).

True enough, the tendency to embed these things as ‘‘garbage’’ is due to a specific point

of departure. From an environmentalist perspective, garbage is primarily understood with

reference to harm and its hazardous impacts on the physical viability of the planet and the

human race (Patton 2007:14–15).

By contrast, garbage can also been pictured as a socially constructed category, lacking

any objective reality (Douglas 2002:2; Shanks et al. 2004:65; Thompson 2008). An

example of this perception is anthropologist Michael Thompson’s authoritative Rubbish

theory, in which garbage is described as a thing approaching a ‘zero point’ of value. At its

nadir in a cycle of consumption and production, rubbish is both ready for disappearance

and yet ripe for reinvestment, reinterpretation or revaluing. In this transitional state,

operating apparently outside the world of the useful, functioning and valued, the discarded

thing may appear as autonomous, existing in and for itself (Thompson 1979; se also Pye

2010:6). [Within this context, one might also recall anthropologist Ivar Kopytoffs, who’s

work on object’s biographies has reveled how economic and social value varies through

time and as it travels through different spheres of exchange (Kopytoff 1986)].

Drawing from the argument that disposal is never final, Kevin Hetherington has sug-

gested that rather than seeing the rubbish bin as the archetypical conduit of disposal, the

door might be seen as a better example. Rather than being something totally absent,

garbage may have a structuring effect, impacting on attitudes and relations (Hetherington

2004). Also, there is truth in the saying ‘‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’’. To

entrepreneurs, waste disposal, recycling, ship scrapping and the like make for profitable

businesses (Humes 2012:9–14, 76–95; Richards 2008:145–177). To people on the margin,

it can be essential for making a living. In the meanwhile, fascination with ruins and tourism

to abandoned places are developing into an economy on its own and phenomenon’s like

dumpster diving and flee market shopping are phenomenon’s on the rise (Akesson

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2005a:142–145; 2008:146–147). In conclusion, there are plenty of telling examples on how

discarded goods can be functional and valuable.

During the Visby event, the usefulness of marine debris was proved in a number of

ways. It generated media attention. It underlined the credibility of the presentations given

at the seminar and it created valuable goodwill to all attending organizations. In addition, it

provided props for a playful show. However, the principal application of the garbage at

Visby harbor did not concern economical values, but rather emotional and communicative

ones. The main objective of the arrangement was to gain attention to a pressing envi-

ronmental problem: that of marine pollution.

Traditionally, the ocean was commonly seen to be inexhaustible, almost resistant to

human harm. In 1951, Rachel Carson wrote in The Sea Around Us that man ‘‘cannot

control or change the ocean as, in his brief tenancy on earth, he has subdued and plundered

the continents’’ (Carson 1951 cited in Hohn 2011:373). This was of course a grave mis-

conception. In fact, in many places the oceans were transformed hundreds of years ago

(Roberts 2008/2007).

Today, it is known that the sea holds a considerable amount of liquid chemical and

radioactive waste. Figure 5 Each year, tens of millions of tons of sewage sludge, industrial

waste and polluted dredged material are dumped into the ocean. Along the shipping lines

of the high seas, millions of metric tons of oil are spilled annually, and thousands of

containers—each capable of releasing numerous items—are being washed overboard due

to heavy weather each year (Hohn 2011:34; MarineBio 2012). Decomposed plastic has

established itself in the ocean as a ubiquitous, non-nutritive component of the ecosystem,

accumulating in massive garbage patches. In the most famous of them, the Great Pacific

Garbage Patch—a vast mass of floating debris midway between Hawaii and California that

is twice the size of Texas—microplastics significantly outnumber zooplankton (Moore and

Phillips 2011:116).

Fig. 4 In the project Fishing forlitter, initiated by theorganisations Keep Sweden Tidyand Kimo Baltic Sea, fishermenare asked to surface the hidden,i.e. to bring back their garbagebycatch and put it on display—here at the Visby harbour.� Mirja Arnshav

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It is now also that accumulation of waste in the ocean is detrimental to marine and

human health (MarineBio 2012). Despite this, the idea that the oceans could be harmed by

reckless practices of solid garbage dumping has proven underappreciated (Carson

1962:viii–xiii; Moore and Phillips 2011:109–125; Roberts 2008/2007:15:16). From our

land-based reference point, quays and shorelines somewhat frame our conception of the

world, making most people blissfully aware of the mess under water. Of course, we have

all heard of marine pollution, but the term mainly connotates chemicals and intangible

substances, eutrophication and possible even microplastics. It is rarely conceived of as

solid garbage.

