Of Clues and Signs: the Dead Body and Its Evidential Traces

Z O Ë C R O S S L A N D Of Clues and Signs: The Dead Body and Its Evidential Traces ABSTRACT Taking the conflict over the remains of Ned Kelly as a starting point, in this article I trace the various conceptions of the, body as evidence within the intertwined histories of anthropology, criminology, and medicine to explore how anthropological practice brings the dead into being through exhumation and analysis. I outline the popular rhetorical tropes within which evidentiary claims are situated, exploring how the agency of people after death is understood within the framework of present-day forensic anthropological practice and how this is underwritten by a particular heritage of anatomical analysis. [Keywords: archaeology, forensic anthropology, materiality, semiotics of the body] O N DECEMBER 6, 1998, a newspaper article appeared in the Melbourne Herald Sun with the headline “I’ve Got Ned’s Head” (Ballantine 1998). The skull of Ned Kelly had apparently been found, 20 years after its disappearance from the Old Melbourne Gaol. Below the headline was a photograph taken in 1969 (see Figure 1). It showed a curator of the Australian Institute of Anatomy holding a skull in one hand and in the other, seemingly closing its eyes against the horror of its own mortality, Ned Kelly’s death mask. Joining the curator as he looks down at the heads cradled in his arms, one’s gaze falters for a moment at the uncanny image, moving between the heads, unsure which one to settle on: Which is the real Ned Kelly? The case of the missing body parts of the 19th-century Australian bushranger Ned Kelly illustrates the beliefs about the body that are drawn on and remade in the exhumation of human remains. Kelly’s remains provide a starting point for understanding how anthropological practice produces the dead body, illustrating the intertwined histories of criminology, anthropology, and medicine and the evidentiary heritage that anthropology carries with it today. The interpretation of human remains as evidence is a complex and powerful sign relation, incorporating a range of interpretive possibilities that are rarely disarticulated. In this article, I aim to tease apart some of the different understandings of the body as evidence, exploring the various modes within which the dead body is deployed as evidence and asking after the sources of its evidential authority. The history of Kelly’s remains acts to situate anthropological approaches to human remains in the anatomical practices of the 19th century. Tracing these practices, I look briefly at the different ways in which the body has been understood as evidence before exploring the rhetorical trope of the “body as evidence” within forensic anthropological practice and interrogating the ways in which this is understood to be tied indissolubly to the body’s materiality and object status. Probably most well-known outside Australia from Peter Carey’s novel The True History of the Kelly Gang (2001) and popular films (e.g., Gordon 2003), Kelly is an iconic figure in Australia, where his memory is drawn on, not uncontroversially, in narratives of Australian identity and history (Seal 1996). Born in 1854 into a poor Irish family in Victoria, his life was a catalog of gradually escalating trouble with the police and institutionalized authority. He lived an apparently lawless and violent bushranger life and was captured by police after a gunfight and siege at Glenrowan, Victoria. After his arrest and trial, he was executed at the Melbourne gaol on November 11, 1880, despite popular petitions for a reprieve (McQuilton 1979:173–175). Today Kelly remains a contentious figure. Some see him as a folk hero and symbol of “the Australian rebellious character,” as the Australian tourism minister explained in 2001 (Burstin 2001), whereas others view him as a vagabond and a criminal, rejecting his incorporation into mythologies of national identity.1 The battle to lay claim to Kelly’s remains dates back to the day he was hanged and his body appropriated for dissection and display. After execution his head was shaved and a mould taken for a death mask (as shown in Figure 1). A cast was placed on display in Kreitmayer’s waxworks the next C 2009 by the American Anthropological Association. AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST, Vol. 111, Issue 1, pp. 69–80, ISSN 0002-7294 online ISSN 1548-1433.  All rights reserved. DOI: 10.1111/j.1548-1433.2009.01078.x 70 American Anthropologist • Vol. 111, No. 1 • March 2009 FIGURE 1. Photograph of Mr. William Stone, curator at the Australian Institute of Anatomy, Canberra, holding the skull and death mask of Ned Kelly. The handwritten label names the curator as “Mr. Bob Stone,” adding another layer of ambiguity to the image. (Photo credit: http://www.newspix.com.au.) day (Melbourne Herald 1880; Jones 2007:6–11). The death mask would be the basis for a phrenological study published in the Melbourne Herald just a few days later (Hamilton 1880; Wilson 2002:56). After the dissection, Kelly’s skull was apparently removed and retained, and the rest of his body was buried in the prison yard of the Melbourne gaol (Jones 1995:324). The fate of his skull is obscure. Both its history and the competing claims to it exemplify common debates over human remains in the anthropological literature, highlighting questions of control, ownership, and display (e.g., Fforde et al. 2002). Although the most familiar and controversial examples of 19th- and 20th-century postmortem intervention involve the bodies of indigenous people such as Ishi (see chapters in Kroeber and Kroeber 2003) and Saartjie Baartman (Holmes 2007), bodily dissection was something that was commonly performed on any body understood to be socially marginal, particularly criminals and the poor (Humphrey 1973; Richardson 1987; Sappol 2002; cf. Blakely and Harrington 1997). Human dissection and display were intimately involved in the emergence of anthropology as a discipline, with the focus on the dead body acting as a point of commonality between antiquarian, ethnological, and physiological interests. The skull shown in Figure 1 was acquired by the Australian National Trust in 1973 and placed on display next to Kelly’s death mask in the Melbourne gaol (now a museum), before disappearing mysteriously in 1978 (Australian Broadcasting Corporation 2002). Yet this may not