War Heritage

Reflecting on the heritage, ownership and accountability of war debris in Laos

From the desk of: Esther Breithoff

Senior Lecturer in Contemporary Archaeology and Heritage, School of Historical Studies, University of London

In early 2024, Legacies of War kindly invited me, an archaeologist and heritage scholar, to join them on a trip to Laos to observe the work they do in the field. When thinking about archaeology, the first thing that often comes to mind are images of Indiana Jones or Lara Croft in search of lost or stolen treasures from a deep past and long-gone civilisations. Archaeology, however, is as much about the present and even the future, as it is about the past. After all, all archaeology is done in the present. Similarly, when it comes to archaeological heritage, we often imagine shiny valuable things. In fact, we tend to associate both cultural and natural heritage with aesthetically pleasing objects and landscapes, which - by virtue of this positive association - are deemed worthy of preservation for the benefit of future generations. Heritage, however, also includes ugly, violent and painful things, places and practices that most people do not want to celebrate and preserve, but that are nevertheless amassing everywhere around us, creating social and environmental inequalities, and posing huge challenges to people’s ability to live and work safely. When we think about places and things that we traditionally consider heritage, we also seem to be always worried about them getting somehow damaged or irreversibly lost. This idea that heritage is irreplaceable has resulted in a commitment to protect heritage from damage, decay and destruction. But what about the kind of heritage that people might not necessarily want to keep, but that is nevertheless here to stay? As an archaeologist of the contemporary past with a focus on modern conflict heritage, I am interested in studying these enduring legacies of armed violence and their impact on both people and landscapes. 

When I embarked on my trip with Legacies, I was already familiar with some of the physical realities created by the war, including the bomb villages and cratered landscapes of Xiengkhouang Province and the cave network of Viengxay in Houaphanh Province, which I had visited on previous trips. Both times I was taken aback by the continued impact of the physical remains of war on local communities, but I was also in awe at the resilience that these communities show in the face of their explosive heritage. Going out to Laos with Legacies this time and joining them in meetings with Zero Waste Laos, the Mennonite Central Committee, The Halo Trust, World Education, Humanity & Inclusion, the US Embassy, and Catholic Relief Services, really brought home that, as French archaeologist Olivier Laurent once wrote, ‘The past does not die’ but continues as ‘Material things embed themselves in all subsequent presents’ (Olivier 2004: 205+206). While it is tempting to use the word ‘post conflict’ when talking about the aftermath of armed conflict in Laos, we should be hesitant to do so.

The war in Laos might have officially ended in 1973, but its manifold effects are still felt today and as long as people are still getting injured and/or dying from UXO and/or suffering health problems from dioxins, the country cannot be considered to be post-conflict. The need for a non-profit like Legacies of War and the various NGOs and other organisations they are collaborating with in Laos highlights the sobering fact that, when it comes to armed violence, the past is never in the past, but very much part of everyday life for many Laotians.

One thing that really stuck with me were the words of Danae, when she said that this war is not a Lao war, but an American one. As an archaeologist and scholar in heritage studies, this made me reflect on questions of heritage, ownership and accountability. Whose heritage is the war debris in Laos? Does it technically belong to the USA who produced and dropped the bombs, or does it belong to the Laotian people? If it represents heritage of global significance, could it even be considered World Heritage? Unlike UNESCO designated world heritage sites, however, this is an involuntary heritage that no one desires or wants to take ownership of. And yet it will not go away, it’s here to stay and those affected have had no choice but to learn how to live with it.