Cambridge Studies in Biological and Evolutionary Anthropology 67

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent

Death is Interpreted from Skeletal Remains

Every year, there are over 1.6 million violent deaths worldwide, making
violence one of the leading public health issues of our time. With the twentieth
century just behind us, it is hard to forget that 191 million people lost their
lives directly or indirectly through conflict.
This collection of engaging case studies on violence and violent deaths
reveals how violence is reconstructed from skeletal and contextual information.
By sharing the complex methodologies for gleaning scientific data from human
remains and the context in which they are found, with complementary perspec-
tives for examining violence from both past and contemporary societies, bioarch-
aeology and forensic anthropology prove to be fundamentally inseparable.
This book provides a model for training forensic anthropologists and
bioarchaeologists, not just in the fundamentals of excavation and skeletal
analysis, but in all subfields of anthropology, to broaden their theoretical and
practical approach to dealing with everyday violence.

debra l. martin is Lincy Professor of Anthropology at the University of

Nevada, Las Vegas. For the past 30 years, her research interests have focused
on the analysis of ancient human remains to better understand the origin and
evolution of violence and disease in culturally diverse human groups. Her
primary research interests currently include bridging social theory with
bioarchaeological data, the impact of raiding, warfare, and captivity on mor-
bidity and mortality, and the ways in which social control creates marginalized
individuals. Her popular course “ The Anthropology of Violence” is offered
every year at the University of Nevada.

cheryl p. anderson is a Ph.D. student at the University of Nevada, Las

Vegas. Her primary research interests include the evolution of organized
violence, the use of violence as a means of communication, and the impacts
of social inequality on human health. Recently, she has investigated violence in
a late precolonial skeletal collection from Northern Mexico. Additionally, she
has been involved in projects analyzing human skeletal remains from a historic
period family cemetery from southern Nevada, a Bronze Age population from
the United Arab Emirates, and a Middle Bronze Age village in Anatolia.
Cambridge Studies in Biological and Evolutionary Anthropology 67

Series editors

human ecology
C. G. Nicholas Mascie-Taylor, University of Cambridge
Michael A. Little, State University of New York, Binghamton
genetics
Kenneth M. Weiss, Pennsylvania State University
human evolution
Robert A. Foley, University of Cambridge
Nina G. Jablonski, California Academy of Science
primatology
Karen B. Strier, University of Wisconsin, Madison

Also available in the series

49 Measuring Stress in Humans: A Practical Guide for the Field Gillian H. Ice & Gary
D. James (eds.) 978 0 521 84479 7
50 The Bioarchaeology of Children: Perspectives from Biological and Forensic
Anthropology Mary Lewis 978 0 521 83602 6
51 Monkeys of the Taï Forest W. Scott McGraw, Klaus Zuberbühler & Ronald Noe
(eds.) 978 0 521 81633 5
52 Health Change in the Asia-Pacific Region: Biocultural and Epidemiological
Approaches Ryutaro Ohtsuka & Stanley I. Ulijaszek (eds.) 978 0 521 83792 7
53 Technique and Application in Dental Anthropology Joel D. Irish & Greg C. Nelson
(eds.) 978 0 521 870 610
54 Western Diseases: An Evolutionary Perspective Tessa M. Pollard 978 0 521 61737 6
55 Spider Monkeys: The Biology, Behavior and Ecology of the genus Ateles Christina J.
Campbell 978 0 521 86750 4
56 Between Biology and Culture Holger Schutkowski (ed.) 978 0 521 85936 3
57 Primate Parasite Ecology: The Dynamics and Study of Host–Parasite Relationships
Michael A. Huffman & Colin A. Chapman (eds.) 978 0 521 87246 1
58 The Evolutionary Biology of Human Body Fatness: Thrift and Control Jonathan
C. K. Wells 978 0 521 88420 4
59 Reproduction and Adaptation: Topics in Human Reproductive Ecology C. G.
Nicholas Mascie-Taylor & Lyliane Rosetta (eds.) 978 0 521 50963 3
60 Monkeys on the Edge: Ecology and Management of Long-Tailed Macaques and
their Interface with Humans Michael D. Gumert, Agustín Fuentes & Lisa Jones-
Engel (eds.) 978 0 521 76433 9
61 The Monkeys of Stormy Mountain: 60 Years of Primatological Research on the
Japanese Macaques of Arashiyama Jean-Baptiste Leca, Michael A. Huffman & Paul
L. Vasey (eds.) 978 0 521 76185 7
62 African Genesis: Perspectives on Hominin Evolution Sally C. Reynolds & Andrew
Gallagher (eds.) 978 1 107 01995 9
63 Consanguinity in Context Alan H. Bittles 978 0 521 78186 2
64 Evolving Human Nutrition: Implications for Public Health Stanley Ulijaszek, Neil
Mann & Sarah Elton (eds.) 978 0 521 86916 4
65 Evolutionary Biology and Conservation of Titis, Sakis and Uacaris Liza M. Veiga,
Adrian A. Barnett, Stephen F. Ferrari & Marilyn A. Norconk (eds.) 978 0 521 88158 6
66 Anthropological Perspectives on Tooth Morphology: Genetics, Evolution, Variation
G. Richard Scott & Joel D. Irish (eds.) 978 1 107 01145 8
Bioarchaeological and
Forensic Perspectives
on Violence
How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains

Edited by
DEBRA L. MARTIN
University of Nevada, Las Vegas

CHERYL P. ANDERSON
University of Nevada, Las Vegas
University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom

Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of
education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107045446
© Cambridge University Press 2014
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception
and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 2014
Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data
American Association of Physical Anthropologists. Annual meeting (81st : 2012 : Portland, Or.)
Bioarchaeological and forensic perspectives on violence how violent death is interpreted from
skeletal remains / edited by Debra L. Martin, University of Nevada, Las Vegas, Cheryl P. Anderson,
University of Nevada, Las Vegas.
pages cm. – (Cambridge studies in biological and evolutionary anthropology ; 67)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-107-04544-6 (Hardback)
1. Human remains (Archaeology)–Congresses. 2. Violence–History–Congresses. 3. Wounds
and injuries–History–Congresses. 4. Social archaeology–Congresses. 5. Forensic anthropology–
Congresses. I. Martin, Debra L. II. Anderson, Cheryl P. III. Title.
CC79.5.H85A64 2014
930.1–dc23 2013034214
ISBN 978-1-107-04544-6 Hardback
Additional resources for this publication at www.cambridge.org/9781107045446
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of
URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication,
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
 Contents

List of contributors page x

Part I Introduction 1
1 Introduction: interpreting violence in the ancient and modern
world when skeletonized bodies are all you have 3
debra l. martin and cheryl p. anderson

Part II Overview and innovative methodologies 15

2 Killed in action? A biometrical analysis of femora of
supposed battle victims from the Middle Bronze Age
site of Weltzin 20, Germany 17
stefan flohr, ute brinker, elena spanagel,
annemarie schramm, j Ö rg orschiedt, and
uwe kierdorf
3 The taphonomy of maritime warfare: a forensic reinterpretation
of sharp force trauma from the 1676 wreck of the Royal
Swedish Warship Kronan 34
anna kjellstr O¨ m and michelle d. hamilton
4 The determination of homicide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds 51
vincent h. stefan
5 The first cut is the deepest: looking for patterns in cases of
human dismemberment 63
andrew c. seidel and laura c. fulginiti
6 Victims of violence? A methodological case study from
precolonial Northern Mexico 83
cheryl p. anderson

vii
viii Contents

Part III Ritual and performative violence 101

7 Signatures of captivity and subordination on skeletonized human
remains: a bioarchaeological case study from the ancient
Southwest 103
ryan p. harrod and debra l. martin
8 Classic Maya warfare and skeletal trophies: victims and
aggressors 120
rebecca storey
9 Face me like a man! (or, like a woman): antemortem nasal
fractures in pre-Columbian San Pedro de Atacama 134
christina torres-rouff and laura m. king
10 Why some bodies matter: defacement and narrative in
historical forensics cases 148
william n. duncan and christopher m. stojanowski

Part IV Violence and identity 169

11 Violence in life, violence in death, resiliency through
repatriation: bioarchaeological analysis and heritage
value of Yaqui skeletal remains from Sonora, Mexico 171
heidi j. bauer-clapp and ventura r. p É rez
12 Interpreting skeletal trauma and violence at Grasshopper
Pueblo (AD 1275–1400) 192
kathryn m. baustian
13 The contribution of forensic anthropology to national identity
in Chile: a case study from Patio 29 216
elizabeth m. devisser, krista e. latham, and
marisol intriago leiva
14 Cranial trauma and cranial modification in post-imperial
Andahuaylas, Peru 236
danielle kurin
15 Allies today, enemies tomorrow. A comparative analysis of
perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum 261
melissa scott murphy, brian spatola, and
rick weathermon
 Contents ix

16 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue: a case study from

historic North Las Vegas, Nevada 289
john j. crandall, ryan p. harrod, cheryl
p. anderson, and kathryn m. baustian

Part V Concluding thoughts 309

17 Living on the sidelines of death: anthropologists and violence 311
alison galloway

Index 321
 Contributors

Cheryl P. Anderson, Department of Anthropology, University of Nevada,

4505 S. Maryland Pkwy Mailstop 455003, Las Vegas, NV 89154-5003, USA
Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp, Machmer Hall, Department of Anthropology, Univer-
sity of Massachusetts Amherst, Amherst, MA 01003, USA
Kathryn M. Baustian, Department of Anthropology, University of Nevada,
4505 S. Maryland Pkwy Mailstop 455003, Las Vegas, NV 89154-5003, USA
Ute Brinker, State Authority for Culture and Preservation of Monuments
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Domhof 4/5, 19055 Schwerin, Germany
John J. Crandall, Department of Anthropology, University of Nevada, 4505
S. Maryland Pkwy Mailstop 455003, Las Vegas, NV 89154-5003, USA
Elizabeth M. DeVisser, University of Indianapolis, 200 S. Regent St., Lansing,
MI 48912, USA
William N. Duncan, Department of Sociology and Anthropology, East Ten-
nessee State University, 223B Rogers-Stout Hall, PO Box 70644, Johnson
City, TN 37614-1702, USA
Stefan Flohr, Department of Biology, University of Hildesheim, Marienburger
Platz 22, 31141 Hildesheim, Germany; Thuringian State Office for the Preser-
vation of Historical Monuments and Archaeology, Humboldtstraße 11, 99423,
Weimar, Germany
Laura C. Fulginiti, Maricopa County Office of the Medical Examiner, 701
W. Jefferson, Phoenix, AZ 85007, USA
Alison Galloway, Campus Provost/Executive Vice Chancellor, Chancellors
Office, 1156 High St., University of California, Santa Cruz, CA 95064, USA
Michelle D. Hamilton, Department of Anthropology, Forensic Anthropology
Center, Texas State University, 601 University Dr., San Marcos, TX 78666,
USA

x
 Contributors xi

Ryan P. Harrod, Department of Anthropology, University of Alaska Anchor-

age, Anchorage, AK 99508, USA
Uwe Kierdorf, Department of Biology, University of Hildesheim, Marienbur-
ger Platz 22, 31141 Hildesheim, Germany
Laura M. King, Colorado College, 14 E Cache La Poudre St., Colorado
Springs, CO 80903, USA
Anna Kjellström, Stockholm University, Department of Archaeology and
Classical Studies, Sweden
Danielle Kurin, Department of Anthropology, HSSB 1002, University of
California Santa Barbara, CA 93106, USA
Krista E. Latham, Departments of Biology and Anthropology, University of
Indianapolis, 1400 East Hanna Ave., Indianapolis, IN 46227, USA
Marisol Intriago Leiva, Encargada de la Unidad Especial de Identificación
Forense, Servicio Médico Legal, Avenida La Paz 1012, Independencia, San-
tiago, Chile
Debra L. Martin, University of Nevada, Las Vegas, Department of Anthropol-
ogy, 4505 S. Maryland Pkwy Mailstop 455003, Las Vegas, NV 89154 –5003,
USA
Melissa Scott Murphy, Anthropology Department, 3431, University of
Wyoming, 1000 E. University Avenue, Laramie, WY 82070, USA
Jörg Orschiedt, University of Berlin, Department of History and Cultural
Studies, Institute of Prehistoric Archaeology, Altensteinstr. 15, 14195 Berlin,
Germany
Ventura R. Pérez, 201 Machmer Hall, Department of Anthropology, Univer-
sity of Massachusetts Amherst, Amherst, MA 01003, USA
Annemarie Schramm, State Authority for Culture and Preservation of Monu-
ments Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, Domhof 4/5, 19055 Schwerin, Germany
Andrew C. Seidel, Center for Bioarchaeological Research, School of Human
Evolution and Social Change, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ 85287,
USA
Elena Spanagel, Department of Biology, University of Hildesheim, Marien-
burger Platz 22, 31141 Hildesheim, Germany
Brian Spatola, National Museum of Health and Medicine, 2500 Linden Lane,
Silver Spring, MD 20910, USA
xii Contributors