have been the skull separated from Kelly’s body at the time of his dissection. In 1929, bodies buried in the yard of the Old Melbourne Gaol were disinterred during building works and reburied at Pentridge Prison. At that time, a grave thought to be Kelly’s was identified. In an echo of the partition and distribution of Kelly’s body at the time of his death, the Herald reported that “morbid souvenir-hunters” picked over the remains and removed many of the teeth and other elements (Melbourne Herald 1929). The skull held by the Old Melbourne Gaol and shown in Figure 1 may have come from this grave. It displayed no evidence of craniotomy, suggesting that it had not undergone postmortem dissection and may not have been Kelly’s.2 After its disappearance from the Melbourne gaol in 1978, the location of the putative Kelly skull was unknown until the late 1990s, when a local farmer, Tom Baxter, claimed to have it in his possession. Baxter refused to return the skull on the grounds that it should not have been on display and should be reburied in consecrated ground with the rest of Kelly’s bones (Melbourne Herald Sun 2001), although these remain to be identified. Recent archaeological excavations at Pentridge have located mass graves containing reburied prisoner remains from the Melbourne gaol, but any identification of Kelly’s remains will probably have to be carried out through DNA analysis (Conversation with Jeremy Smith, Heritage Victoria, June 15, 2008).3 Despite the expense, the great interest in Kelly makes this a possibility. These histories give us two skulls that were removed from Kelly’s body: one reported at the time of his death in 1880 and another from a grave assumed to be his in 1929. Yet, the location of neither his head nor his body are securely known. The possibilities are exhaustively analyzed and discussed on the Internet at sites like bailup.com and ironoutlaw.com, which are dedicated to the history of Kelly.4 The investment in the recovery of Kelly’s body parts illustrates the conflicting needs for the public testimony of the body, whether as a display element of the Old Melbourne Gaol museum or as falling under the jurisdiction of the state (as the skull of an executed criminal).5 These claims may be contrasted with the perceived need for the body to be reassembled for burial and the demand to treat the skull as person-like and to hand over remains to those who claim familial descent. In this case, Baxter, self-appointed guardian of the skull, states that living descendants are those with the only proper claim to the body, in this way bringing the body into being as a person within a network of social relations. To reconcile these conflicting needs, a proposal was put forward by the National Trust (official custodian of Kelly’s skull) whereby if Baxter agreed to hand the skull over for reburial, the authorities would relinquish their claim on condition that they could first authenticate the skull though forensic and genetic analysis (Kelly 2002). This bargaining illustrates the way that the Crossland • The Dead Body’s Evidential Traces dead body moves seamlessly from being viewed as person to property to evidence. Battles over the Kelly gang’s bodies are not limited to Kelly’s skull. In 2002, controversy arose over claims that attempts had been made by a Kelly enthusiast to access the graves of Kelly associates and relatives. There were reports that the body of Joseph Byrne had been exhumed at night and that “[m]etal probes may have been sunk” into the graves of Kelly’s mother and brother Dan (Ballantine 2002). More recently, an Australian councilor from Queensland asked coroners to exhume the bodies and to run DNA tests to establish whether or not members of the gang survived the siege at Glenrowan (BBC News 2005). What is at stake in these competing claims over the history and memory of Kelly and his gang is the definition of these criminal bodies as objects to be sampled and analyzed in the service of national history. This can be contrasted with the commemoration of the same bodies as family and as individuals by descendants and also by other Kelly enthusiasts, who attempt to maintain bodily integrity by protecting the graves and restricting access to them (Ballantine 2002). Whether or not the probes were sunk, the claims reveal the source of conflict: the probing search for evidence to substantiate national myths on bodies that are remembered individuals as well as controversial folk heroes. 71 lation of part to whole, or effect to cause; this meant that it operated within the rhetorical trope of metonymy, to the exclusion of metaphor (Ginzburg 1989:103). In identifying this distinction, he draws in part on the semeiotic of the late-19th-century philosopher Charles Sanders Peirce.6 Peirce’s discussion of the different grounds of signification is particularly useful for disarticulating the evidential constitution of human remains, and I will return to it below. I will start, however, with a sketch of the background to the late-19th-century evidential paradigm, making an attempt to disentangle some of the ways in which the body is understood to act as evidence. In this article, four different evidentiary conceptions of the body are identified, as follows: (1) the reading of bodily symptoms to diagnose interior states and faculties; (2) the body as evidence of individual identity—that is, as identical with the person who is understood to inhabit it; (3) the body as evidence of the past, including as symbol of nation, ethnicity or other larger group, identity, or position; and (4) the body as evidence of crime. As will be shown below, the anthropological study of the dead body draws on all of these conceptions. Although some elements are rarely expressed explicitly today, they remain with us and are revealed in the rhetorical tropes that are deployed to describe the dead body’s evidential power. REVEALING EVIDENCE Kelly’s dissection and the reading of his skull and death mask in 1880 were consistent with a contemporary focus on the body’s signs, particularly on their ability to provide tangible evidence of otherwise invisible processes and events. Carlo Ginzburg (1989) has noted that this concern was expressed across a range of fields in the late 19th century including anthropology and medicine, was popularly rendered in detective literature (see Sebeok and Umiker-Sebeok 1983), and informed the development of Freudian