It was not until fairly recently that the problem of marine littering did become a hot

issue. An important milestone was the discovery of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in the

late 1990s, an observation that was followed by further garbage patch finds around the

world. Since then, a raising number of seafarers, scientists and journalists have sounded the

alarm over the invasion of garbage into the oceans (Coe and Rodgers 1997; Earle 1995;

Humes 2012:97–114; Moore and Phillips 2011). Two spectacular and ‘‘hilarious’’ con-

tainer spill incidents– the Nike shoe spill in 1990 and the loss of thousands of bath toys in

1992—contributed greatly to fuel a wider public and scientific interest in the matter

(Ebbesmeyer and Scigliano 2009; Hohn 2011). Today, ghost nets, flotsam and container

spills are examples of subjects with a high profile within the public debate as well as the

environmental science. Above all, plastic debris attracts most of the media attention

(Moore and Phillips 2011:290, se also 344–346 for an overview of research papers).

How then was the garbage selection at Visby harbor activated in order to comment on

the problem of marine pollution? In order to understand this, it is important to point out a

few general things about the agency of garbage and material culture.

Normally, we like to keep garbage at a certain distance (Scanlan 2005:157–163). As

been pointed out by John Scanlan ‘‘Garbage is everywere but, curiously, is most over-

looked in what we take to be valuable from our lived experiences…’’ (Scanlan 2005:9). Its

elusiveness is due to its character: ‘‘it is when something means nothing to you that it

becomes garbage’’ (Scanlan 2005:10). Hence, although litter is virtually always within

sight (hidden in containers, garbage cans etc.) we are culturally trained to overlook it

(Shanks et al. 2004:69–71). On a wider scale, the industrialized world invests endless

thoughts and resources into ‘‘getting rid’’ of its unwanted remains.

However, as been pointed out by Gay Hawkins, things that we do not want to see or deal

with tend to matter a great deal to us. She speaks of ‘‘the force of the hidden’’, meaning that

what has been hidden, concealed and separated still takes up a great space in our minds and

govern social relations. It lurks under the surface and demands cultural handling

Fig. 5 Chemical contaminantshave been discussed in relation tothe ocean for quite some time.Recently there has been agrowing acknowledgement of theoccurrence of solid garbage.� Mirja Arnshav

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techniques. In that way, the absent can be of importance for maintaining social order and

political authority (Hawkins 2003:40–42). Much in accordance with that, Kevin Hethe-

rington speaks about ‘‘absent presence’’, arguing that ‘‘disposal is about placing absences

and this has consequences for how we think about ‘social relations’’’ (Hetherington

2004:159, see also Buchli and Lucas 2001a; Humes 2012:98). Disposal thus is not only

about throwing things away, it is also about how we manage and are managed by the

absent. As already been touched upon, debris does have a powerful impact on society in

many ways—also mentally. Garbage that has not been correctly discarded haunts us

(Hetherington 2004; see Gordon 1997 for a reasoning on the term haunting), and so does

the thought on littered landscapes and mountains of garbage.

When suddenly bringing the unseen into light, it tends to attract even more attention.

Representing something foreign and unexpected, it may stand out as very striking. Further,

as been argued by Alfredo Gonzalez-Ruıbal and others, material culture in general often

does appear as very straightforward. Things have the capacity to evoke emotions and make

way for an instant understanding in a way that worlds are not always able to do (Burstrom

2004:21; Gonzalez-Ruıbal 2008:248–252). When broken and decayed, they might even be

greater than the whole, since a fragment (just like in the case with fragment literature,

poetry or art) stimulates a wider range of thoughts, associations and feelings, reminding us

of the complexity of the world (Burstrom 2012). Hence, material culture does hold rhe-

torical qualities (Gonzalez-Ruıbal 2008; Gustafsson Reinius 2005).