Vincent H. Stefan, Herbert H. Lehman, College – CUNY, Chair, Department

of Anthropology, 250 Bedford Park Blvd. West, Bronx, NY 10468–1527,
USA
Christopher M. Stojanowski, Center for Bioarchaeological Research, School
of Human Evolution and Social Change, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ
85287, USA
Rebecca Storey, Department of Comparative Cultural Studies, University of
Houston, Houston, TX 77204–5020, USA
Christina Torres-Rouff, Anthropology – SSHA, University of California
Merced, 5200 N. Lake Road, Merced, CA 95343, USA
Rick Weathermon, Anthropology Department, 3431, University of Wyoming,
1000 E. University Avenue, Laramie, WY 82070, USA
 Part I
Introduction
1 Introduction: interpreting violence
in the ancient and modern world when
skeletonized bodies are all you have
d e b r a l . ma r t i n a nd
cheryl p . anderson

1.1 Introduction

If this collection of studies on interpreting violence has a single raison d’être it

is that bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology make good bedfellows in
thinking about the reasons and context for interpersonal violence. Bioarchaeol-
ogy has emerged as an important and integrated approach to understanding
human skeletal biology in the past. It combines analysis of skeletonized human
remains with archaeological reconstruction of the grave and habitation site,
and other aspects of the environment in which individuals lived. Forensic
anthropology is the application of methods from bioarchaeology, but usually
in a more recent historic or contemporary setting. The data from the skeleton
are usually used in a legal setting while working with police, coroners, or
human rights organizations. Both bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology
share complex methodologies for gleaning every piece of scientific data from
the human remains and the context in which they are found. Yet these two
subdisciplines within biological anthropology often are separated in edited
volumes, within departments, and across national conferences.
This is among the first organized symposia that we are aware of that
presents a thematic set of case studies coming from both subdisciplines. At
the 81st Annual Meeting of the American Association of Physical
Anthropologists in Portland OR (April 11–14, 2012) the initial poster session
focused on case studies that revealed sometimes surprising or counterintuitive
interpretations of violence because a more nuanced approach was taken to
understand both the bones and the context. The focus is on the theories and
methods that are used to interpret violent interactions by identifying both the

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

3
4 Introduction

perpetrators of violence and those who suffered as a result of their actions. The
chapters in this volume all reveal how violence is reconstructed from skeletal
and contextual information. However, they provide a range of approaches to
foster multiple perspectives with regard to documenting and interpreting
the meaning of violence. Individual chapters demonstrate how this can be
operationalized on many different levels. In particular, the focus of these case
studies is to identify the different participants in violent encounters (victims,
witnesses, aggressors) in order to provide more detailed and nuanced interpret-
ations of human behavior.

1.2 The complementarity of bioarchaeology and forensic

anthropology

Bioarchaeology focuses on reconstructing ancient and historic cultures from

burials and other archaeological evidence in an academic setting. Forensic
anthropology deals primarily with more recent (and, most times, violent)
deaths in local, national, and international arenas, and it is carried out within
a framework that includes law enforcement, medical examiners, human rights
organizations, lawyers, and surviving family members. Although both do work
that involves excavation and analysis of skeletonized human remains, the
career trajectory of bioarchaeologists and forensic anthropologists can be very
different.
Bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology have largely developed in the
USA as distinctively different career tracks, but there have been many scholars
who practice both professionally and this has been the case for a long time
(Buikstra and Beck 2006; Komar and Buikstra 2008). Physical (or biological)
anthropology historically started out with individuals trained in anatomy and/
or medicine. Both Hooton and Hrdlička (dubbed the “father of physical
anthropology”) worked on forensic cases (Thompson 1982). Ubelaker (1999:
728) writes that Hrdlička worked directly with the FBI on solving cases for
them in the 1930s. Thus there is a long and illustrious history of melding
biological anthropology and forensic work.
Bioarchaeology and forensic anthropology present complementary perspec-
tives for examining violence in both past and contemporary societies. An
important goal of any investigation of conflict and trauma is to place the
skeletal data into the larger social, political, or historical context. One way to
get a deeper understanding of the motivations and consequences of violence
for different categories of participants (e.g. victims, aggressors, captives,
warriors) is to examine the different roles that individual agents and groups
play and how they interact in a specific location.
 Debra L. Martin and Cheryl P. Anderson 5

An example of this approach is teasing out the victims from the attackers in
cases of indigenous or colonial warfare or sectarian conflicts. Careful analysis
of the human remains, detailed observations on the burial context, and ethno-
graphic or witness reports all can aid in providing a more accurate and nuanced
reconstruction of past events. Chapters in this volume highlight case studies of
antemortem and perimortem trauma in contemporary, historic, and ancient
contexts. These integrated bioarchaeological–forensic approaches are useful
in constructing the contexts in which violence takes place. Ultimately, both
subdisciplines aim to reconstruct and explain complex human behavior and so
can benefit from directly sharing case studies, methods of analysis, and
theoretical approaches to interpretation.
There is currently no umbrella term that would subsume both the work of
forensic anthropologists, forensic archaeologists, and bioarchaeologists,
although "forensic bioarchaeology" might be something to consider in the
future. Increasingly, the work of the forensic anthropologist is highly varied,
from work in academic settings and local homicide cases, to working at mass
disasters and places where large numbers of people have perished from
sectarian warfare and genocide (Crossland 2009). Bioarchaeologists are
increasingly volunteering to aid in a wide variety of contexts that involve
skeletonized remains, from historic cemeteries to mass disasters (Blau and
Skinner 2005). This blurring of the roles of bioarchaeology and forensic
anthropology is breaking down the largely artificial divisions between those
who study the ancient dead and those who assist with the more recently dead.
Another reason why this is the moment to blend theory, method, and data
from bioarchaeology with forensic anthropology is that bioarchaeology itself is
emerging in a relatively new configuration (see Martin et al. 2013). Modern
bioarchaeology is integrated into broader anthropological agendas of engage-
ment and ethical action. Many bioarchaeologists incorporate theories about
human behavior into their work and this has broadened and deepened the
interpretations derived from human remains (Martin et al. 2013). Forensic
anthropologists have provided a profound sense of what is at stake for the
living when the dead cannot be located or identified (Sanford 2004). In
addition, many forensic anthropologists also examine the direct impact of
violent acts on the communities from which the victims were taken, and on
eye-witnesses to the violence.
One of the issues facing the relatively young discipline of forensic anthropol-
ogy is the need to create a balance between specialized knowledge embedded in
the forensic sciences and training in the other subfields of anthropology.
Through interdisciplinary inquiry and engagement across the subfields, anthro-
pology provides a way to view the diversity of opinions about violence, warfare,
and human rights issues that often result in death, trauma, and social upheaval.
6 Introduction

1.3 A blended forensic–bioarchaeological approach

A variety of forms of violence, covert and vicious types of warfare, and a

broad range of activities regarding surveillance or the elimination of human
rights have created work for anthropologists that could not have been
imagined 100 years ago. Future forensic anthropologists and bioarchaeolo-
gists will need to continue training not just in the fundamentals of excavation
and skeletal analysis. They also will need training in all four subfields of
anthropology to broaden their theoretical and practical approach to dealing
with everyday violence. In this way, bioarchaeology (which is already
deeply embedded in anthropological inquiry) and forensic anthropology
can engage in an interdisciplinary inquiry of the theoretical and empirical
issues within the study of violence, warfare, surveillance, and human rights.
The approach and perspective that anthropology brings to the study of
violence is a critical, self-reflective, and non-reductionist perspective that
allows for a holistic examination of the dynamics that have led to the wide
array of human atrocities committed throughout the world. It is this strength
that is needed to keep forensic archaeology from falling into a trap of
creating highly specialized technicians who are disconnected from the rest
of anthropology.
Forensic anthropology and bioarchaeology may be considered two sides of
the same coin (i.e. human osteology); however, this does not always have to be
the case. The two applications of human skeletal analysis may have very
different objectives and yet they are fundamentally inseparable in terms of
methodology, theories about violence, and, sometimes, ultimate goals. The
biggest difference between the two subdisciplines is that forensic analysis
tends to focus on the individual while bioarchaeological analysis is more
concerned with populations (although individuals can be a focus as well).
Furthermore, forensic analysis may not have as much concern for skeletal
evidence of events over the life course of the individual, something that has
been more recently incorporated into broader bioarchaeological interpretation
of individuals and their role within the population.
Bioarchaeology has the depth and cross-cultural breadth to help shape and
understand the profound and complicated ways that humans think about and
use violence and bodies. Bioarchaeologists use human remains as a lens
through which to examine cultural processes. The ways that dead bodies are
discussed, hidden, and displayed are used as a point of departure for examining
the forms of violence that contributed to the deaths under study. Many of the
most horrific genocidal events in the past 100 years demonstrate the relation-
ship between violence and the expressive function that such acts and images
have as vehicles of universal human communication. Covert operations are
 Debra L. Martin and Cheryl P. Anderson 7

designed with the goal of unraveling culturally constructed webs of trust. Thus,
the bodies have both real and symbolic properties.

1.4 Encompassing and cross-cutting themes

To continue building bridges and meshing methods and theory, the chapters in
this book provide case studies that highlight the larger intellectual context
within which this kind of scholarship falls. There are three broad sections, each
with an emphasis on a particular approach and a particular contribution to new
uses of methods and theories. While there is overlap among the sections, each
provides a particularly nuanced set of case studies that show that there is no
one way to interpret the meaning of violence – rather, there are many different
pathways to getting at a more complete picture based on initial examination of
human remains. The first section provides a variety of new approaches and
methodologies for analysis of human remains. The next section provides a
wide range of cases that fall into the broad category of ritual and performative
violence. The last section takes up issues of identity and its dynamic interplay
with a range of cultural factors. We end the volume with a thought-provoking
chapter on what it means to do the kind of work that scholars in this book do in
dealing with death and violence.

1.4.1 Innovative methodologies in forensic anthropology

and bioarchaeology

Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm, Jörg

Orschiedt, and Uwe Kierdorf (Chapter 2) investigate the demography of a
commingled skeletal collection, located near the Tollense River in Germany,
suspected to represent the victims of a battle. To accomplish this, Flohr and
colleagues examine the cross-sectional properties of adult femora from this
site to test whether the battlefield hypothesis is appropriate. Their results show
the demography of the assemblage is largely consistent with what would be
expected from a battlefield, mostly young and middle adult males, but that some
females were also among the victims at this site. They discuss the important
roles that women may have played during battles in the past, providing empir-
ical evidence for the presence of females on the battlefield in this study. The
approach taken by these authors contributes to understanding gender roles in
violent events and how they may be identified bioarchaeologically.
Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton (Chapter 3) reconstruct the
events on the Royal Swedish Navy warship Kronan that led to sharp force
8 Introduction

trauma on some individuals using a forensic anthropological approach. They

apply a detailed methodology to examine the sharp force defects present in this
commingled collection. The authors demonstrate that the defects are not
consistent with wounds resulting from explosions or combat, but rather reflect
postmortem taphonomy. They show that the most likely scenario is that these
remains, which would have been well preserved at the bottom of the ocean,
were affected by the recovery of the cannons from the ship several years after it
sank. This research demonstrates the utility of careful analysis of taphonomy,
patterning, and context for providing nuanced interpretations of trauma and
violence.
Vincent H. Stefan (Chapter 4) discusses the complexities associated with
determining manner of death in cases of gunshot trauma. In this chapter he
establishes criteria for the identification of victims of homicide vs. suicide,
including examination of the context of the remains (buried, unburied,
restrained, not restrained). He also suggests criteria based on location of
wounds and number of gunshot wounds that will contribute to future investi-
gations of gunshot trauma. He cautions, however, that, while these different
criteria may be more consistent with homicide or suicide, in the end it is all of
the observations about the trauma made by an investigator that will lead to
determining the cause of death. This chapter provides an important, detailed
method for considering key aspects of context and patterns of trauma for
differentiating victims in both forensic and bioarchaeological investigations
of gunshot trauma.
Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti (Chapter 5) investigate victims and
perpetrators of dismemberment cases in forensic contexts. This chapter pro-
vides important insight into trends in the nature of relationships between
victims and perpetrators. They demonstrate that often in dismemberment cases
the victims and perpetrators know each other prior to the violent act and also
explore the degree of those relationships for Maricopa County (intimate rela-
tionships or not intimate). Significantly, this work also offers a unique analysis
of sex differences among perpetrators of dismemberments. For example, they
provide evidence that female perpetrators of dismemberments are far
more likely to have intimate relationships with their victims. In considering
the connections between victims and aggressors, this research illuminates the
social patterning of this unique type of violence.
Cheryl P. Anderson (Chapter 6) examines commingled remains from a cave
burial site in Northern Mexico to investigate whether the deceased represent
victims or venerated ancestors. This research utilizes ethnographic and ethno-
historic information to investigate Rarámuri burial practices and beliefs about
the dead. It also reconstructs some aspects of the political and social environ-
ment from Spanish accounts of groups living in the region. Based on the
 Debra L. Martin and Cheryl P. Anderson 9

available evidence, the author concludes that, while most individuals likely
were not victims of violence, at least one, and possibly a total of three, shows
evidence of trauma that is more consistent with violence then burial ritual or
ancestor veneration. This chapter demonstrates how consideration of these
sources of information may be useful for identifying victims of violence in
complex mortuary assemblages.