psychoanalysis. This he identifies as the emergence of an “evidential paradigm,” which had at its heart the reading of seemingly insignificant signs and clues in the construction of narratives about the otherwise unobservable. This search for evidential signs developed over the course of the 19th century as part of a more general interest in ways of knowing that were tied to the world of observed phenomena. The impulse to use object-signs to find out about things that would otherwise be hidden can be seen in the changing evidentiary practices in mid-19th-century courtrooms, into which photographs and other objects, including human remains, began to be admitted as evidence (Mnookin 1998). An interest in the forensic role of human remains was evident from at least the mid–19th century when medical faculty from Harvard gave evidence in the notorious Parkman murder case (Schama 1991); further, in 1897, the newly established discipline of anthropology provided its first expert witness in the form of a curator from the Chicago Field Museum, who testified in the Luetgert murder case (Stewart 1978). Ginzburg observes that the evidential focus was on the re- THE BODY’S SIGNS AND SYMPTOMS Ginzburg identifies the medical semiotics of the body as providing a model for the evidential paradigm (1989:118). As Michel Foucault described in The Birth of the Clinic (1973), the changing inferential practices of physicians at the end of the 18th century were involved in an interpretive shift in which disease came to be understood as both constituted by and knowable through its symptoms, no longer a mysterious essence concealed opaquely behind them. In Foucault’s account, the dead body became a privileged site for understanding and knowing the living (1973:145–146), enabling the reformulation of the relationship of visible to invisible. The specialized clinical gaze extended the indexicality of bodily symptoms so that they could speak of the body’s hidden depths and its transformations, locating disease both in the body and in the flow of time (1973:90–94). The shift that Foucault identified in the understanding of late-18th-century nosology would underwrite a range of empiricist and positivist approaches to the body through the course of the 19th century, including their anthropological manifestations (Stocking 1987:323– 324). The symptom-sign took its strength and its truth from its material reality, from its location in the empirically observable changes of the body, paradoxically allowing the perception of the hidden and invisible through the most tangible and corporeal of sources. The metonymic (or indexical) sign was, therefore, fundamental to the evidentiary paradigm because through physical relation it simultaneously told of its object and constituted it. The body not 72 American Anthropologist • Vol. 111, No. 1 • March 2009 only provided evidence but also, for those trained to read it, testified truthfully, because to observe the body was to observe a part of the thing studied. The pervasive concern with the anatomized body in the late 18th and early 19th centuries has been well documented (e.g., Richardson 1987; Sappol 2002). Although bodies had been dissected for centuries, the numbers of dissections increased from the end of the 18th century as, throughout the English-speaking world, numerous cadavers were covertly exhumed or stolen to fulfill the needs of teaching hospitals and private medical schools (Richardson 1987:54–66)7 . It is surely no coincidence that an antiquarian interest in the preserved bodies found in church crypts also peaked at this period (Celoria 1966:162), contemporaneous with the emergence of archaeology as a field of study at a time when increasing numbers of ancient burials were being exhumed (Marsden 1974; also Highet 2005).8 An analytical focus on conceptions of bodily evidence therefore works to situate the human body as a common node in a variety of different disciplinary histories. For example, traditional narratives of archaeology’s coming into being usually foreground key elements in the formation of the discipline, such as James Hutton and Charles Lyell’s formulation of the uniformitarian nature of geological processes and the growing interest in the chronological ordering and context of artifacts reflected in the work of individuals such as Christian Thomsen (e.g., Trigger 1989:73–109). It is clear, however, that these advances took place within a wider context in which people were concerned with the interpretation of signs that could tell about otherwise unobservable events and processes, a concern that seems to have been closely tied to the anatomizing impulse, as will be discussed below. That the boundaries between what would now be identified as archaeology, biological and sociocultural anthropology, medicine, forensics, and criminology were not clearly defined can be seen in the pages of contemporary journals. The archaeological research of anatomists such as Robert Knox (probably best known for his connection to the notorious Burke and Hare) and Samuel Morton, author of Crania Americana (1839), illustrate the close linkage between the developing science of archaeology and the anatomical and anthropological study of human remains, in particular human crania (see MacDonald 2005; Turnbull 2001). Equally, early- to mid-19th-century “ethnological” writings advocated the integration of disparate fields, including history, the biological sciences, archaeology, folklore, and philology (Cull 1854; Prichard 1848; Stocking 1973:xxxiii–xxxvi). By the early 20th century, when the distinctions between subdisciplines were emerging more clearly, a general focus on race and its bodily signs united the anthropological field, without differences over how these signs should be interpreted falling predictably along subdisciplinary lines (Marks 2008). Starting at the beginning of the 19th century, the ability of bodily symptoms to both reveal the body’s occluded depths and to themselves constitute the object of study was extended by proponents of phrenology (Di Giustino 1975:3), who studied the heads of individuals, both living and dead, to find clues to their moral and intellectual propensities. Criticized for its apparently materialist and mechanistic orientation (Cooter 1984:5), phrenology expounded a positivist scientific attitude, popularizing the empirical study of objective facts, and the neutral position of the