Much in accordance with what has been stated above, there are plenty of examples of

artistic installations, museum exhibitions and other campaigns, where garbage is used in

order to mediate a message (CRRA 2011, 2012; Noble and Webster 2011; Schult 2012;

Svenska kyrkan 2012; Akesson 2008:143). Marine debris too lends itself very well for

communication purposes. Scientists, journalists, museums and others has used it in order to

draw attention to the pressing environmental issue of ocean pollution (Ebbesmeyer and

Scigliano 2009; Electrolux 2012: Heyerdahl 1993; Hohn 2011; Statens maritima museer

2010; Moore and Phillips 2011; Museum fur Gestaltung 2012).

In archaeology, a prime example would be the Titanic. Considering the high density of

history at the site and the fact that it is the final resting place for more than 1500 unlucky

travelers, contemporary trash is an affront to its heritage status. However, being such a

grand icon, the Titanic offers a perfect stepping stone for attention. At a paper given in

Stockholm in 2012, James Delgado argued that one of the greatest archaeological poten-

tials of the Titanic derives from the shocking fact that the wreck site has been littered by

recent visitors (MacPherson 2012; Vergano 2012; Fig. 6):

When people see the litter they ask: ‘‘why are people throwing garbage on the

Titanic?’’ I believe the more important question is: why do people throw garbage in

the sea at all? One of the great potentials of the Titanic is that it can help us spark

discussions about this (James Delgado 2012-05-30).

It is a well known fact that the industrialized world, due to population growth in

combination with phenomenons such as mass consumption and throw away living, pro-

duces waste on a previously unimaginable scale (Strasser 1999). Archaeologists W.L

Rathje and Alfredo Gonzalez-Ruıbal has pointed to a strong correlation between garbage

and ‘‘supermodernity’’ (Ague 2008): ‘‘all that does not fit the ‘‘global modern’’ standard is

thrown away ‘‘(Rathje and Gonzalez-Ruıbal 2006:7). Designer Mike Thompson has taken

the argument one step further, suggesting that all products are garbage in waiting ‘‘..all

products are garbage, it is the perceived value of the item at that moment that puts the

12 J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25

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brakes on its procession towards the trash can’’ (Thompson 2008:3, see also Owman

2006:143–154).

Needless to say, the oceans become part of the circuit, receiving a good portion of

whatever is produced. In addition to the problem of marine pollution, solid garbage

recurrently makes its way to the ocean by means of tsunamis and earthquakes, landfills,

river outlets and city sewer systems. In fact, almost all discard will eventually reach the

sea, being the lowest place on earth. As been described by Moore:

On land, it’s sooting to think that all those bottles and wrappers, all that cheap stuff

we handle every day, winds up in a landfill, safely sequestered from polite society.

But here in mid-ocean we’re finding hordes of escapees from imperfect collection

systems… and seeing flaws in hard-to-enforce international marine pollution laws.

All this wayward plastic dreck is beginning to look like civilization’s dirty little

secret. Try as we may to control it, to hide it, to manage it – it mocks us and goes

where it doesn’t belong (Moore and Phillips 2011:84).

Today, there is a tendency within archaeology to aestheticize and romanticize modern

discard and ruins in a nostalgic manner. However, it has been argued that this fascination

with modernity in decline and ruin is a bit inapt, as it places modernity itself in the past,

making it appear inevitable and benign. An alternative approach would be to embed

modernity in the present and emphasize it as an ‘‘unfinished project’’—as something

partial, fragile and unfinished (Harrison 2011:151–152). In addition, garbage and ruins

have also been pointed out as a great source material for revealing the destructiveness of

globalization and modernity (Gonzalez-Ruıbal 2006, 2008; Jornmark 2011).

At the Visby event, the nostalgic or aesthetic gaze on garbage was conspicuously

absent. On the contrary, the garbage assemblage on show was used as a warning example

and a way of stirring up unease. By raising a selection of garbage from its hiding place on

the seafloor, a spooky feeling of ‘‘presence’’ of all marine debris was put in appearance

(compare Buchli and Lucas 2001a:171–174). In telling contrast to the frolicsome music,

the beautiful medieval city of Visby and the traditional wooden sailing ship, it clearly stood

out as something smelly, ugly, unnatural, lifeless and potentially dangerous. Figure 7

Fig. 6 Modern debris mingling with modern heritage. Plastics at the Titanic wreck site. � Institute forArchaeological Oceanography, University of Rhode Island/Office of Ocean Exploration Research, NationalOceanic and Atmospheric Administration

J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25 13

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Drawing from this, the stage was set to promote attitudes with a bearing on environmental

sustainability. Finally, this message was further reinforced by the serving of locally pro-

duced juices and delicious ecological canapes.