1.4.2 Ritual and performative violence

Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin (Chapter 7) examined the human remains
from populations living in the ancient Southwest and found that some exhibit
the “signature” of captivity and slavery on their bodies. Multiple healed head
wounds, healed fractured bones, nutritional anemias, and infections all point to
a life of violent beatings and inadequate living conditions. The violent acts
involved with taking captives are usually very ritualized and performative,
with males being murdered, and females and children being taken captive. The
trauma on their bodies suggests multiple beatings across the course of the
lifetime. From these case studies of captives who died young and with many
traumatic and pathological injuries, a more detailed understanding of how
captives were treated, as well as their symbolic and ritualized use as a show
of power and domination, is gained.
Rebecca Storey (Chapter 8) explores the relationships between victims and
aggressors in Maya warfare and sacrifice. This research discusses evidence for
the importance of warfare among elite males in Maya society and the signifi-
cance of trophies of war, specifically skull masks that were decorated and then
worn by the aggressors. The author provides bioarchaeological evidence for
the existence of these trophies and confirms that they likely represent elite
victims of ritual violence. These trophies would have bestowed greater prestige
to the perpetrators during life and the significance of these violent acts
continued to link them to their victims after death. This contribution provides
unique insight into considering the complex relationships between victims and
perpetrators of ritual violence and how they may extend beyond the actual
violent event.
Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King (Chapter 9) consider patterns of
cranial trauma, in particular nasal fractures, as evidence for face-to-face con-
flict at oases in the San Pedro de Atacama during the Middle Period. They
demonstrate a higher incidence of nasal fractures among males, although some
females were also affected, and argue that this form of violence may have had
social significance. The antemortem nature of these wounds provides evidence
that, while this face-to-face violence was an important part of society, it was
10 Introduction

often non-lethal. This case may not have victims and perpetrators in the usual
sense; rather the authors suggest that these fractures may result from some sort
of culturally approved violence for resolving problems between adult individ-
uals. This contributes to furthering our understanding of how violence may
potentially be used for addressing social problems within a culture and how
this type of violence may exhibit different patterns.
William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski (Chapter 10) provide
an analysis of a sixteenth-century calvaria from Georgia thought to belong to a
martyred Spanish priest, Pedro de Corpa. Through the process of trying to
determine whether or not this calvaria does in fact belong to Pedro de Corpa,
the authors explore why some bodies are of greater interest to forensic
anthropologists and bioarchaeologists than other bodies. They demonstrate
that in this case there are two important factors leading to the high degree of
interest. The first is that defacement of the body of the deceased has increased
the degree to which it is held sacred. The second reason is that anthropological
investigation of this calvaria has amplified the mystery surrounding it as well
as the meaning associated with it. This chapter carefully considers how
different groups within a community may be impacted differently by bioarch-
aeological and forensic research and represents an example of positive inter-
action between the anthropologists and the larger public.

1.4.3 Violence and identity

Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez (Chapter 11) examine signs of

structural and direct violence on the remains of Yaqui individuals killed in a
massacre. The results of their analysis, demonstrating both trauma and signs of
physiological stress, illuminate the extensive violence against the Yaqui per-
petrated by the Mexican government during the nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. Through the repatriation of these remains to the Yaqui, the authors
also aided in the transformation of the bodies of the victims into part of the
Yaqui heritage, continuing to tell the story of violence and sacrifice to future
generations. This research exemplifies how bioarchaeological and forensic
research may further the understanding of violence while positively engaging
the communities who are affected.
Kathryn M. Baustian (Chapter 12) explores signs of violence at the Ances-
tral Pueblo site Grasshopper Pueblo, finding evidence for antemortem trauma
as well as scalping, and questions prior views of a peaceful community. The
author considers a number of possibilities to explain the clear signs of violence
on some of the remains, including warfare and raiding and different types of
intra-community violence. She concludes that external violence likely played
 Debra L. Martin and Cheryl P. Anderson 11

a role, especially among those with evidence for scalping, but cautions that
identification of specific perpetrators is problematic based on the available
evidence. The careful analysis presented in this chapter demonstrates the utility
of considering the patterning of skeletal trauma when interpreting relationships
between victims and perpetrators.
Elizabeth M. DeVisser, Krista E. Latham, and Marisol Intriago Leiva
(Chapter 13) consider the impact of violence perpetrated by the Pinochet
regime on Chilean national identity through the examination of the victims
from the Patio 29 mass grave. The authors discuss the efforts put forward by
the forensic anthropologists working on these human rights cases to use all
available lines of evidence to identify victims correctly and provide closure
for their families. They highlight the challenges associated with victim identi-
fication in the Patio 29 cases, but also the profound importance of these
identifications for the families and the community impacted by the violence.
This example demonstrates how forensic anthropologists, through identifica-
tion of the remains of victims, can assist with the restoration of national
identity.
Danielle Kurin (Chapter 14) discusses violence before and after the collapse
of the Wari Empire in Peru through the examination of cranial trauma and how
it affected different social groups, seen through different types of cranial
modification. The results presented by the author show a relationship between
social identity and trauma among the Chanka for both adults and subadults,
suggesting that some groups may have been more at risk for violence and
recidivism. This demonstrates that practices of violence changed following the
Wari collapse, including the identification of a specific subgroup(s) among the
Chanka to be targeted as the victims of violence. This chapter significantly
contributes to growing literature that seeks to understand the social patterning
of violence in different cultural contexts.
Melissa Scott Murphy, Brian Spatola, and Rick Weathermon (Chapter 15)
examine colonial period violence and consider the ways trauma patterning
might be used for inferring the potential identities of perpetrators. In this study,
they compare injuries present on colonial period indigenous Andean human
remains from Peru to different types of trauma in order to understand the types
of weapons that may have been used on the victims. The authors point out that
even the identification of weapon type may not lead to a clear picture of the
identities of the perpetrators. In this case, while the victims from this site could
have been killed by Spanish individuals they may also have been the victims of
other native peoples, some of whom were aligned with the Spanish. Through
their careful analysis, the authors demonstrate the utility of careful trauma
comparison but show the necessity for researchers of violence to be cautious
in their interpretations and consider the potential alternatives. They also
12 Introduction

demonstrate that individuals may have shifting roles as victims and aggressors,
which must be considered in contexts of violence.
John J. Crandall, Ryan P. Harrod, Cheryl P. Anderson, and Kathryn M.
Baustian (Chapter 16) present a historic double murder and suggest ways in
which the events on the Kiel ranch may be interpreted. Originally thought
to represent a murder–suicide, the authors confirm a previous anthropo-
logical analysis that these are the victims of a double murder. The results
presented suggest an interpretation of the attack as possibly consistent with
an ambush attack, with one victim being struck by both long-distance and
close-range gunshot wounds and the other with a likely close-range shot.
The violence at this ranch is then considered in the broader context of
historic period violence on the American frontier. Through a comparative
approach, the authors contribute to understanding aspects of ambush and
massacre situations, their social significance, and their potential skeletal
correlates.

1.5 Conclusions

Strong themes of ritual, performance, and identity run throughout these chapters
and these tie violence to interpretive frameworks because of the multiple lines of
evidence used. Various interpretations about the victims as well as the perpetra-
tors were brought into focus with the use of innovative methodologies combined
with theories about the ways that violence is shaped by cultural ideology,
symbolism, and politics. From forensic cases to population–level studies of
past peoples, violence is never a simple phenomenon to interpret. While the
skeletons can reveal that some form of violence occurred, multiple lines of
evidence are necessary to reconstruct the rich and detailed context within which
the violent acts took place. Anthropology as a holistic approach to human
behavior provides the “glue” that binds both forensic as well as archaeological
approaches to understanding violence and explaining the role of culture and
ideology in the use of violence. Alison Galloway (Chapter 17) provides the
concluding thoughts for this volume on violence. In her chapter, she provides
thoughtful commentary on what it means to work with the remains of the dead,
and how this type of work is experienced by anthropologists.

References
Blau, S. & Skinner, M. (2005). The use of forensic archaeology in the investigation of
human rights abuse: unearthing the past in East Timor. The International Journal
of Human Rights, 9, 449–63.
 Debra L. Martin and Cheryl P. Anderson 13

Buikstra, J. E. & Beck, L. A. (eds.) (2006). Bioarchaeology: The Contextual Analysis of

Human Remains. Burlington: Academic Press.
Crossland, Z. (2009). Of clues and signs: the dead body and its evidential traces.
American Anthropologist, 111, 69–80.
Komar, D. A. & Buikstra, J. E. (2008). Forensic Anthropology: Contemporary Theory
and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (2013). Bioarchaeology: An Integrated
Approach to Working with Human Remains. New York: Springer.
Sanford, V. (2004). Buried Secrets: Truth and Human Rights in Guatemala. New York:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Thompson, D. D. (1982). Forensic anthropology. In: Spencer, F. (ed.) A History of
American Physical Anthropology, 1930–1980. New York: Academic Press, 357–65.
Ubelaker, D. H. (1999). Aleš Hrdlicka’s role in the history of forensic anthropology.
Journal of Forensic Sciences, 44, 724–30.
 Part II
Overview and innovative methodologies
2 Killed in action? A biometrical
analysis of femora of supposed battle
victims from the Middle Bronze Age
site of Weltzin 20, Germany
s t e f a n f l o h r , u t e br i n k e r , el e n a
s p a na g e l , an n e m a r i e s c h r a m m ,
j örg orschiedt, and u we kierdorf

2.1 Introduction

Battles are outbreaks of massive intergroup violence that take place at a

specific location, the battlefield, and within a rather short period of time.
Battles are mostly fought by young adult to middle adult males, and therefore
the age and sex composition of battle victims typically differs from that of the
population from which they originated (Kjellström 2005; Lambert 2002). In
contrast, a bone assemblage representing victims of a massacre mostly includes
individuals of both sexes and all age classes in proportion to their presence in
the population (Lambert 2002; Peter-Röcher 2006; Wahl and König 1987).
Exceptions from this can occur when adult men were away from the settlement
when it was attacked or where young females were captured and taken away by
the raiders (Lambert 2002). In recent years, an increasing number of studies
have focused on battlefield archaeology and the study of human skeletal
remains from such archaeological contexts (Kjellström 2005; Fiorato et al.
2007). Identification of battlefields from historic periods is often possible based
on historical records. Battlefields from prehistoric times are more difficult to
identify, especially in the absence of distinctive features such as mass graves or
earthworks. Hence, such prehistoric battlefields have to be identified based
on other, indirect features. One of these features could be the demographic
composition of the individuals represented in the bone assemblage associated
with a presumed battle.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

17
18 Killed in action?