scientific observer (Cooter 1984:72–80). Phrenological approaches were intimately involved with the development of anthropology as a field (Cooter 1984:7; Erickson 1977; also see Hunt 1867; Morton 1839), and although phrenology wielded less academic clout after mid-century, its influence persisted, most notably in the development of “criminal anthropology” by Cesare Lombroso toward the end of the century (Gibson 2002:20).9 Lombroso’s approach sustained a broadly materialist conception of mind and body and continued to espouse a positivism defined by its appeal to factual data located primarily (although not exclusively) in the body (Rafter 1997:125). The reading of bodily signs focused especially on the head for the entire 19th century (Hoyme 1953) in the search for corporeal traces of intangible mental faculties.10 EVIDENCE OF IDENTITY Lombroso’s search for the physiognomic signs of criminality emerged in a context of increased concerns about identifying and documenting colonial subjects, the socially marginal, and recidivist criminals (e.g., see Kaluszynski 2001; also Hamilton 1880 in relation to Ned Kelly). Evidence of criminality was therefore tied together with efforts by police and others to track individual identity through distinguishing marks (Cole 2001:3; Sekula 1986). Ginzburg situates this interest within a long venatic tradition of tracking (1989), although the late-19th-century goal was to tie the signs of the body indissolubly to one particular individual identity (cf. Foucault 1973:171–172). The expert gaze that was needed to record these signs was increasingly institutionalized and refined over the course of the late 19th century (Becker 2001). In Britain, the anthropologist and eugenicist Francis Galton developed fingerprinting techniques to this end, building on practices developed in India by the colonial administrator William Herschel. Contemporaneously, in France Alphonse Bertillon created an anthropometric and photographic system of identification in an attempt to prevent criminal recidivism (Cole 2001; Sekula 1986). This, too, had its precedents in similar, although less systematic attempts earlier in the century (Becker 2001). As Allan Sekula has remarked, the growing concern with the regulation and definition of criminal bodies in the 19th century led to a move toward increasingly careful classification and archiving of photographic information to “arrest” and “capture” the criminal photographically (1986).11 The 19th-century incorporation of the then-new technology of photography into the project of documenting Crossland • The Dead Body’s Evidential Traces and controlling criminal bodies rested at first on the power of the “mute testimony” of the photograph as a clear representation, univocal and seemingly without ambiguity (Sekula 1986:5–6). Unlike the medicalized reading of the body’s symptoms, the photograph operates more obviously along both metaphoric and metonymic axes. To use C. S. Peirce’s terminology (see, e.g., Buchler 1955:98– 119), cameras, like paintings, represent the criminal iconically, creating an image that reproduces the photographed body in another form. In contrast to a painting, however, the camera’s image is more clearly indexical in that it is directly produced between photographed body and film, apparently unmediated by human thought or action. Peirce notes that an iconic representation can tell us nothing about the existence of the thing it represents; it is in a relation of similarity but is not directly affected by it. An indexical representation, in contrast, does not describe the thing it represents (its “object”) but does have to be in some sort of existing relationship with it (e.g., Hartshorne and Weiss 1933:447–448). This makes photographs very powerful objects, partaking of the mimetic faculty described by Michael Taussig (1993) in which likeness is doubly constituted both through similarity and through relation. Like the two forms of sympathetic magic recognized by James Frazer (1900:9–61), photographs are imitative and contagious (in that they are both similar and physically linked to the thing they represent). In their reproduction of the people they portray, photographs appear to capture something of the person him or herself, giving those who photograph some power over the subjects they seize within the lens (cf. Gell 1998:103). In all these respects, photographs and corpses work within a similar semiotic field, one that privileges their ability to make an absent person immediately present to the senses and, in so doing, to both allow one to act on a person and to feel them acting on oneself (also see discussion of the signs of the dead in Cashell 2007). Like photographs, the dead body is both iconic and indexical in its relationship to its perceived object of reference (the person as they were in life) and is also drawn on in its description and definition. Like photographs, the dead body has a mimetic power, “uncanny,” as Sigmund Freud would describe it (Strachey 1955:226), in the ways it is simultaneously “like us” and “not us,” sometimes provoking doubts over its status and its power to act (see also Buchli and Lucas 2001; Moshenska 2006). In an essay from an exhibit on photographic evidence, Mark Haworth-Booth observes that photographs give one “license . . . to stare fixedly and unselfconsciously at something” (1997:39); the dead body elicits a similar reaction. Dean Wilson reports the “entranced gaze” of museum visitors who encounter the death mask of Ned Kelly (2002:51). Certainly, like photographs, both death masks and dead bodies allow us to stare, unblinking, at an image of another person, which has this magical capacity to be simultaneously like the person and physically linked to the person (cf. Laqueur 2002:79). 