Hence, apart from highlighting the issue of marine pollution, a greater ideological

dimension of garbage was also being addressed. I this particular case, the garbage was

mobilized as an implicit critique against certain aspects of modernity and as a way of

propagating an environmentalist mindset.

Garbage as Material Record: The Archaeology of Us

As a science dedicated to the study of physical remains, there is a strong link between

archaeology and garbage (Johansson Herven 2006:124; Shanks et al.2004:6567; Rathje and

Murphy 2001). In contrast to history, archaeology has traditionally concerned itself with

the ordinary and the everyday.

Yet, it is not easy to pin down the ordinary and expose the nature of contemporary life.

Many times we are either too habituated to be able to question or even remember it (Rathje

and Murphy 2001:24). As been pointed out by Anthony Giddens, we will not ordinarily ask

another person why he or she engages in an activity which is conventional for the group or

culture of which that individual is a member. It might also be that we are to certain that we

already have a good picture of what is going on, or that we surrender to the notion that the

agents in question are not fully aware of the motives underpinning his or her actions

(Giddens1986:6; Harrison 2011:184). Also, our traditional archaeological methods and

Fig. 7 The character ‘‘TheWaterman’’ demonstrates a pieceof marine debris raised by diversfrom Visby harbor sea floor as ameans of drawing attention to theproblem of marine pollution.� Mirja Arnshav

14 J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25

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theoretical frameworks sometimes appear to be irrelevant and goofy when applied to

familiar conditions (Buchli and Lucas 2001b 158–168). Other challenges might be a lack

of support from colleagues and founders.

Still, for those involved in the quest, there might be plenty of thought-provoking

conclusions to be drawn. For instance, the archaeology of the contemporary past has shown

that there might be a considerable gap between what people think they do and what they

actually do (Rathje and Murphy 2001:53–78). What is more, the banal, the obvious and the

quotidian are often enough linked to wider concerns such as identity, ideology and cultural

behavior. Concealed in the monotonous round of everyday life and the quotidian material

culture is the institutional basis of modern society—capitalism, urban civilization, the rule

of law and so on.

Needless to say, garbage does form part of this unvoiced material testimony of the

contemporary. The study of garbage goes beyond the issues of production and consump-

tion. Wasting can be used to shed light on processes of classification, ordering, transfor-

mation and stigmatization. It addresses notions about purity and pollution, and it can reveal

culturally based decisions about saving or discarding, forgetting or remembering, ignoring

or resurrecting (Akesson 2005b:44).

From an archaeological point of view, engagement with garbage may be a way of

drawing attention to the overlooked aspects of everyday life, making a useful source

material for the understanding of contemporary phenomenon’s. In that regard the study of

garbage makes way for ‘the archaeology of us’.

Still, marine debris remains unrecognized within underwater archaeology. Due to the

preoccupation with shipwrecks, submerged landscapes and maritime strategies of the past

the study of the contemporary has largely been neglected. In order to stress the information

sought for within the aims of a survey, we do not put effort in documenting the actual

surface assemblages, including recent bottles, cans, plastic bags and so on. Of course, all

archaeological documentation is inevitably filtered and sanitized. But it is worth under-

lining that in consequently omitting the recent, we hamper a certain kind of research and

mediate a misrepresented picture of a ‘‘clean’’ underwater world, where debris is almost

nonexistent or at least at distant from ancient remains.

Considering this, the question arises as to what the archaeological potential of marine

debris might be? As already been touched upon, the mere praxis of marine dumping can be

understood as a widespread illusion that the sea always renews itself and that it has the

capacity of making things ‘‘disappear’’ (Patton 2007:132). But can the debris itself be

interpreted in terms of an archaeological record, reflecting certain use-and site related

contexts? In order to investigate this, I would like to discuss the case of the deposits on the

bottom of a selection of natural harbours in the Stockholm archipelago. Drawing from the

results of the Archipelago Foundation’s marine litter harvesting project Surfacing refuse

(Skargardsstiftelsen 2011a), I have looked into the material culture of five harbours, sur-

veyed during the autumn of 2011 (Skargardsstiftelsen 2011b).