Reconstruction of demographic profiles on the basis of commingled bone

assemblages is much more difficult than in the case of articulated skeletons.
Pelves and skulls provide the most valid features for sex assessment and are
therefore routinely used to this end when complete skeletons are available. In
the case of disarticulated skeletons, the femora and tibiae are often the most
frequent and best-preserved skeletal elements within the bone assemblage
because of their high cortical content (Bennike 1985; Mays 1998). Therefore
several studies have used the femur for sex assessment (Asala 2001, 2002;
Black III 1978; Dittrick and Suchey 1986; Mall et al. 2000; Milner and
Boldsen 2012). Femora of males are typically larger and more robust than
those of females. However, the distinction between large and small or robust
and gracile bones is meaningful only within single populations, given the
amount of variation in skeletal dimensions between geographic regions and
times. Reference data used for comparisons are therefore best obtained from
populations that are close in time, region of origin, and ancestry to the studied
population.
The purpose of the present study was to analyze metrical data obtained on
femora of presumed battle victims from the Bronze Age of northern Germany
in order to provide additional data relevant to the reconstruction of the
demographic profile of the individuals represented in the assemblage.

2.2 Site background

Since the late 1970s, human skeletal remains and archaeological artifacts,
including arrowheads made from flint stone and bronze as well as simple
wooden clubs, have been recovered from several locations along a stretch of
about 2 km in the valley of the Tollense, a small river in the federal state of
Mecklenburg-Vorpommern in Northeastern Germany (Jantzen et al. 2011).
The finds originate from excavations close to the River Tollense, underwater
surveys, and from stray finds along the riverbanks. Since 2009, systematic
investigations in the river valley have been conducted by an interdisciplinary
research team. Radiocarbon dates from different skeletal elements and one of
the wooden clubs revealed ages of c. 1200 cal BCE for the majority of these
finds, corresponding to Period III of the Nordic Bronze Age (Jantzen et al.
2011). The consistent radiocarbon dates and the striking similarities in the find
situations led to the assumption that the different locations along the river that
yielded archaeological remains constitute a single “site-complex.” However,
thus far the extent of this presumed site-complex is unknown.
At present, c. 4700 human bones and c. 1800 animal bones have been
recovered at 14 sites along the river. The majority of bones show an excellent
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 19

state of preservation. Most of the human remains have been found commin-
gled, with joining elements and larger articulated units being rare. As the
excavations are still ongoing, the minimum number of individuals (MNI) is
preliminary. Thus far, the femur is the most frequently found skeletal element
and, based on its occurrence, an MNI of 108 has been established.
Currently, excavation activities concentrate on the sites Weltzin 20 and
Weltzin 32, which have yielded the highest number of skeletal elements
among the 14 sites. At Weltzin 20, a total of 3236 human bones from all
regions of the skeleton and 1165 animal bones have thus far (summer 2012)
been recovered from an area of slightly more than 161 m2. At this site the
femur is the most frequently represented skeletal element (n ¼ 90), giving an
MNI of 60. Calculations based on this MNI show that, on average, only 28%
of the skeletal elements of the represented individuals have been recovered.
Several bones show evidence of trauma. Three out of 34 skulls from Weltzin
20 exhibit signs of perimortem trauma, with two of them featuring depression
fractures on the frontal bone caused by blunt force. The lesions are round to
oval in shape and may have been caused by weapons like the wooden clubs
that were found at the site. Another skull shows a lesion in the lower part of the
right parietal bone that likely represents an arrow wound. The border of the
lesion shows minor signs of healing, indicating that the trauma was survived
for some days or weeks. In one humerus, a flint arrow head is embedded in the
proximal portion of the bone between the head and the greater tubercle. Two of
the 90 femora show perimortem comminuted peritrochanteric fractures. Add-
itionally, some healed lesions were found in the assemblage. Signs of healed
trauma have also been found on skeletal remains from other sites of the site-
complex. Taking into account the commingled nature of the assemblage and
the incompleteness of the skeletons, the frequency of trauma is rather high.
One of the most challenging questions regarding the site is how to interpret
the unusual findings. Taphonomic considerations led to the assumption that the
bodies were probably complete when they entered (were thrown into) the river
and afterwards they became disarticulated. The skeletal elements were then
transported in the river depending on their specific water transportation prop-
erties, thus becoming scattered over a stretch of the river (Brinker et al. 2013).
Frequently occurring high water events in the formerly much shallower river
bed led to local accumulations of bones on river banks, at “natural traps” such
as roots or larger plants, or on adjacent drawdown zones. The fact that the
skeletal remains lack gnawing damage by rodents or other animals indicates
that, after deposition, the bones were always covered by sediment or water.
The lack of bite marks from scavengers on the bones also indicates that the
bodies had not lain on the presumed battlefield for a long period of time before
being thrown into the water.
20 Killed in action?

The commingled nature of the assemblage presents a problem for establish-

ing the demographic composition of these remains, as age-at-death estimation
and sex assessment are difficult on isolated bones. This is even more problem-
atic, if, as in the present case, reference data from comparable assemblages (of
similar archaeological age and region of origin) are largely missing. In the
human skeletal material from the Tollense river valley, sex assessment was
performed mainly on skulls and pelvic bones. In addition, postcranial bones
with a particularly robust or gracile appearance were assumed to represent
most likely males and females, respectively. Age-at-death estimation was
based on macroscopic standard references for cranial sutures, dental attrition,
age-related changes on the auricular surface of the ilium, and the pubic face
(Buikstra and Ubelaker, 1994). In a few cases, the non-fusion of the epiphyses
of long bones also provided information for age-at-death estimation.
According to these analyses, the Weltzin 20 assemblage is composed mainly
of young adult and middle adult males (Brinker et al. 2013). Preliminary data
for the other sites along the Tollense River indicate a similar demographic
profile. Thus, the skeletal assemblage found in the Tollense river valley clearly
does not represent a population with a “normal” demographic composition,
where a largely balanced sex ratio and a higher percentage of non-adult and
also senile individuals can be expected. It can, for instance, be ruled out that
these remains represent bodies from a cemetery that were washed into the river
during a high flood. Rather, the high percentage of young adult and middle
adult males represented in the assemblage, in combination with the observed
cases of perimortem trauma, suggests that the remains are those of battle
victims (Bishop and Knüsel 2005; Jantzen et al. 2011). The battle hypothesis
is supported by the finding of flint and bronze arrow heads along the river
(Jantzen et al. 2008). However, thus far neither larger weapons like swords
have been found, nor have a battlefield, earthworks, or graves been identified.
Also, a Bronze Age settlement or camp has thus far not been discovered.
Therefore, the interpretation of the site has remained controversial. In this
situation, the skeletal material from the site remains the basic source of infor-
mation for testing the hypothesis that the assemblage represents battle victims,
and the demographic composition of the assemblage is of crucial importance
for the interpretation of the finding situation. Since so far mainly hip bones and
skulls have been studied to obtain information on the demographic compos-
ition of the assemblage, we performed additional studies on the femora,
since these are currently the most frequently represented skeletal elements
at Weltzin 20. It is suggested that gross morphological features as well as
cross-sectional properties of the femora can provide additional information
on the composition of the assemblage, which is of relevance for testing the
“battle victim hypothesis.”
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 21

2.3 Materials and methods

In the present study, only femora from the site Weltzin 20 were investigated.
As of summer of 2012, a total of 90 femora have been recovered. However,
metric data have only been obtained for 74 of these. Among these 74 femora,
22 pairs could be matched on the basis of gross morphological comparisons,
reducing the number of individuals represented to 52. Femora from juveniles
(n ¼ 16), as shown by the presence of unfused epiphyses, were excluded from
the study. Therefore, the femora of 36 adult individuals formed the basis for
the present study. When both femora were available, only the left one was
considered for the study.
For these femora, bicondylar length (BL), head diameter (FHD), sagittal
(SMD) and transverse midshaft diameter (TMD), and midshaft circumference
(MC) were measured with calipers and an osteometric board. Since in certain
bones some of these external measurements could not be taken, the number of
observations can vary between the different variables.
Femora of 37 individuals from Weltzin 20 were scanned by computed
tomography (CT) to analyze mid-diaphyseal (50% biomechanical length)
cross-sectional properties. The bones were analyzed basically following the
sequence of excavation and were not selected according to specific morpho-
logical or other criteria. The 37 femora scanned so far include some bones
from juveniles, incomplete bones, and cases in which the femora of single
individuals could be matched. Again, bones from juveniles were excluded
from the study and in the case of bone pairs, only the left femur was included
in the analyses, thereby reducing the sample to 27 specimens. All of these 27
femora were also part of the sample (n ¼ 36) for which external measurements
were obtained. Analyses were performed using ImageJ 1.45s with the plugin
MomentMacroJ v1.3 (www.hopkinsmedicine.org/fae/mmacro.htm). The
following areas (in mm2) of the cross-sections were determined: (1) total area
(TA); the TA includes the complete area within the subperiosteal bone surface
and represents the gross dimension (size) of the bone; (2) cortical area (CA);
CA was calculated as TA minus the medullary area (MA) and is a measure that
can serve as a proxy for the rigidity of the bone to axial forces, both compres-
sion and tension (Ruff, 2008). For the present study, MA and relative cortical
area (%CA; i.e. the relative area of the TA formed by CA) are considered
to represent an approximation of the age at death, assuming that, after
reaching peak bone mass at a young adult to middle adult age, MA
increases and, thus, %CA decreases slightly, leading to osteopenia and
osteoporosis in old adult age. Areas were adjusted by body mass (BM; kg).
The latter was calculated based on the FHD (mm). Although the FHD does
not yield optimal results for BM calculation, it is still widely used in
22 Killed in action?

bioarchaeological and paleoanthropological studies (e.g. Grine et al. 1995;

McHenry 1992; Sládek et al. 2006). To enable comparisons between the
Weltzin 20 individuals and published data, we used the procedure of Sládek
et al. (2006), who studied femora of Late Eneolithic and Early Bronze Age
individuals. To calculate BM, these authors used the mean of the results
obtained from the following two formulae:
BM ¼ 2:239  FHD  39:9 ðMcHenry 1992Þ
and
BM ¼ 2:268  FHD  36:5 ðGrine et al: 1995Þ:
Moments of area (in mm4) are considered to reflect bending rigidity properties
(Ruff 2008). Here, the maximum (Imax) and minimum (Imin) second moments
of area as well as the second moments of area related to, respectively, the
anterior–posterior axis (Iy) and the mediolateral axis (Ix) were calculated.
Torsion rigidity is best reflected by the polar second moment of area (J),
which is calculated as twice the average bending rigidity. Moments of area
were standardized by the product of BM and bone length (Ruff 2000).
The external measurements for the Weltzin 20 individuals were compared
with published data for adult individuals from Franzhausen I, an early Bronze
Age site in Austria (Berner 1988). The cemetery from which the assemblage
was recovered was excavated completely, yielding a total of 716 burials
(Neugebauer et al. 1997). The site is culturally associated with the Unterwöl-
bling culture that is characterized by highly gender-specific burial practices
(Neugebauer 1994). This fact was used to validate the results of the morpho-
logical sex assessment of the buried individuals (M. Berner, pers. comm.
2012). Metric data for the femora from Franzhausen I analyzed by Berner
(1988) were kindly provided by this author and used in the present study. In
her study, Berner (1988) distinguished several degrees of reliability with
respect to sex assessment and osteometric measurement. For the present study,
only individuals whose sex could be reliably assessed according to this
classification and only measurements that could be taken with the highest
degree of reliability were included in the comparison.
The results of the cross-sectional analysis were compared with data for
adults from Eneolithic samples of the Bell Beaker and the Corded Ware
cultures and with Bronze Age samples from the Únĕtice, the Unterwölbling,
and the Wieselburger cultures, using data from Sládek et al. (2006). The
sample of the Unterwölbling culture studied by Sládek et al. (2006) includes
individuals from the site Franzhausen I.
Since not all data from Weltzin 20 and Franzhausen I were normally
distributed (Shapiro–Wilk test), differences between groups were compared
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 23

with the non-parametric Mann–Whitney U test. Because multiple significance

tests were performed on the data, P values were Bonferroni-adjusted. For that,
we multiplied the nominal P values from the U test by the number of tests
performed. Resulting adjusted P values exceeding 1.0 were reduced to 1.0
(Bland and Altman 1995). Reported in this study are the adjusted P values,
with values <0.05 being considered to indicate significance.
For the cross-sectional analyses, the data available for the reference samples
were means and standard errors (SE) of the means (Sládek et al. 2006). For
comparisons, we therefore used the 95% confidence interval (95% CI) for the
population mean calculated from these data (sample mean – 1.96  SE to
sample mean þ 1.96  SE). Groups with non-overlapping 95% CIs were
considered significantly different. We are aware of the deficiencies of examin-
ing overlap between CIs for judging the significance of the difference between
two point estimates (Schenker and Gentleman 2001); however, the data needed
for a more appropriate test were unavailable. All statistical analyses were
performed using SPSS statistics v20.