73 Discussing the world of print photography, Roland Barthes observed that photographs may be thought of as absolute particulars—as ungeneralized encounters with the immediate and the “real”—noting that in its specificity and particularity a photograph demands that the viewer look at the thing to which it points. In this captured moment, the photograph seems indistinguishable from its referent, so that one seems to look at the person portrayed and not a photograph (Barthes 1981:4–5; cf. Peirce’s discussion of “Secondness” in Buchler 1955:74–97). A similar immediacy contributes to the semiotic force of the dead body, providing a sense of foundational underpinning to any claims made on it. The mimetic power of photographic and bodily evidence underwrote 19th-century efforts to capture criminals photographically. These drew on the direct and unmediated access to reality that photographs seemed to provide, in the process eliding the difference between the “real” and the “represented” and suppressing the uncertainties of their iconic similarities in privileging the indexical connection (Rafter 1997:112–113; cf. Daston and Galison 1992:120).12 “EMBALMED” BODIES: EVIDENCE OF THE PAST As Roman Jakobson (1971:91–92) has indicated, the narrative style of “realist” texts draws primarily on metonym. Similarly, the use of indexical signs within the evidential paradigm acted as a claim on the narrative’s relation to reality, to its grounding in the real world. Tied to the material world, the dead—like photographs—are fixed or “embalmed” (Barthes 1981:9) in a past moment, constantly receding; they appear to offer something of that past to the viewer (Sontag 1977:15).13 The power of the body to be localized in time, space, and an individual’s biography is frequently drawn on, as Katherine Verdery has discussed in the context of political claims about the body (1999:27– 29). Ned Kelly’s remains take much of their force from their localization of concepts of Australian identity in place, in time, and in a particular history and biography. The symbolic or conventional meanings attributed to bodies (Peirce’s third relation of sign to object) are therefore tied to the powerful claim to truth that dead bodies are understood to make as well as to the dead body’s iconic ability to evoke a face and a person. Yet, paradoxically, despite its tangible indexicality, the dead body remains difficult to pin down, open to competing interpretations and slipping in and out of focus as its iconic, indexical, and more conventionally symbolic elements are reconstituted within different discourses. To explore how this might be the case, we need to turn again to Peirce, who would not recognize the iconic, indexical, or symbolic properties of either bodies or photographs as constituting semiosis on their own. For Peirce, true semiosis only takes place when the relationship between object and sign is mediated through a third element, the interpretant, which itself is another more developed sign. 74 American Anthropologist • Vol. 111, No. 1 • March 2009 The physical relationship between the sign (e.g., the corpse) and the object (e.g., the person as they were in life) is dyadic: the interpretant emerges when the relationship is interpreted, whether as a feeling, through muscular or physical response, or as an inference (Burks 1958:332; Hookway 1985:122–123). This interpretant then gives rise to further interpretants in an apparently infinite series (Hartshorne and Weiss 1931:339). Indexical sign relations, as with any sign, only signify through the mediating sign of the interpretant. Moreover, the photograph points to its object (the person photographed) only for an observer who already understands the frame of reference within which it is interpreted. This means that the relationship between sign and object is interpreted according to habits of thought or convention, in which interpretants specific to those particular material and historical conditions are suggested.14 Perceiving the sign-object relation therefore both creates and relies on a common and habitual understanding as well as requiring some collateral knowledge of the object of the sign (Burks 1958:179–185). Yet the mediating interpretant always emerges out of the relationship between sign and object, and as Valentine Daniel has observed, this means that the representational freedom of both sign and interpretant is constrained (Daniel 1998:79–80).15 Indexical signs, because of their localized expression in time and space, act to constrain the range of possible interpretants more than iconic signs, which may depict something entirely imaginary, or symbolic signs, which, established through convention, allow more control over interpretation (see Kockelman 2006:380–381). Peirce’s understanding of signification shows how any understanding of the body as evidence privileges the sign-relation’s indexical content, whereas his fundamentally relational and dialogic orientation toward signification (as discussed by Daniel 1984; Rosenthal 1994:27; Singer 1984) provides a means to understand the significate effects of this framing. Within the framework of empiricist observation established in the 19th century, the truth value of evidence was thought to inhere in the material sign itself (the corpse or photograph), rather than in its relation to the disease, person, or history that it signified. The conception of objectivity that emerged in the late 19th century was one in which the work of observation and record had to be purged of all subjective and evaluative judgments, allowing evidence to be recorded mechanically and without personal intervention, as Lorraine Daston and Peter Galison (1992) have shown. In privileging the indexical content of evidence, the object and sign were conflated and treated as a single fact, disarticulated from social context and history, whether in practices of disease diagnosis, as Foucault has outlined (1973:59); individual identification (Becker 2001:148); or the evidence of past events that the dead reveal (e.g., Paperno 2001:108). Yet evidence is always of something and for someone, and the relational nature of bodily evidence is demonstrated by the significate effects of its magical counterpart: the saintly relic. Relics take their force from the same indexical relation with the person in life as the evidential body, yet their semiotic constitution seems at first glance to be of a very different order. The proliferation and duplication of many relics demonstrates that the real-world connection of bones with saint can be nonexistent, yet their power remains as long as their origin is believed to be secure (Verdery 1999:28). Historically, this belief was affirmed and maintained through elaborate (often iconic) reliquaries (Geary 1990:6; cf. Freedberg 1989:93–98) that acted to assert the relationship between relic and its object. Reliquaries or the scrupulous labeling of forensic science both provide a way to constrain the reading of bodily traces and to elicit trust in their status and context (see Becker 2001:141; also