Shannon Tushingham

From a young age, I was always really interested in exploring the world and other cultures, which sparked my interest in anthropology. Some of that stemmed from familial and childhood experiences: My mom used to take me to the library, museums, and the science center, and I was inspired by watching environmentalists like Jacques Cousteau, Jane Goodall, and David Attenborough on National Geographic and BBC. And as silly as it sounds, I’m Canadian, and navigating the culture shock of moving to America and changing schools multiple times when I was a kid forced me to recalibrate everything and change how I navigated the world.

Though I’ve always been interested in people and culture, I prefer to call myself an anthropological archaeologist. One of the first things that hooked me was going to my first archaeological field school, experiencing the joy of discovery which cuts across a lot of the sciences, whether it’s describing a new species, unearthing an artifact, or exposing new truths about people. That’s the main thing that draws me to my fields, since it helps us learn about people, and particularly those whose voices have historically not been heard.

It’s really important to me that we don’t treat archaeology like it’s only the study of the past, particularly when it comes to Indigenous peoples and cultures. Many might assume this field is just digging up objects from thousands of years ago, but I’m also interested in connecting those historical, deep-time narratives to living communities and people today.

Though many universities unfortunately do not connect the past to the present in archaeological research, I was lucky to have theoretical and field training in both cultural anthropology—reading ethnographies and working with living communities—and archaeology, conducting excavations, surveys, LiDAR scanning, and other non-invasive methodologies. It’s confusing for a lot of people that archaeology and anthropology are, in fact, incredibly complimentary fields and that both rely extensively on collections use and management.

It’s been interesting coming to a natural history museum, seeing the way we organize and categorize the world in such stark, siloed terms. For our collections, it’s by taxonomy—ichthyology, ornithology, entomology and others—which makes complete sense from a Western science perspective. But there are so many other ways of describing and organizing the world around us that have been introduced by other approaches to science, history, and archaeology. We call this multivocality, which encourages us to recognize numerous narratives or parallel discourses simultaneously.

Here’s an example: I have been trained as an evolutionary anthropologist, which is a field based on Darwin’s theory of evolution. That theory is a useful framework for understanding long-term patterns of cultural change and human decision-making through principles analogous to natural selection, creating some sort of common theoretical ground.

Multivocality comes in to ask us, ‘Well, how else can we look at human autonomy, evolution, and behavior?’ To me, that’s representative of good science: Asking questions and seeing where new frameworks will lead us. Some will criticize this expansive view, but opening up our minds to diverse ways of thinking can lead us to exciting new realms of research, often which include the perspectives and contributions of women, people of color, and folks often not represented in historical narratives.

Yes, my path was pretty weird because I worked in cultural resource management before going back to get my master’s. I have a lot of field experience as a result, which continued into my dissertation research in the homelands of the Tolowa people on the Smith River up in Del Norte County. While studying nearby ancestral sites in Jedediah Smith State Park, the local Tribes monitored my research, advising me through my project. At the time, I didn’t realize how unique my project was, since no substantial archaeological work had been done for a very long time in that region.

Eventually, the Elk Valley Rancheria invited me to be their Tribal Historic Preservation Officer (THPO) while I was writing my dissertation. THPOs take on the responsibilities of state historic preservation officers, overseeing any management projects that impact anthropological, archaeological, cultural, or historical resources in the tribal organizations they’re placed in. As a THPO, I learned all these things you never learned about in school: the true scale and generational impact of the U.S. government’s genocide on California Natives; the many programs tribes have going on, beyond archaeological resources alone; the historical and ongoing effects of land dispossession, habitat degradation, and restricted access to natural resources on Indigenous tribes; and the interlinking ties among natural resources, archaeological sites, and people’s relationships to the two.

While a THPO, I learned about the many natural resource management and food programs that Tribes run to feed their communities and, in particular, their elders. It sparked an “aha!” moment for me: Finding fish remains in different archaeological sites near the Smith River confirmed the Tolowa people's long history with these fish—and connected my anthropological experiences in the present with the archaeological field work I had done for my research.

Today, I am still pursuing research on food sovereignty, natural and cultural resource stewardship practices (like cultural fire and aquaculture), and similar topics that marry past archaeological research with what’s going on today. By using both archaeological research and anthropological practice, I want my work to show the continuity of Native peoples and their caretaking of the oceans, forests, and other landscapes. This is not only important in an academic sense, but can teach us even more about managing coastal landscapes, restoring nature, and supporting tribes at the same time.

Right now, I’m prioritizing rebuilding the Academy’s relationships with Indigenous communities across the state to better integrate Western and Indigenous science in our work. When I work with tribal partners, I’m not going to tell them anything new about their culture that they don’t already know, but I see my position as a bridge connecting their work to our natural history resources, storytelling capabilities, and more. This perspective, or “two-eyed seeing,” is critical to our mission. So as much as I’m eager to bridge new external connections, I also want to bring more Indigenous people to the Academy as researchers, educators, students, liaisons, and communicators. Already, we’ve hosted an inaugural convening of Western and Indigenous scientists to discuss ways we could apply our collective knowledge and specialties to address climate change.

I want people to not just witness the objects in our amazing collections—such as our baskets and other animal specimens—but to grasp their cultural and ecological niches that give them meaning. This speaks to an evolutionary concept called niche construction, or the process by which organisms alter their local environments. Because there are so few places that haven’t been touched by human beings in some way, I think demonstrating those connections through our collections would surprise and intrigue many people.

I would just say to stay curious, have fun, and to never let people quash your passion no matter how nerdy or niche it is. I encourage my students to not be afraid to speak up, which it seems the younger generation is more willing to do. Find meaning and purpose in your work that goes beyond your own ego, helps others, and uplifts the communities you engage with.

If you want to pursue a career in academia, never forget that you are a valuable commodity and are worth your place in whatever institution you join. Even the most senior people in academia experience impostor syndrome, so don’t forget to check in, take care of yourself, foster your network of friends, mentors, and colleagues, and join a graduate program that will support you.

Some highlights include excavating in the Dordogne Valley in southwest France, where I found a Mousterian (Neanderthal) hand ax, which was killer. I also enjoyed working on the Smith River [in Del Norte County] and excavating plank houses in that area, and last summer, I helped excavate 5,000-year-old earth ovens with Kalispel tribal members in Washington State.

I absolutely adore being in the field and have run a lot of field schools in my career, so anywhere I get to teach students archaeological practice and work outside is fun for me. And I specifically love the experience after a long day of field work, when you can sit around a campfire and just talk to others, discuss what you found, and think about what it means.