2.4 Results

2.4.1 Comparison of external measurements between Weltzin 20

and Franzhausen I

Mean values for BL, FHD, and MC of the Weltzin 20 assemblage are closer to
those of the males from Franzhausen I than to those of the females from that
site, while the mean values for the midshaft diameters (SMD and TMD) are
intermediate between the corresponding values of the Franzhausen males and
females (Table 2.1). For example, BL of the Weltzin 20 femora (mean  SE ¼
448.7  3.1 mm; median ¼ 449.0 mm) is only slightly lower than that of the
femora from the Franzhausen I males (453.1  4.7 mm; 451.5 mm) and clearly
larger than that of the Franzhausen I females (415.5  4.3 mm; 416.5 mm).
The difference in BL between the Weltzin 20 femora and the female femora
from Franzhausen I is significant (U test; P <0.001), while there is no
significant difference between the Weltzin 20 femora and the male femora
from Franzhausen I (U test; P ¼ 1.00). Regarding FHD, the values for Weltzin
20 (46.6  0.4 mm; 46.3 mm) are slightly, but significantly (U test; P ¼ 0.045)
lower than those for the Franzhausen I males (48.5  0.4 mm; 48.0 mm), and
significantly higher (U test; P <0.001) than those for the Franzhausen I females
(42.5  0.3 mm; 42.0 mm).
An indicator for the uniformity of the sex composition of an assemblage could
be the amount of intrasample variation. It is assumed that in a purely male or
24 Killed in action?

Table 2.1. Values of the external measurements (mm) of the Weltzin 20 femora
compared with the values from Franzhausen I (Berner 1988).

Measurement Site n Min–max Median Mean SE CV(%)

Bicondylar Weltzin 20 29 418–480 449.0 448.7 3.13 3.75

length Franzhausen 18 409–482 451.5 453.1 4.65 4.35
I males
Franzhausen 20 383–446 416.5 415.5 4.29 4.62
I females
Head diameter Weltzin 20 36 43–53 46.3 46.6 0.39 4.99
Franzhausen 28 45–53 48.0 48.5 0.44 4.78
I males
Franzhausen 42 39–48 42.0 42.5 0.31 4.76
I females
Sagittal midshaft Weltzin 20 36 23–34 27.4 27.8 0.46 9.91
diameter Franzhausen 87 25–35 30.0 29.6 0.25 8.01
I males
Franzhausen 91 21–31 25.0 25.1 0.19 7.27
I females
Transversal Weltzin 20 36 21–34 27.0 26.7 0.38 8.60
midshaft Franzhausen 88 25–33 28.0 28.1 0.18 6.05
diameter I males
Franzhausen 93 23–29 26.0 25.7 0.15 5.68
I females
Midshaft Weltzin 20 35 70–95 86.0 85.5 1.06 7.30
circum- Franzhausen 87 76–98 88.0 87.4 0.57 6.07
ference I males
Franzhausen 92 66–88 77.0 76.8 0.45 5.68
I females

SE ¼ standard error; CV(%) ¼ coefficient of variation.

female sample variation is smaller than in a mixed sample. In the Weltzin 20

assemblage, the coefficient of variation (CV) is slightly lower for the BL, similar
for the FHD, but markedly higher for the midshaft measurements than in the
purely male and female reference assemblages from Franzhausen I (Table 2.1).
The distributions of the TMD values for male and female femora from
Franzhausen I overlap partly, while some values are located outside (lower
values in females and higher ones in males) this overlap zone (Figure 2.1).
Assuming that values below the overlap zone of the Franzhausen I male and
female femora are indicative of females, six of the Weltzin 20 femora might be
classified as probably female by their TMD alone. Two of these six femora
exhibit the lowest values of all specimens included in the study. It therefore
seems warranted to classify at least these two individuals as females.
For FHD, nine individuals from Weltzin 20 exhibit values below the
minimum of the males from Franzhausen I. However, none of the values for
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 25

Figure 2.1. Comparison of transversal midshaft diameters (TMD) of the femora from
Weltzin 20 and of male and female femora from Franzhausen I (data from Berner
1988). In the Weltzin 20 assemblage, values for six femora are below the overlapping
zone between males and females from Franzhausen I. These femora probably represent
females.

Weltzin 20 is below the lowest value for the females from Franzhausen I.
Therefore the possibility remains that some of these nine femora stem from
males.
When FHD and MC are combined in a bivariate scatterplot, males and
females from Franzhausen I are clearly separated with only a small overlap-
ping zone (Figure 2.2). The values of the Weltzin 20 femora overlap mostly
with those of the Franzhausen I males and only to a lesser extent with those of
the Franzhausen I females.

2.4.2 Cross-sectional analyses

Like external dimensions, cross-sectional properties are also considered to

differ between sexes, with males exhibiting larger dimensions than females.
It is further assumed that younger individuals tend to possess a higher %CA
than older individuals.
26 Killed in action?

Figure 2.2. Bivariate scatterplot of femoral head diameter (FHD) versus midshaft
circumference (MC) for the Weltzin 20 femora (filled circles) and males (squares) and
females (triangles) from Franzhausen I. Most of the values for the Weltzin 20 femora
cluster with those for the Franzhausen I males.

Except for MA, which shows the lowest average of all samples compared,
all average values for the Weltzin 20 femora exceed those of the mixed male–
female reference assemblages (Table 2.2). For CA, the 95% CI for the Weltzin
20 femora does not overlap with those of the femora from the other assem-
blages. Average TA for the Weltzin 20 femora (834.3 mm2) is close to that for
the Bell Beaker sample (828.9 mm2). Mean values for the second moments of
area (Ix, Iy, and J) are highest in the Weltzin 20 femora; however, the 95% CIs
overlap with those from some other assemblages. These results could indicate
either that the proportion of males is much higher in the Weltzin 20 assem-
blage compared with the other assemblages, or that the Weltzin 20 individuals
were more robust and of a taller stature than those of the other assemblages.
The interpretation that the individuals from Weltzin 20 represent taller and
more robust individuals appears less feasible when the Weltzin 20 means are
compared with those for males only from the other assemblages. For several
parameters (adjusted TA, Ix, Iy, J), the means for Weltzin 20 femora lie close to
TA or within the range of those for the other assemblages (Table 2.3).
Average CA for the Weltzin 20 femora is, however, markedly higher than
those of the others, although there is overlap in 95% CI with some of them.
Table 2.2. Body mass, femoral cross-sectional areas, and second moments of area for the Weltzin 20 assemblage compared with
data for male–female mixed samples from different Eneolithic and Bronze Age contexts (Sládek et al. 2006). Data are given as
means (n) and standard errors (SE).

Parameter Weltzin 20 Bell Beaker (T) Corded Ware Únĕtice Unterwölbling Wieselburger

Body mass [kg] 66.3 (27)  0.84 64.7 (23)  1.51 64.2 (31)  1.47 63.6 (23)  1.68 62.1 (37)  1.25 61.3 (31)  1.31
TA adj. [mm2] 834.3 (27)  16.49 828.9 (19)  15.26 814.1 (25)  13.25 793.8 (22)  16.54 803.4 (26)  12.58 746.1 (30)  12.52
CA adj. [mm2] 670.5 (27)  12.94* 597.2 (19)  13.04 610.8 (25)  10.45 593.4 (22)  10.20 588.4 (26)  9.60 570.7 (30)  11.12
MA adj. [mm2] 163.9 (27)  9.04 231.7 (19)  13.57 203.3 (25)  10.55 200.4 (22)  13.22 215.0 (26)  9.44 175.3 (30)  5.99
Ix (¼ Ia-p) adj. 816.0 (27)  39.41 797.4 (19)  35.60 779.2 (25)  29.70 735.2 (22)  36.71 739.0 (26)  22.97 677.1 (30)  33.52
[mm4]
Iy (¼ Im-l) adj. 809.3 (27)  41.00 791.3 (19)  25.98 771.7 (25)  27.79 762.9 (22)  34.86 726.3 (26)  26.27 647.2 (30)  28.34
[mm4]
J adj. [mm4] 1625.2 (27)  76.16 1588.8 (19)  55.47 1550.9 (25)  48.20 1498.2 (22)  60.21 1465.2 (26)  44.67 1324.3 (30)  58.43

Asterisk (*) indicates that the 95% CI for the Weltzin 20 femora does not overlap with that of any other assemblage.
Table 2.3. Body mass, femoral cross-sectional areas, and second moments of area for the Weltzin 20 assemblage compared with
data for male-only samples from different Eneolithic and Bronze Age contexts (Sládek et al. 2006). Data are given as means (n)
and standard errors (SE).

Parameter Weltzin 20 Bell Beaker (T) Corded Ware Únĕtice Unterwölbling Wieselburger

Body mass [kg] 66.3 (27)  0.84 68.6 (13)  1.34 69.4 (15)  1.36 70.0 (9)  1.99 71.8 (11)  1.17 69.4 (12)  0.92
TA adj. [mm2] 834.3 (27)  16.49 840.5 (11)  21.59 839.7 (12)  18.16 802.2 (9)  24.73 802.7 (9)  22.76 798.7 (12)  18.10
CA adj. [mm2] 670.5 (27)  12.94 596.9 (11)  20.18 629.4 (12)  12.42 594.9 (9)  15.47 594.7 (9)  15.19 621.8 (12)  14.91
MA adj. [mm2] 163.9 (27)  9.04 243.6 (11)  18.24 210.3 (12)  12.80 207.4 (9)  23.38 208.0 (9)  19.15 176.9 (12)  8.83
Ix (¼ Ia-p) adj. 816.0 (27)  39.41 858.8 (11)  51.66 899.1 (12)  26.65 767.9 (9)  53.84 816.9 (9)  23.59 861.3 (12)  36.95
[mm4]
Iy (¼ Im-l) adj. 809.3 (27)  41.00 823.6 (11)  39.92 811.7 (12)  41.93 824.2 (9)  60.13 796.6 (9)  41.60 783.2 (12)  42.79
[mm4]
J adj. [mm4] 1625.2 (27)  76.16 1682.4 (11)  83.20 1710.8 (12)  48.60 1592.1 (9)  84.30 1613.5 (9)  53.81 1644.5 (12)  68.50
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 29

Mean BM and mean MA, in contrast, are lowest for the Weltzin 20 individ-
uals, although again there is overlap in 95% CIs with some of the other
assemblages (for MA only with the Wieselburger culture).
Relative CA (%CA; calculated on the basis of the group means for TA and
CA) is much higher (mean of 80.37) in the Weltzin 20 assemblage than in both
the male (means from 71.02 to 77.85) and the mixed (means from 72.05 to
76.49) samples. This suggests a higher proportion of young individuals in the
Weltzin 20 assemblage compared with the other assemblages.