Figure 1).16 It is no surprise to learn in this context that the skull held by Tom Baxter is said to have the initials “E. K.” carved into it, in an attempt to both establish provenance and reconstitute its authority and claims to authenticity. Milton Singer elaborates Peirce’s demonstration of the power of nonverbal signs (such as a skull) when combined with a nonpropositional verbal sign (such as the initials “E. K.”). Taken separately, no assertion is made; taken together, the two combine in a powerful statement of identity (Singer 1984:107–108). The semiotic density of such apparently simple combinations makes human remains seem particularly powerful in their ability to make claims materially and apparently with little or no “representational” or metaphorical context. FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGY’S EVIDENTIARY HERITAGE What then is the heritage of this history on the ways in which the dead body is understood as evidence today? How does anthropological practice produce the corpse as evidence, and what are the effects of its constitution as such? Turning now to forensic anthropology, I’d like to look at the last sense of embodied evidence: the body as evidence of crime.17 The metaphor of (dead) bodies as “evidence” is a common trope in English, playing on the similarities between the words corpse and corpus (see also Laqueur 2002). Corpse derives, via French, from the Latin cognate corpus, which refers not only to a body but also to a collection of facts or objects, as in a corpus of material, evidence, or knowledge. This metaphorical usage penetrates through to anthropological discussions of forensics in the frequent use of the title “Body of Evidence.” Like bodies, we can dig up and uncover evidence; evidence can be brought to light, examined, and dissected. The metaphor of evidence as a body to be observed and analyzed can be extended to expressions such as “bones of contention” and “skeleton in the closet” and is echoed in concepts such as “brute fact” and “raw data.” The very language of factual interpretation echoes the incisive and penetrating gaze of the 18thand 19th-century physician or surgeon and the grave as Crossland • The Dead Body’s Evidential Traces the source of his evidence. Further, analytical metaphors of surface and depth also resonate both with anatomical dissection (Foucault 1973:135–136; Jordanova 1989:56–57) and archaeological excavation (Thomas 2004:149–170); the archaeological metaphor also surfaces in Freud’s “uncovering” of the “buried unconscious” (Kuspit 1989). Drawing on this notion of bodies as evidence, popular accounts of forensic anthropology often talk of the “testimony” or mute “witness” of bones and describe human remains as “speaking for themselves” in the service of justice and truth (e.g., Maples and Browning 1994). This expresses the idea that the body provides unmediated access to past events and reflects an empiricist faith in the ability of the facts of the body to speak for themselves. Forensic anthropology is broadly empiricist in orientation, grounding its truth claims in the impartial collection of fact, and the practical knowledge and expertise of the researcher. The expert witness must inspire confidence that his or her testimony is independent and based on a clear knowledge of the facts and that he or she possesses an ability to read the signs of the body correctly and without outside influence. This emphasis on the facts of the body has been with forensic anthropology since its inception in the 19th century by which point the expert witness’s ability to read the signs before him was already embedded within the field of the medical gaze (as delineated by Foucault 1973), and popularized by the positivism of phrenology, criminal anthropology, and 19th-century detective literature. Although present-day popular accounts of forensic practice revel in naı̈ve claims to discovery of “objective facts,” these rhetorical excesses are generally avoided in most academic writing on forensic archaeology, which tends to concern itself primarily with methodology rather than its theoretical underpinnings (e.g., Haglund and Sorg 2002; Klepinger 2006), sometimes noting the need to remain neutral while recognizing the broader social and political impact of the work (e.g., Bunch and Shine 2003). This orientation maintains a commitment to a broadly empiricist approach, very much within the idiom of mechanical objectivity identified by Daston and Galison (1992). The body is produced as evidence, as some-thing from which the scientific observer must remain detached.18 Yet, in ascribing human remains with the ability to speak (truthfully) about their histories, the metaphorical discourse of “bodies as evidence” attributes the dead with agency and transfers the feelings and emotions denied to the forensic observer to the corpse. The dead are presented as speaking from beyond the grave, challenging those responsible for their deaths through the evidence of their physical remains, while the detached forensic observer records their testimony without intervening. It is significant that this is such a central part of the popular discourse on forensics, because it is indicative of the relationships within which forensic archaeologists and the bodies they excavate are situated. Forensic anthropologists mediate between the dead and the living, and the tension between often-emotive interactions with relatives and the 75 need to remain neutral is a constant theme in popular accounts (e.g., Koff 2004). Present in these extended metaphors of the “corpse as evidence” are understandings with a long history in popular culture and belief that blur the distinction between life and death as we now understand it. The following extract from a sworn statement given at an early-17th-century murder trial at the Hertford Assizes illustrates older traditions of ascribing agency to the murdered corpse: That the body being taken out of the grave thirty days after the party’s death . . . the four defendants being required, each of them touched the dead body, whereupon . . . the deceased opened one of her eyes, and shut it again three several times: she likewise thrust out the ring or marriage finger three times, and pulled it in again, and the finger dropped blood upon the grass. [Gittings 1984:109] The incorporation of these older traditions of the limber and accusing corpse into the popular discourse