Before introducing the material culture in question, let me just make some brief

comments on its spatial and historical context. During the twentieth century, as people got

more leisure time, the Swedish coast and archipelagos became popular destinations for

holidaymakers (compare Simmons 1994:47 and Sorlin 1998:271 on nature-oriented tour-

ism). Boating became common and previously unvisited islands and skerries were sud-

denly frequented (thanks to allemansratten). Waste follows in human tracks, and soon the

‘‘Wilderness’’ (Simmons 1994:153–162) or Nature with a capital n (Sorlin 1998:271) was

becoming littered (Fig. 8).

J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25 15

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If they ever were, it is perfectly clear from the litter harvesting project that the bottoms

of the harbours do not qualify as virgin nature any more. In total about 5,150 square meters

were surveyed by three divers within a total of 5 days. The result left no room for doubt.

Although the sites have been previously cleaned up in 2001–2004, and although the survey

confined itself to brief visual inspection, without any claims to detect and recuperate all

existing objects, hundreds of recent items, deriving from the holiday-makers, was raised.

The record thus supports an average existence of one superficial find every five square

meters (beyond that we must expect a large number of unrecorded artefacts). It is also

worth noting that the only a minor part of the anchorages was surveyed (Skargardsstiftelsen

2011b, c; Figs. 9, 10, 11, 12, 13).

Not surprisingly, the material culture accumulated on the sea floor reflects the life style

and habits associated with boating. There are grapnels, ropes and other sailing gear, plastic

plates and cups decorated with nautic motifs, snorkeling equipment, fishlines and

clothespins for hanging clothes and towels to dry by the lifelines. A great deal of the

findings derives from eating and drinking, reflecting the characteristics of the boating

cuisine (Skargardsstiftelsen 2011b, c). For example, an increasing amount of instant bbq

grills has been raised in recent years. The record also holds a remarkably number of tin

cans of soused herring—a traditional Swedish dish which goes with beer and snaps and

which strongly connotates holidays, summertime and life by the sea. As regards beverage,

beer cans and glass bottles are found all around the harbor sea floor (Skargardsstiftelsen

2011b, c; Figs. 14, 15).

It is notable that the material record of the natural harbours differs from the general

pattern of marine debris. While the latter predominately comprises plastics (Moore and

Phillips 2011), the by far most common material in the surveyed harbours is glass and

Fig. 8 Map showing thedistribution of popular boatingharbours in the Stockholmarchipelago. The yellow dotsmarks the ones surveyed for litterin 2011. � Mirja Arnshav (Colorfigure online)

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metals (Skargardsstiftelsen 2011b). This disparity cannot simply be explained in terms of

different site formation contexts. As suggested above, the record reflects the existence of

site specific activities and consumption patterns. But apart from that, it also indicates

certain tendencies as regards waste disposal.

Fig. 9 The boating harbour ofKoxviken. The crosshatchedareas were surveyed inNovember 2011. (you mightwitch to group the followingharbours?) � Mirja Arnshav

Fig. 10 Osterviken

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As been pointed out by Nicky Gregson and others, getting rid of waste is a practice that

involves a number of decisions, and there are alternative channels for waste disposal

(Gregson 2007; Gregson and Crewe 2003; Hetherington 2003). In the archipelago, some

Fig. 11 Trasko-Storo

Fig. 12 Morkviken

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waste may be provided to sea birds, some may taken to local disposal facilities and some

might be stowed away in the boat for future sorting. The sea enables yet another strategy

for waste disposal.

Looking back, small scale marine dumping has a long tradition among people living by

the sea. During the winter, unwieldy junk like scrap stoves and cars was often dragged out

on the ice where it was left to sink at the break-up of the ice. My mother in law has told me

Fig. 13 Sack

Fig. 14 Artifacts, sorted by categories, collected from five natural harbours within the project SurfacingRefuse in November 2011. � Mirja Arnshav

J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25 19

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that as a child, it was her task to row out to the sailing route to sink the family’s household

waste. In response to the breakthrough of boating in the 1960s, public television instructed

people to collect their garbage in a bag or a carton, add a stone into it and dump it in the

water (Sveriges television 1964).