2.5 Discussion

In humans, the femur is one of the most extensively studied bones in regard to
its potential for sex determination (e.g. Asala 2001, 2002; Black III 1978;
Dittrick and Suchey 1986; Mall et al. 2000; Milner and Boldsen 2012). The
high number of studies performed reflects a common issue in sex determin-
ation based on skeletal remains – that is, the question of which reference data
should be used for comparison with a particular sample. Many studies have
been performed on modern femora to obtain valid data in forensic contexts for
comparison with individuals from different geographic and ethnic origins. It is,
however, problematic to use these reference data for comparisons with prehis-
toric femora, especially in the case of commingled assemblages (Hoppa 2002).
At first glance, information on sexual dimorphism in historic or prehistoric
femora may seem more suitable for comparison with data from other historic
or prehistoric cases. Such studies were, for example, performed by Black III
(1978), who provided a method to sex archaeological skeletal remains by
measuring femoral shaft circumference. The data were generated on individ-
uals from the prehistoric Libben site (Ohio, USA). Dittrick and Suchey (1986)
studied sexually dimorphic traits in prehistoric femora from California. How-
ever, the latter authors caution against sexing individuals of different origin
using the same discriminant functions. Considering this caveat, we chose to
compare the values of the Weltzin 20 femora with those obtained for assem-
blages that were relatively close in time (Bronze Age, Eneolithic) and origin
(Central Europe), assuming that, the closer the assemblages are with respect to
these parameters, the more similar they probably are with respect to the
analyzed morphological traits (Weiss 1972).
The results obtained for the Weltzin 20 femora are consistent with earlier
interpretations based on gross morphological analyses of skeletal remains in
suggesting that the assemblage consists predominantly of the remains of
male individuals. The high TA, CA, and %CA values are in line with the
view that the femora largely represent young and middle adult males, who are
30 Killed in action?

assumed to have been killed in battle. However, both the results of the gross
morphological sex assessment on skulls and pelvic bones (Brinker et al. 2013)
and the results of the present metrical analyses on the femora suggest that some
female individuals are also represented in the assemblage.
Although fighting and warfare are typically regarded as male behavior, there
is evidence from many time periods and cultures that females were also present
at or close to battlefields and sometimes even took part in the actual fighting. For
instance, it is accepted that women participated in various functions of warfare
in ancient Greek and Roman societies (Wintjes 2012). Authors like Plutarch
(Life of Gaius Marius), Caesar (Gallic War), and Tacitus (Germania) described
that, in Germanic tribes, females accompanied males to battle and their presence
was an important motivation for the warriors to protect their families and tribes.
Especially when it came to defending the camp and wagons, women became
actively engaged in fighting, as is reported by Plutarch for the battle of the
Romans against the Ambrones (Plutarch 1988). The phenomenon of “female
warriors” is also documented from the European Middle Ages (McLaughlin
1990), and in Napoleon’s Grande Armée females acted in a number of important
logistic roles, including assisting surgeons and helping the wounded back from
the firing line (Elting 1997). Warfare was never just fighting, but was always
associated with logistical challenges, and women were commonly involved in
solving these challenges. The presence of a number of female bones at the
Bronze Age Weltzin 20 site in the Tollense river valley does, therefore, not
come as a surprise and does not contradict the battlefield hypothesis.
The age-at-death composition of the assemblage from Weltzin 20 basically
supports the battlefield hypothesis. Thus, bones of children and very old
persons, who are unlikely to be active participants in a battle, are (largely)
missing. Instead, the assemblage consists of the remains of juveniles and
young adult and middle adult individuals, i.e. those age groups that can be
expected to represent the majority of active participants in a battle. As in
the case of female remains, it would, however, not be surprising also to find the
remains of a few children and old adults if the warriors were accompanied by
their families. Thus far, only a single infant bone has been recovered at the
Weltzin 20 site; however, its affiliation to the Bronze Age context is unclear and
radiocarbon dating failed because of poor collagen preservation. In contrast,
the 178 bones from juvenile individuals (MNI ¼ 9) recovered so far are clearly
associated to the Bronze Age context. Juvenile femora were not considered in
the present study owing to non-fusion of the epiphyses. Based on studies of
adult femora, MA might be seen as an indicator for age at death. It is assumed
that, after peaking at middle adult age, bone mass decreases, leading to higher
MA and lower %CA values. Average MA in the Weltzin 20 femora is the
lowest and %CA the highest of all assemblages, indicating an on-average
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 31

younger age at death for the Weltzin 20 individuals. Clearly, these measure-
ments provide only very rough estimates for the age at death; however, the
results are in line with the findings based on other, established methods of age-
at-death estimation.

2.6 Conclusions

The present study showed that the adult femora of the Weltzin 20 assemblage
originate mostly from young adult to middle-aged males. This is in line with
the hypothesis, put forward based on the analyses of skulls and pelves, that the
skeletal remains from the site represent battle victims (Brinker et al. 2013).
However, results of external bone measurements suggest that some adult
females are represented in the assemblage and were thus present at or close
to the presumed battlefield.
The study demonstrated that demographic data relevant for the interpret-
ation of archaeological sites can be obtained by analyzing femora in addition to
the more commonly studied skulls and pelves. Femora are often among the
most frequent and best-preserved human skeletal elements at archaeological
sites (Bennike 1985). They constitute a valuable source of information for
osteoarchaeological studies, especially if suitable reference data are available.

Acknowledgments
Margit Berner is gratefully acknowledged for providing raw data from her
doctoral thesis on the bones from Franzhausen I. We thank Jürgen Piek for CT
scanning of the bones at the University of Rostock. The investigation in the
Tollense river valley was supported by the Ministry of Education, Science and
Culture of Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania and since 2010 by the Deutsche
Forschungsgemeinschaft (German Research Foundation).

References
Asala, S. A. (2001). Sex determination from the head of the femur of South African
whites and blacks. Forensic Science International, 117, 15–22.
(2002). The efficiency of the demarking point of the femoral head as a sex determin-
ing parameter. Forensic Science International, 127, 114–18.
Bennike, P. (1985). Palaeopathology of Danish Skeletons. A Comparative Study of
Demography, Disease and Injury. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag.
Berner, M. (1988). Das Gräberfeld Von Franzhausen I: Metrische und demographische
Analyse. Vienna: Unpublished doctoral thesis.
Bishop, N. A. & Knüsel, C. (2005). A palaeodemographic investigation of warfare in
prehistory. In: Parker Pearson, M. & Thorpe, I. J. (eds.) Warfare, Violence and
32 Killed in action?

Slavery in Prehistory: Proceedings of a Prehistoric Society Conference at Shef-

field University. Oxford: Archaeopress, 201–16.
Black III, T. K. (1978). A new method for assessing the sex of fragmentary skeletal
remains: femoral shaft circumference. American Journal of Physical Anthropol-
ogy, 48, 227–31.
Bland, J. M. & Altman, D. G. (1995). Multiple significance tests: the Bonferroni
method. British Medical Journal, 310, 170.
Brinker, U., Flohr, S., Piek, J. & Orschiedt, J. (2013). Violent death and injury in bronze
age human remains from riverine contexts in the Tollense Valley, Germany: victims
of a battle? In: Knüsel, C. & Smith, M. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Human Conflict:
Traumatized Bodies from Early Prehistory to the Present. London: Routledge.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection from
Human Skeletal Remains. Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum of
Natural History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archeological Survey, Research Series,
No. 44.
Dittrick, J. & Suchey, J. M. (1986). Sex determination of prehistoric central California
skeletal remains using discriminant analysis of the femur and humerus. American
Journal of Physical Anthropology, 70, 3–9.
Elting, J. R. (1997). Swords Around a Throne: Napoleon’s Grande Armée. New York:
Da Capo Press.
Fiorato, V. , Boylston, A. & Knüsel, C. (eds.) (2007). Blood Red Roses: The Archaeology
of a Mass Grave from the Battle of Towton AD 1461. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Grine, F. E., Jungers, W. L., Tobias, P. V. & Pearson, O. M. (1995). Fossil Homo femur
from Berg Aukas, Northern Namibia. American Journal of Physical Anthropol-
ogy, 97, 151–85.
Hoppa, R. D. (2002). Paleodemography: looking back and thinking ahead. In: Hoppa,
R. D. & Vaupel, J. W. (eds.) Paleodemography: Age Distribution from Skeletal
Samples. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 9–28.
Jantzen, C., Jantzen, D. & Terberger, T. (2008). Der Fundplatz Weltzin, Lkr. Demmin –
ein Zeugnis bronzezeitlicher Konflikte? In: Piek, J. & Terberger, T. (eds.)
Traumatologische und pathologische Veränderungen an prähistorischen und
historischen Skelettresten – Diagnose, Ursachen und Kontext: Interdisziplinärer
Workshop in Rostock-Warnemünde, 17.-18. November 2006. Rahden, Westf:
Leidorf, 89–98.
Jantzen, D., Brinker, U., Orschiedt, J., Heinemeier, J., Piek, J., Hauenstein, K., Krüger,
J., Lidke, G., Lübke, H., Lampe, R., Lorenz, S., Schult, M. & Terberger, T. (2011).
A Bronze Age battlefield? Weapons and trauma in the Tollense Valley, North-
Eastern Germany. Antiquity, 85, 417–33.
Kjellström, A. (2005). A sixteenth-century warrior grave from Uppsala, Sweden: the
Battle of Good Friday. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 15, 23–50.
Lambert, P. M. (2002). The archaeology of war: a North American perspective. Journal
of Archaeological Research, 10, 207–41.
Mall, G., Graw, M., Gehring, K. & Hubig, M. (2000). Determination of sex from
femora. Forensic Science International, 113, 315–21.
 Stefan Flohr, Ute Brinker, Elena Spanagel, Annemarie Schramm 33

Mays, S. (1998). The Archaeology of Human Bones. London, New York: Routledge.
McHenry, H. M. (1992). Body size and proportions in early hominids. American
Journal of Physical Anthropology, 87, 407–31.
McLaughlin, M. (1990). The woman warrior: gender, warfare and society in medieval
Europe. Women’s Studies, 17, 193–200.
Milner, G. R. & Boldsen, J. L. (2012). Humeral and femoral head diameters in recent
white American skeletons. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 57, 35–40.
Neugebauer, C., Neugebauer, J. & Gattringer, A. (1997). Franzhausen: Das frühbron-
zezeitliche Gräberfeld 1. Horn: Berger.
Neugebauer, J. (1994). Die frühe und beginnende mittlere Bronzezeit in Ostösterreich
südlich der Donau. Zalai Múzeum, 5, 85–111.
Peter-Röcher, H. (2006). Spuren der Gewalt – Identifikation und soziale Relevanz in
diachroner Perspektive. Beiträge zur Ur- und Frühgeschichte Mecklenburg-
Vorpommerns, 41, 163–74.
Plutarch (1988). Demetrius and Antony, Pyrrhus and Caius Marius, 1st edn, Harvard:
Harvard University Press.
Ruff, C. B. (2000). Body size, body shape, and long bone strength in modern humans.
Journal of Human Evolution, 38, 269–90.
(2008). Biomechanical analyses of archaeological human skeletons. In: Katzenberg,
M. A. & Saunders, S. R. (eds.) Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton,
2nd edn. Hoboken: Wiley-Liss, 183–206.
Schenker, N. & Gentleman, J. F. (2001). On judging the significance of differences by
examining the overlap between confidence intervals. The American Statistician,
55, 182–6.
Sládek, V., Berner, M. & Sailer, R. (2006). Mobility in central European late Eneolithic
and Early Bronze Age: femoral cross-sectional geometry. American Journal of
Physical Anthropology, 130, 320–32.
Wahl, J. & König, H. (1987). Anthropologisch-traumatologische Untersuchung der
menschlichen Skelettreste aus dem bandkeramischen Massengrab bei Talheim,
Kreis Heilbronn. Fundberichte Baden-Württemberg, 12, 65–193.
Weiss, K. M. (1972). On the systematic bias in skeletal sexing. American Journal of
Physical Anthropology, 37, 239–49.
Wintjes, J. (2012). “Keep the Women out of the Camp!”: women and military insti-
tutions in the Classical World. In: Hacker, B. C. & Vining, M. (eds.) A Companion
to Women’s Military History. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 17–60.
3 The taphonomy of maritime warfare:
a forensic reinterpretation of sharp
force trauma from the 1676 wreck of
the Royal Swedish Warship Kronan
a n n a k j e l l s t r ö m a nd
miche l l e d . ha mi l t on

3.1 Introduction

By the end of the Age of Discovery, European expansionist policies to

establish commercial and political supremacy were in full effect, accomplished
largely via maritime expertise with large-scale exploration and colonization
initiatives. In addition to nation-building activities abroad, disputes over
internal European lands and possessions also relied heavily on maritime forces,
and these engagements often resulted in mass casualties when ships were lost
at sea during combat hostilities. This chapter explores osteological signatures
of seventeenth-century naval warfare via examination of human skeletal
remains recovered from one such catastrophic maritime disaster.
In 1676 the battleship Kronan, the flagship vessel of the Royal Swedish
Navy, sank in the midst of combat maneuvers during the Scanian War. Of the
850 men originally on board, only 42 survived the sinking event. Accounting
for the 200 or so bodies that washed ashore in the 2-week period immediately
after the disaster, the remains of approximately 600 men rested with the ship
(Einarsson 1990).
The wreck of the Kronan remained on the ocean floor for over 300 years
before it was rediscovered by Anders Franzén in 1980. Since the rediscovery,
annual nautical archaeological excavations have been carried out at the site
(Einarsson 2013; Einarsson and Mörzer Bruyns 2003). Within the first few
years of excavations, approximately 370 kilograms (815 pounds) of commingled
human bones, primarily found on the lower gun deck, were recovered.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

34
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 35

While some articulated bone elements were recovered together (i.e. humerus,
radius, ulna), most of the skeletal elements were commingled. An initial
analysis was conducted in 1997 by the late Professor Ebba M. During of the
Osteoarchaeological Research Laboratory at Stockholm University. After
completing the preliminary osteological analysis, During estimated the
minimum number of individuals recovered during the excavations to be
around 260. This number is likely an underestimation, since During did not
have access to an additional 150 kilograms (330 pounds) of bones recovered
after she passed away.
Many of the bones show striking (and completely unexpected) evidence of
sharp force traumatic defects. This research evaluates that trauma in the
context of what is known about the sinking of the ship, analysis of the sharp
force injury patterns and appearance, consideration of the burial environment,
and examination of possible taphonomic processes, in order to provide a new
interpretation for the ambiguous sharp force skeletal trauma present on the
bones from the men of the Kronan.