of empiricism recognizes that the dead are felt to be more than evidence. Revealed in the exhumation of human remains is the usually submerged understanding of dead bodies as things that have agency. In ascribing human remains with the ability to speak (truthfully) about their histories, they are constructed as active agents within a network of complex relations that incorporates archaeologists, living relatives, the courts and police, and the person or persons accused of the crime. The notion of corpse as object and evidence simultaneously builds on and moves away from traditions that ascribed to the corpse some residual agency held over from life. In the ascription of agency within the trope of “bodies as evidence,” the agency of the dead body resides in its very objectness, it its ability to “object” (Latour 2000:115) to the stories, lies, or rumors told about it: its agency is the secondary and ascribed agency of an object, rather than that of a sentient being (cf. Gell 1998). It is seen as awkward and unbendable and as having an existence independent of those who talk about it. This notion of the corpse as objectified evidence isolates the body from social context, and despite endowing it with some agency, it cannot fully encompass the person-ness of the dead body. In this narrowing down of the agency of the dead and of the anthropologist, hauntings and dreams express the elements of the life unlived that cannot be articulated through the idiom of “bodies as evidence” (Thompson 1998; cf. Bashford and Pollard 1998:163–164; Boyle 1999). The treatment of bodies as evidence simultaneously denies and recognizes the uncanny aspects of the dead, repressing any ideas that the dead might have agency in ways that are uncontrollable and haunting, while also endowing the dead with an agency that is carefully channeled and constrained into its appearance as an object of analysis. Both Frazer and Freud saw the magical thinking that endowed objects and corpses with agency as something that belonged to older, “primitive,” or magical beliefs; the empirical observation 76 American Anthropologist • Vol. 111, No. 1 • March 2009 of facts by the scientist–detective of the 19th century was understood as part of the progression away from these understandings of causality (Frazer 1900:61–80; Freud 1918). Yet, even as science apparently replaced and corrected erroneous beliefs in the magical power of the corpse, it retained and transformed them. Circling back to the mimetic, magical power of the body, we see that its treatment as evidence is in itself mimetic, as Taussig argues: Can’t we say that to give an example, to instantiate, to be concrete, are examples of the magic of mimesis where the replication, the copy, acquires the power of the represented? . . . The model, if it works, gains through its sensuous fidelity something of the power and personality of that of which it is a model. [1993:16] The dead body, although separated out from the living as dead and as evidence, still, in its indexical referentiality is endowed with force and potential to act. The indexicality of the dead body always brings it into relation with something else, whether its own past and identity or a history of violence enacted on it. In pointing to these past events and processes, the body as evidence demands that attention be paid, while the effacement of its mediating interpretants endows it with a life of its own in which its iconic and metaphorical content is masked but not suppressed. The indexical relation has, since the late 19th century, been made sense of within an empiricist framework that privileges its particular and ungeneralized nature, aiming to capture the dyadic relation mechanically in an act of interpretation that itself emulates the indexical relation. This both recognizes and refuses the range of affective and energetic interpretive responses that precipitate from the relation of sign to object, circumventing an engagement with how they inform any subsequent inference. Yet the complex history of the body as evidence emerges in the excavation and analysis of human remains, revealing the frame within which the body’s evidence is understood, and its agency is constituted. The affective appeal of the notion of “bodies as evidence” illustrates the ways in which the dead body slips mimetically from being “like us” to being “not us.” In the ways in which the dead are lifted from the ground, catalogued, and analyzed, the performance of excavation creates people as objects of analysis, as “not us,” leading researchers and families to look for ways to re-create them as “like us” in an effort to undercut these processes of objectification. Efforts to tell individual histories in the context of graveyard clearances (e.g., Reeve and Adams 1993) and the careful thought that goes into the arrangement of the body in handing remains over to relatives (Sanford 2003:232– 233) reveal the ways in which dead bodies are treated again as people. Attempts by anthropologists to negotiate the suppressed aspects of the dead body are made evident in the discussion of ethics (e.g., Klepinger 2006; chapters in Scarre and Scarre 2006) and the feeling of closeness and respect engendered by individual excavation, as opposed to mass cemetery clearances (e.g., Boyle and Keevill 1998). In the at- tempts to trace and reassemble elements of the body (as the conflict over Ned Kelly’s head illustrates), we see how the person’s memory and identity may be reconstructed through the physical “re-membering” of the body (Martin 2004), foregrounding iconic elements to shift the body from sign of evidence to person. A semeiotic reconceptualization of evidence as a signrelation rather than a thing reminds us of the semiotic work that takes place in the excavation and analysis of the dead. The empirical idiom of mechanical objectivity not only specifies the ideal of detached neutrality necessary to correctly observe and record evidence but also acts to delineate and constrain the way in which the sign-object relation is understood and, therefore, the nature of the interpretants that should emerge (cf. Hardwick 1977:33–34; also Keane 2005:190–193). In recognizing the sign-relation of the body’s evidence, we acknowledge how its relationality itself is historically embedded and emergent while better understanding the apparent force and potential of the dead body. ZOË CROSSLAND Department of Anthropology, Columbia University, New York, NY 10027-7003 NOTES Acknowledgments. Earlier drafts of this article were given at CHAT, Leicester University 2004, and at the Leverhulme-sponsored “Disturbing Bodies” conference, University of Cambridge in 2006, organized with help from John Robb and Dusan Boric. My thanks to Dean Wilson for sending a copy of his article on Kelly’s death mask; to Dion Stead at Newspix for finding the photograph reproduced as Figure 1; and to Zoë Velonis (State Library of Victoria, Melbourne) and Lucy Eglington for assistance with finding newspaper articles. Thanks also to Brian Boyd, Dan Asen, Val Daniel, Sev Fowles, Paul Kockelman, and Victoria Sanford for useful discussions. Special thanks to Tom Boellstorff and three anonymous AA reviewers for detailed and helpful comments. Finally, thank you to Catherine Tucker and Jeremy Smith for taking the time to tell me about the excavations at Pentridge. 