Today, disposal facilities are fairly common at the most popular islands, and the habit of

marine dumping of household garbage has been strongly reduced. Still, present day tourist

boaters occasionally take advantage of the sea for waste disposal purposes, imposing

different kinds of garbage on it. Remembering that there are several options for handling

refuse available, it is interesting to discuss how the possibility of marine dumping is taken

into practice. What kind of boating-derived garbage is deliberately dumped into the sea?

Let me first point put that many of the finds collected from the natural harbours can be

assumed to have been dropped accidentally. Still, I argue that this is not always the case.

For example, the great amount of tin cans and bottles suggests that they are examples of

items that people are comparatively keen on dumping into the sea (the same probably goes

for organic waste, which however soon decomposes). The reasons for this are most likely

related to practical considerations. First of all, space on board boats is strongly limited, and

the sea lends itself very well for conjuring away all sinkable garbage. Also, bbq grills and

tin cans of soused herring are both messy and smelly, which makes it unpleasant to keep

them on board.

As regards the bottles, they are neither particularly smelly nor messy. More likely, the

majority of them—and they are truly numerous, approximately two thirds of the items

raised (Skargardsstiftelsen 2011b, c)—have found their way into the sea just for the fun of

it. In contrast to plastics packages and the like, they are very good projectiles, making a

clear splash. Childish and spontaneous as it might there is a certain pleasure associated

with such an act. As has been stated by Donovan Hohn, commenting a situation when

oceanographers were throwing message in a bottle, hoping to learn about ocean currents:

There0s something irresistible about throwing bottles into the ocean. You take the

bottle by the neck and send it flying tomahawk-style, and it flies, end over end,

there0s a faint whistle, and it catches the light and describes an exuberant arc through

the sky, an arc that ends in a sad little splash (Hohn 2011:341).

In comparison, one might also mention Tim Edensor’s observation that derelict spaces

are used for playful but generally improper hands-on engagement with things:

Fig. 15 Reminiscence of a traditional Swedish summer dish. Tin cans of soused herring and beer cansdominates the metal artifacts raised from the surveyed holiday boating sites. � Mirja Arnshav

20 J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25

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Overturning stable objects, tumbling things downstairs or dropping them down lift

shafts, spilling out lubricants or piercing water tanks so that liquids course down the

storeys of the building; all are pleasurable activities which are usually forbidden but

allow a spectacular engagement with the materiality of the world. There are rarley

any windows in a ruin which remain intact and this testifies to the universal

enjoyment of shattering glass by throwing projectiles, the gratification of the shat-

tering sound and the pleasure spraying out of the formerly whole material (Edensor

2009:27–28).

Summing up, holiday life and boating has left a material footprint on the bottom of the

natural harbours. Thanks to the knowledge of the site context (just like the case of spoil

heaps along the shipping lanes (Ferrini and Flood 2001; Flood and Tornqvist 2010; Lewis

et al. 2000), the material record is well suited for archaeological interpretation. It opens for

a number of insights many of which would be difficult to reach by means of other sources.

Towards a Maritime Garbology

In this paper I have tried to tie together garbage studies (including garbology), archaeology

of the contemporary past and maritime archaeology in order to chisel out a space for

research that involves marine debris. Although I have just scratched the surface of such a

study area, I claim maritime garbology to be not just a possible but also a relevant and

meaningful field of research.

The examples processed briefly in this paper points towards a number of conclusions.

Marine dumping stands out as a long term maritime structure and an unregulated waste

disposal practice, existing off the record and beyond the focus of most garbage scholars. It

ranges from habitual actions like cargo sweeping to the spontaneous acts of everyday

people. The discussion on marine dumping and the underpinnings of the strategy implies a

widespread human illusion; namely that the sea can ‘‘take it’’, that it can make our discard

‘‘disappear’’.