3.2 The Battle of Öland and loss of the battleship Kronan

In Scandinavia, the Swedish empire saw threats to her land holdings as a result
of a number of martial conflicts in the region harkening back to the Northern
Seven Years' War (1563–1570). The Scanian War of 1675–1679 was fought
between Sweden and the allied forces of Brandenberg and a Danish–Dutch and
Austrian alliance, and resulted from the 1675 Danish invasion of Scania, a
Danish border region originally ceded to Sweden in 1658 (Lindkvist and
Sjöberg 2010).
Construction of the Swedish man-of-war Kronan (“Crown”) was begun in
1665 by English shipwright Francis Sheldon under the direction of the
Swedish monarch King Charles XI (Delgado 1997; Einarsson 1990). At the
time of her construction, the Kronan was among the largest naval war vessels
in the world, with a crew consisting of 850 men and heavy armament that
included over 120 cannons, each varying in weight up to 4.5 metric tons
(5 tons) (Einarsson 2001; 2006). As the new flagship of the Royal Swedish
Naval fleet, the outbreak of regional hostilities necessitated her entry into the
Scanian War, where she made her last stand at the Battle of Öland.
On June 1, 1676 the Kronan met the pursuing Danish–Dutch enemy fleet
near the island of Öland in the Baltic Sea. Historic eye-witness statements
report that, as the Kronan attempted to confront the enemy fleet, the ship
turned too quickly and began to keel over. As she foundered in the water,
munitions and powder magazines aboard the ship then exploded, destroying
36 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

Figure 3.1. “The Battle of Öland,” 1686 oil painting by Danish artist Claus Møinichen.
The Kronan is in the foreground, foundering in the water as her on-board munitions
explode.

the entire bow structure and causing the Kronan to disappear very quickly
below the waves (Figure 3.1). In addition to the large numbers of sailors,
soldiers, and crew on board, the Admiral of the Realm Commander Lorentz
Creutz and numerous upper echelon naval officers also perished, decimating
a large portion of the command structure of the entire Swedish naval force
at the time. As noted previously, of the 850 crew members on board, only
42 survived. After the Kronan sank a number of bodies washed ashore, but the
remains of approximately 600 men remained entombed 26 meters (85.3 feet)
deep at the bottom of the sea for the next three centuries (Einarsson 1990).

3.3 Recovery of the Kronan’s cannons

Despite the depth of the wreck, soon after the sinking the Swedish monarchy
approved an expedition to recover the valuable cannons from the Kronan, an
operation that lasted from 1682 to 1686 (Einarsson 1990). Twenty years
previously, a number of cannons from another sunken Swedish warship named
the Vasa were successfully recovered with the use of a simple diving bell that
stood almost 1.5 meters (5 feet) tall (Bevan 1999), and similar techniques were
employed with the Kronan to salvage her armament.
At the time of the wreck of the Kronan, diving bells had been deployed for
the better part of a century for the purposes of recovering equipment and
treasure from sunken vessels. Diving bells are deep-sea diving chambers that
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 37

provide divers a limited air supply, allowing them to work at depth on the
ocean floor. They were typically built of wood in the shape of an inverted cup
with an opening at the base. Divers would first position themselves inside the
bell, and the weighted bell would then be lowered from a ship into the ocean,
open base first. The internal pressure of the air inside the bell kept the ocean
water from rushing inside, allowing the divers an air supply source while they
engaged in salvage and recovery work. Prior to 1690, diving bells were
primitive and not equipped with renewable air sources, which meant that
divers were working in dark and dangerous conditions and with limited time
constraints (i.e. 30 minutes at a time) and the bell had to be regularly raised to
renew and replenish the air supply (Bevan 1999).
The use of diving bells and recovery equipment such as hooks to attach to
the cannons so that they could be hauled out of the water made it possible to
save almost half of the cannons aboard the Kronan during the 4-year salvage
operation, with the largest recovered cannon weighing almost 4 metric tons
(4.5 tons).

3.4 Taphonomic environment

Despite resting on the floor of the Baltic Sea for over 300 years, the condition
of the osteological material is surprisingly very good, but three centuries
of diagenetic processes are nevertheless apparent. Most notable are the
consequences of direct contact with the ship’s metal structures, staining many
bones a dark brown to orange color, and in one case leaving corroded metal
precipitate merged to the bone surface (Figure 3.2). A number of distal and
proximal portions of long bones also show postmortem scuffing and abrasion
damage (Figure 3.3).
In the region of the Baltic Sea where the Kronan was discovered, the
condition and preservation of organic material is known to range from very
good to excellent. A number of factors characterize the depositional environ-
ment, including weak subsurface ocean currents, the deep depth of the wreck at
26 m (85.3 feet), brackish water of low salinity, temperatures seldom
exceeding 5
Celsius (41
Fahrenheit), and the complete absence of aquatic
scavengers and bone modifiers that all contribute to favorable conditions for
the preservation of bone, wood, and other organic material, even after three
centuries. In fact, in addition to the skeletal remains, the wreck of the Kronan
has yielded a large quantity of excellently preserved organic materials such as
textiles, articles of fine clothing, butchered cow and pig bones, garlic cloves,
leaves of tobacco, wooden ship figureheads, and other items characterizing
shipboard life in the seventeenth century.
38 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

Figure 3.2. Cranium infused with rusted metal. Also note traces of multiple
horizontal straight-line defects on left zygomatic bone.

Figure 3.3. Abrasion and scuffing alterations on a distal fibula (top) and proximal
ulna (bottom).
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 39

3.5 Demography, health, and trauma aboard the Kronan

While the crew of the Kronan was composed of men from all social strata,
titles of officers and working men fluctuated during the seventeenth century.
Nevertheless, generally the Admiral was in command, followed by a Captain,
a Lieutenant-Commander, several skippers and foremen, and then seamen of
lower rankings. Other professional classes on board included administrative
personnel, physicians, pharmacists, soldiers, the ship’s priest, carpenters, sail
makers, trumpeters, and a timpanist (Skenbäck 1985). Most of the occupa-
tional groups were subdivided according to rank (i.e. apprentices, journeymen,
and masters). Based on archived letters from some of the widows and mothers
of the fallen men, the age of the crew ranged from young boys serving in
apprentice positions to professional mariners who had served in the Royal
Navy for more than 40 years (Olsson 1985).
The biological profile assessed by During as part of the preliminary
osteological analysis confirmed the historical documentation, and showed that
the skeletal assemblage was composed of males ranging from the age of 9 to
individuals in their 60s. A variety of pathological conditions consistent with
both the historical period and the occupation class are represented in the
skeletal material. A range of antemortem trauma and disease is observed on
both cranial and postcranial bone elements, including signs of cribra orbitalia,
enamel hypoplasia, caries, chronic infections in the form of periapical changes
and periostitis, and degenerative disorders such as osteoarthritis and osteo-
chondritis dissecans.
Beside these antemortem conditions and pathologies, intriguing evidence
of violent trauma was also found. Throughout her analysis, During identified
perimortem defects characteristic of sharp force trauma on at least 27 of the
260 individuals (10.4%) (see Figure 3.4 for examples charted on long
bones). This was not an expected finding, since the presence of sharp force
defects is not in accordance with percussive or blast injuries that might be
expected as a result of the ship-board explosions that blew the bow off,
leading to the quick sinking of the ship. Additionally, according to contem-
porary ethnohistoric sources, at no time did any enemy forces board the
fast-sinking ship to engage in close quarter, hand-to-hand combat
(Grandin 1985).
In her analysis, During suggested that these sharp force injuries were
incurred while the ship was sinking, and are the result of the actions of
trapped and panicked men wielding their knives and swords on each other
in a desperate attempt to slash their way out of the confines of the
sinking ship:
40 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

TIBIA and FIBULA Location and number of injuries FEMUR Location and number of injuries

)
(1
in
Caput (1)

-m
aj
m
o
Tr
Dia prox (1) (6) (6) Dia prox (2) Dia prox (5)
Dia prox (1)

(2) (4)
Dia mid (1) Dia mid (8) Dia mid (10)
Dia mid (1)

(12) (11)
Dia dist (6) Dia dist (9)
Dia dist (4) Dia dist (3)

Mall fib (1)

Fac pat (3) Cond lat (2)

ANTERIOR VIEW POSTERIOR VIEW ANTERIOR VIEW POSTERIOR VIEW

RADIUS and ULNA Location and number of injuries HUMERUS Location and number of injuries

Tub min (1) Caput (2)

Dia prox (2) (2) (2) Dia prox (1)

Dia prox (3) Dia prox (2)

Dia mid (-) Dia mid (1)

Dia mid (2) (4) (3) Dia mid (2)

Dia dist (3) Dia dist (2)

Dia dist (4) (3) (4) Dia dist (3)

Dia epi (1) Trochl (1) Trochl (2)

ANTERIOR VIEW POSTERIOR VIEW ANTERIOR VIEW POSTERIOR VIEW

Figure 3.4. Locations and numbers of sharp force defect distributions on the
long bones originally charted by Professor Ebba M. During. Dia prox, proximal
diameter; dia mid, midshaft diameter; dia dist, distal diameter; mall fib, malleolus of the
fibula; fac pat, patellar facet on the distal femur; tro maj–min, greater and lesser
trochanter; cond lat, lateral condyle; dist epi, distal epiphysis; tub min, lesser tubercle;
trochl, trochlea.

Probably what we are looking at, and what these injuries are indicating, is a situation
on board the sinking ship characterized by chaos and panic. Members of the crew
are desperately trying to get out of the rapidly sinking ship, using all the means at
their disposal, both physical as well as psychological (During 1997: 594).

This explanation, while initially plausible, requires further examination based

on what we know of the circumstances of the sinking, as well as the conflicting
appearance, patterning, and distribution of the trauma. A convincing clarifica-
tion of the cause and timing of the defects has never been formulated, and other
potential scenarios have not been addressed.
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 41

A collaboration between the authors from the Osteoarchaeological

Research Laboratory at Stockholm University and the Forensic Anthro-
pology Center at Texas State University-San Marcos began in 2010, with
the goal of reassessing the sharp force defects in detail and providing
more information on the patterning and timing of wound occurrence.
This chapter explores alternative interpretations for the injuries present
on the skeletal remains using a forensic anthropological perspective,
in an attempt to both build upon and enhance previous bioarchaeological
assessments.

3.6 Sharp force trauma

Sharp force trauma (often abbreviated, “SFT”) is a collective term for injuries
inflicted by bladed or pointed tools possessing edges, bevels, or points (Komar
and Buikstra 2008; SWGANTH 2011). Typical weapon classes capable of
producing sharp force trauma include knives, swords, axes, machetes,
hatchets, and saws. Bladed weapons capable of inflicting sharp force trauma
were present aboard the Kronan in the form of personal knives carried by the
common sailors, and rapier swords belonging to many of the soldier and
officer classes on board.
The trauma analysis protocol utilized in this project incorporates descrip-
tions and recommendations utilized in forensic anthropological praxis,
survey, and research contexts (e.g. Kimmerle and Baraybar 2008; Komar
and Buikstra 2008; Merbs 1989; Ong 1999; Quatrehomme 2007; Sauer and
Simson 1984; Stewart 1979; SWGANTH 2011; Symes et al. 2001, 2010;
Tegtmeyer 2012) in an effort to elucidate information about the patterning
and timing of the specific sharp force injuries observed on the men of
the Kronan.
Signatures of sharp force trauma on bone include defects such as straight-
line incisions, stab wounds, chop and hack marks, punctures, saw marks,
gouges, and kerfs (Kimmerle and Baraybar 2008; Symes et al. 2010).
There are also ancillary and associated injuries, including chop and crush
marks, that may mimic blunt force injuries or may present as a combina-
tion of sharp force and blunt force injuries known as “sharp blunt” or
“corto-contundente” trauma that results from dual contact from a weapon’s
sharp and non-sharp components in a single wounding episode (i.e. an axe
blade can leave an incised cut mark at the initial contact point, but addition-
ally the non-bladed portions of the axe head may also leave defects on the
bone that are blunt force in nature and appearance) (Komar and Buikstra
2008; SWGANTH 2011).
42 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

A standard analysis protocol was developed for this project to document the
defects present on the bones:
1. The bones were examined macroscopically and microscopically, and all
sharp force defects were identified and described according to element,
location, side, length, width, and depth.
2. The anatomical positioning and number of the defects present on each bone
were documented together with shape, length, depth, and direction (where
possible). All kerf walls and floors were microscopically examined under a
light microscope (magnification ranging from 8 to 35), measured, and
photographed (a “kerf” is the actual incised cut or channel; Symes et al.
2010). Existence and morphology of striae, if present, were noted and
described.
3. Since the bones were commingled, no attempts could be made to identify
wound patterns specific to any single individual, although overall patterns
of defect locations were documented (Figure 3.5).