1. The interest in Kelly is continually remade through the considerable literature and numerous museum exhibits dedicated to him, commemoration in stage productions and film (Reid 1980), and in paintings (most notably those by Sidney Nolan). Many locations associated with him have become sites of pilgrimage. Their development as tourist spots has also been the source of some debate (e.g., Flanagan 2006). 2. The building contractor who claimed the skull notified the press of his intention to hand it over to the police for the medical school at the university (Argus 1929). Certainly the number of missing teeth in the maxilla of the Old Melbourne Gaol skull would be consistent with the circumstances of the discovery in 1929. 3. The ambiguity over where Ned Kelly’s body lies is compounded by claims that he escaped and was buried elsewhere (e.g., Kelly 1998). In 1998 a memorial plaque was laid at Pentridge Prison to mark the presumed location of his grave, in the process attempting to fix the hidden body in place as a site for commemoration (Lally 1998). 4. There is a vast Kelly literature on the Internet, and many documents pertaining to Kelly are reproduced there, including some of the newspaper articles referenced in this article, copies of which may be found at ironoutlaw.com. 5. Although English common law states that there is no property in the body, the bodies of criminals have tended to be more available to appropriation by the state, as evidenced by the Murder Act of 1752, which provided the corpses of those executed for murder to anatomists for dissection. See also Australian Broadcasting Corporation (2002). Crossland • The Dead Body’s Evidential Traces 6. Consistent with usage in the field of Peirce studies, I use semeiotic to refer specifically to Peirce’s theory of signs and semiotic to refer to the study of signs more generally. This article provides a very partial sketch of Peirce’s semeiotic in relation to the dead body; a more complete account is in progress. References to Peirce’s Collected Papers use paragraph numbers rather than page numbers. 7. Although in France, as Foucault describes, the bodies of the poor were made more widely available to anatomists after the revolution, it was only from the 1830s onward that similar legislation was enacted in the English-speaking world (Richardson 1987:102). 8. Although as Marsden observes, the focus of late-18th- and early19th-century British antiquarians was on artifacts, they certainly collected human remains and demonstrated a particular interest in crania and long bones (e.g., Douglas 1793:5) prior to the later enthusiasm for phrenology and cranial measurement. 9. This reading of facial physiognomy also was grounded in folk conceptions of the face and one’s ability to read character in it (Gibson 2002:29–30). The work of the Swiss physiognomist Johann Kaspar Lavater also provides an earlier example of these efforts. 10. Lombroso’s concept of the criminal as atavistic throwback or degenerate tied the study of the criminal to the study of race, a link that also found acceptance within mainstream 19th-century anthropology (Stocking 1987:223). 11. The research of Galton and Bertillon was also drawn on within mainstream anthropology (e.g., Boas 1893). 12. As Sekula notes, frustrations with the simple mimetic power of the photograph led to increased efforts to identify individuals through careful measurement and classification (1986). The multiple points of measurement taken by Bertillon are echoed in present-day approaches to the identification of skeletal remains (e.g., Steadman and Konigsberg 2003), while the means of linking individual to body have extended to include DNA analysis. 13. The photographic relation to the dead was most thoroughly explored in the late 19th century, both in the context of postmortem mourning photographs (Ruby 1995) and spirit photography, which made claims for the camera as a more sensitive register of sense data than unaided human perception (Chéroux et al. 2005). The florescence of photographic corpses and spirits in the later 19th century points to complex linkages between the corpse and the photograph. 14. Space precludes a detailed discussion of the different types of interpretants identified by Peirce. However it is worth noting here that he viewed habits as complex interpretants that themselves arise and change through semeiotic processes (e.g., Hartshorne and Weiss 1934:476; see also Preucel and Bauer 2001). 15. Kockelman has recently outlined a semeiotic theory of agency (2006) that provides insight into the ways in which the body as evidence appears to act to constrain interpretive possibilities while remaining powerfully polyvalent in its significate effects. 16. It is remarkable in this respect that DNA analysis has elaborated the indexicality of the body to the point where it seems to stand for itself without additional linguistic identifiers (e.g., see Lyon 2001:306). 17. The work of “forensic anthropology” includes a range of approaches, including biological anthropology, archaeology, interviews, and archival research (Doretti and Fondebrider 2001). As an archaeologist, I am most concerned with archaeological practice. As this is not always distinguished from forensic anthropological practice, here I subsume archaeology within anthropology more generally while recognizing that in other contexts (particularly in the United Kingdom) it is seen as a distinct field. 18. 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