Obviously, ‘‘thrown away’’ is nothing but a chimera: there is no ‘‘away’’. As is clear

from the evidence from the Swedish natural harbours, praised for their high natural values,

modern debris is all over the place (under the surface that is). On the basis of this record,

revealing several aspects of boating lifestyle, it is suggested that marine debris with a

known context may be a useful archaeological record for grasping practices and every-day

actions associated with the site.

As illustrated in the section on the environmentalist event at Visby, marine debris raised

from obscurity and oblivion may also be turned into powerful symbols and actants. As such

it enables tangible symbol communication and affects our feelings, thoughts and actions.

Within this context, its ‘‘archaeological’’ qualities of ruination, abandonment and (nor-

mally) invisibility are significant, forming the basis for a telling effect.

Overall, the cases discussed in the paper all suggest that the study of marine debris as

material culture opens for a number of discussions as regards entanglement with the sea

and humanity’s relation to garbage. It has the potential of recapturing a hidden part of our

social history and everyday life of today. In particular, it seems to underline the existence

of an ‘‘out of sight, out of mind’’ mentality and point to a certain discord between the

mental seascape and the real one.

However, studies of marine debris must not necessarily be not interpretative in the sense

archaeology usually tackles a record. For example, the seafloor—where modern debris

J Mari Arch (2014) 9:1–25 21

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intermingles with ancient remains—does not match the common modernist trope of depth

in archaeology (archaeology-as-excavation), and the associated notions of the past as being

buried, closed, distant and alienated from the present (Harrison 2011; Latour 1993; Tho-

mas 2004:27–29). Considering that such notions probably have had a restraining effect on

the archaeology of the recent past, the seafloor should make a perfect laboratory for

reorientation and testing of alternative approaches (i.e. Harrison 2011).

Another benefit of a maritime garbology is its potential to add to the understanding of the

nested relationship between nature and culture, and illustrate how environmental humanities

can contribute to the challenges of our time. It clearly shows that although the sea may appear

as a non articulated territory and one of the last wildernesses, reality is quite different.

The importance of studying of marine garbage may stretch beyond an archaeological

concern with artefacts. In the end, containers and solid garbage may not only be a hazard to

marine life—it also changes the conditions for it. Forming artificial reefs it may have a

good impact on biodiversity. Along shipping lanes it may also create stepping stones of

hard substratum across muddy expansive seascapes, allowing alien species—environ-

mental harmful as well as beneficial—to move from one area to another (Haifley 2011).

In the Anthroposcene, the deeper causes of environmental change are to be found in culture

and in our everyday practices. A maritime garbology should be well suited to counterbalance

and complement the dominant natural science discourse on environmental change and sus-

tainability (compare Robin 2011, 2006; Robin and Steffen 2007; Sorlin 2012).

In addition, marine debris is also well placed for shading light on matters swept under

the carpet, and might be used as a stepping stone for addressing burning issues. As clear

from this study, there is a political dimension of garbage. Such entanglement is not

unfamiliar to the archaeology of the contemporary past. On the contrary, it has been argued

that political commitment lies at the heart of the archaeology of the contemporary

(Gonzalez-Ruıbal 2008:259–261). As been stated by the famous Garbage Project, com-

menting on the political environmentalist discourse as suffering from a general lack of

understanding and serious misconceptions on the garbage situation:

The most critical part of the garbage problem in America is that our notions about the

creation and disposal of garbage are often riddled with myth. There are few other

subjects of public significance on which popular and official opinion is so consis-

tently misinformed. (Rathje and Murphy 2001:28).

This quotation surly applies to marine conditions too. As regards garbage, ‘‘The silent

world’’ still has its secrets. A maritime garbology has the potential to investigate a range of

matters—from the pleasure associated with a splash to the destructiveness of modernity.

Acknowledgments First of all I want to thank the editor and three anonymous reviewers for their con-structive comments, which helped improve the manuscript. I also want to thank professor Mats Burstrom,Stockholm University, professor Libby Robin, Royal Institute of Technology and archaeologist NiklasEriksson, Sodertorn University, for support and comments on the draft. Finally I wish to thank Dr. JamesDelgado, Deep Sea Production, scuba diver Christian Skauge, archaeologist Jens Lindstrom and CeciliaWibjorn, project leader of Surfacing Refuse at The Archipelago Foundation, for sharing pictures andvaluable information.

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