1 1 1
1 1 1
1 1 1
1 2
1 1
1 1
1
1 1
1 1 1 1

1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1
1 1 1
1
1X 1
1
1
1 1
1 1 2
2
1 1 1 1
1 1
1X 1
1 11X 1
1 1 1 1 1 1 1
1
1 1 1

1 1 1
1 1
1 1
1 1 1 1
1 1 2 2
1 2 1
2 1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1 1
2 1 1 2 2 2
1 1
1 1
1 1
4
1 1 1 1 2 2
11 1 1
1 2 2
1
1 11 1 1

1 2 1 1 1
1 2 2
1 1 1 1 1
1 1 1

Number, location, and distribution of Number, location, and distribution of

sharp force chop wound defects (note: sharp force incised (straight line) defects.
an “X” denotes defects located on the
same individual).

Figure 3.5. Overall number, location, and distribution of sharp force defects (chop
marks and incisions) found throughout the commingled assemblage (after Lodén 2008).
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 43

4. Butchered cow and pig bones (Bos taurus, Sus scrofa) from barrels con-
taining the crew’s subsistence provisions were also recovered from the
wreck, and they exhibit clear sharp force butchering marks. The cow and
pig bones were used as a reference sample of known sharp force defects
inflicted during the early postmortem interval to compare against the
trauma observed on the human remains.

3.7 Timing of defects – antemortem, perimortem, and

postmortem considerations

Establishing the timing of injuries in skeletal material – especially during the

perimortem and early postmortem interval – can be a difficult endeavor.
Diagnostic criteria to identify the temporal timeframe in which defects
are sustained are dependent on features such as the presence of healing,
or the “fresh” or “dry” response state of the bones derived from the organic
collagen content and associated elasticity levels (Aufderheide and Rodríguez-
Martin 1998).
While determining whether skeletal trauma is associated with the perimor-
tem or postmortem interval has important legal consequences in modern
forensic investigations, in bioarchaeological and historic skeletons, under-
standing the timing of these defects can also aid in understanding the cause
and/or manner of death, as well as the circumstances surrounding the depos-
itional environment. In the case of the Kronan, we are confronted with historic
eye-witness accounts that do not initially match with the osteological evidence
at hand, and thus the question of timing is significant.

3.7.1 Antemortem trauma

The recognition of antemortem injuries, suffered while the individual was

living, is relatively straightforward because of the presence of active bone
response and healing around the site of injury or disease process (Ortner 2003).
According to standardized forensic anthropology guidelines (SWGANTH
2011: 2), characteristics that indicate antemortem trauma include:

· Evidence of healing or healed defects

· Trauma-inducedof adegenerative
Development pseudarthrosis
· Infectious response joint disease
· Dental fractures with worn edges
· Surgical implants or other medical devices.
·
44 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

3.7.2 Perimortem trauma

Perimortem injuries are those sustained by the individual in the period sur-
rounding the death event itself (Bennike 2008). In the absence of soft tissue, it
can be difficult to assess injuries sustained in the perimortem interval on
skeletonized individuals. This is because bones may retain the same signatures
of trauma and damage sustained in the perimortem interval as defects inflicted
in the early postmortem interval, owing to the inherent plastic properties of
fresh bone retained for some period even after an individual’s death (White
et al. 2012). This inability to estimate accurately the timing of wound
occurrence from the perimortem to early postmortem interval may confound
interpretations and lead to incorrect assumptions about the mechanism and
causes of trauma, because bone may still show perimortem bone response even
if the defects were incurred in the postmortem period. According to standard-
ized forensic anthropology guidelines (SWGANTH 2011: 3), characteristics
that indicate perimortem trauma include:

· AThelackpresence
of osteological activity such as healing or infectious response
· The absence ofofdryfreshbonebonefracture
fracture characteristics (e.g. plastic response)
· An overall fracture pattern characteristic
characteristics (e.g. angular fractures)
· deceleration). of a terminal event (e.g. rapid

3.7.3 Postmortem defects

Postmortem defects are taphonomic alterations that occur after the individual
has died, and are unassociated with the death event itself. Postmortem defects
in dry bone from archaeological, historic, or forensic depositional contexts can
be comparatively easy to identify because, once bone loses its organic content,
it reacts differently than fresh bone would to similar pressures or forces,
producing identifiable defects (i.e. angular fractures), and coloration changes
(i.e. lighter edges of more recently fractured bone). According to standardized
forensic anthropology guidelines (SWGANTH 2011: 3), characteristics that
indicate postmortem damage include:

· Differentially stained or recently exposed surfaces

· ACharacteristics
lack of healing
· Pattern of damage.
of the break lacking evidence of a plastic component
·
The challenge in interpreting the category and timing of defects on the skeletal
material from the Kronan not only involves distinguishing perimortem from
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 45

postmortem defects, but is made all the more difficult by the fact that the bones
were never in a dry postmortem state until they were recovered some three
centuries later. They remained waterlogged in conditions conducive to organic
preservation for over 300 years, likely retaining organic content and biome-
chanical properties of fresh bone for quite some time.

3.8 Results of analysis of sharp force trauma

Using standard forensic anthropological protocols and macroscopic and micro-

scopic analysis, a sample of 18 out of the total 27 human bone elements
recovered from the Kronan displaying traumatic sharp force defects was
analyzed.
Given the known circumstances surrounding the sinking of the Kronan, the
first question we asked is whether these defects were more consistent with
blast force trauma (expected) or sharp force trauma (unexpected). The analysis
confirmed that the morphology of these injuries was wholly consistent with
sharp force trauma (Figure 3.6) and that no conclusive evidence of blast force,
percussive, or explosive injuries or fractures was noted within the remainder of
the collection, with the possible exception of a scapula clearly displaying a
square impalement defect (Figure 3.7).
Next, the sharp force defects were examined to determine if the perimortem
versus postmortem timing of these injuries could be assessed. Potential

Figure 3.6. Representative examples of sharp force trauma (incisions and chop marks)
found throughout the Kronan’s skeletal assemblage. A ¼ Right distal femur. B ¼ Right
frontal. C ¼ Right ulnar shaft. D ¼ Left tibial shaft. E ¼ Right proximal ulna.
F ¼ Right distal fibula. G ¼ Right humeral shaft. H ¼ Left fibular shaft. I ¼ Right
distal tibia. J ¼ Cow rib.
46 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

Figure 3.7. Photo of right scapula (left) and inset radiograph (right) displaying a square
impalement defect.

indicators of fresh bone response to certain types of sharp force trauma can
include such features as breakaway notches or spurs, chipping, chattering, or
bone shaving with attendant polish (Kerley 1973; Ong 1999; Symes et al.
2010). However, where these defects were noted (i.e. the chattering shown in
Figure 3.6E, or the polish shown in Figure 3.6G), it is unknown if they resulted
from an injury sustained in the perimortem interval or if they were incurred in
the postmortem interval and merely mimic a perimortem defect because of the
waterlogged (and hence potentially plastic) nature of the bone. Because of the
inherent complexity of the submerged depositional context, we were unable to
determine definitively whether the sharp force defects were inflicted in the
perimortem or postmortem period. Despite this, we do have known compara-
tive samples against which to compare these defects. The butchered cow and
pig bones recovered from the wreck of the Kronan provide exemplars for what
waterlogged postmortem sharp force defects look like on bone. These animal
bones were protected in barrels and a majority show clear signs of being
slaughtered units of meat. Among the commingled animal bones are elements
demonstrating trauma similar to that found on the human bones. For example,
a butchered cow rib displays straight-line incisions that bear a striking resem-
blance to the morphology of the sharp force trauma seen on many of the
human bones (compare Figure 3.6A and 3.6J), so postmortem infliction of
these defects should not be ruled out.
The final question we explored was whether the morphology, distribu-
tion, and patterning of sharp force defects reflected what would be expected
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 47

in hand-to-hand combat by men wielding knives and swords. Our examin-

ation showed that the sharp force defects are not distributed on the expected
bone elements if combatants were engaged in face-to-face (or even face-to-
back) combat (Ong 1999), i.e. we might expect bones of the head, chest,
arms, and back to sustain the most damage, but, in fact, the patterning and
location of trauma appears to be distributed across many elements (see
Figures 3.4 and 3.5), and appears to be focused on the arms and especially
the legs, with many incisions located in atypical areas such as internal joint
surfaces that would have been difficult to access in living, fleshed individ-
uals (see Figure 3.6F).

3.9 Alternative interpretation of the ambiguous sharp force trauma

This current project was undertaken to better define the trauma type, location,
and patterning present on a number of skeletal elements recovered from the
wreck of the Kronan. In terms of differentiating between perimortem and
postmortem trauma, no definitive assessment can be offered owing to the
complexities of estimating timing of these defects in waterlogged bone subject
to three centuries of diagenetic modifications. However, the results of this
current osteological analysis show the following:

· Ifexpected
the defects reflect close-quarter combat, they are not distributed on
bone elements
· regions (i.e. cutreflect
If the defects close-quarter combat, many are located in anomalous
marks located in between joint surfaces in the legs and feet)
· Butchered cow and pig bones with postmortem sharp force trauma show
very similar wound signatures to the human osteological material.
The forensic analysis confirmed that the defects were not caused by explosive
blast events, and that multiple bones do in fact have clear evidence of the type
of damage classified as sharp force trauma, i.e. injuries caused by sharp-edged
objects. Given the known facts of the sinking of the Kronan and the analysis of
the traumatic defects and patterning of the wound characteristics, it does not
appear that these defects resulted from the violent actions of panicked men
trying to escape the ship, as was previously proposed (During 1997). Patterns,
locations, and morphology of the cuts do not rule out postmortem timing, so
what might instead account for the variety and number of sharp force traumatic
injuries observed on many of the skeletal elements from the Kronan if they did
not, in fact, result from close-quarter conflicts?
We suggest an alternative hypothesis for the sharp force trauma signatures.
We propose the defects are taphonomic in nature, and likely reflect
48 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

postmortem damage sustained during the cannon recovery efforts undertaken

only 6 years after the loss of the Kronan.
Organic and inorganic material was excellently preserved, and the ship’s
rigging, sails, masts, metallic components, and other structures were still intact
even hundreds of years after she sank. Additionally, it is not unreasonable to
propose that only 6 years after the wreck, at that depth and under those
conditions, adipocere may have been present on many of the bodies, leading
to the presence of wholly fleshed or partially fleshed individuals. (In fact, one of
the authors worked on a forensic case involving a body that had been sub-
merged in a deep, cold, freshwater quarry for over 20 years, and when it was
recovered and brought to the surface, many of the elements still retained adipose
tissue.) Adipose tissue, also referred to as grave soap or grave wax, results from
a chemical conversion of the body’s lipids into a substance that is greasy,
coagulated, dense, and most often formed in aquatic contexts and lasting
upwards of a century in the right environment (Sorg et al. 2012). This means
that only 6 years after the sinking, when the diving bells were deployed to raise
the valuable armament, a large and complex debris field was still present where
fleshed bodies, ropes, sails, rigging, masts, and other items were likely entan-
gled with some of the cannons. This would have presented a challenge to the
divers in the diving bell who were working in dangerous conditions and in near
darkness with hooks, knives, hatchets, and other recovery gear. The bodies or
body parts likely would have been manipulated (i.e. cut, chopped, removed) to
clear the cannons for transport to the surface. This scenario may fully explain
the ambiguous patterning and location of the cut marks; they are postmortem
artifacts caused by divers using bladed instruments on entangled bodies during
the 4-year expedition to salvage the Kronan’s valuable cannons.

References
Aufderheide, A. C. & Rodríguez-Martin, C. (1998). The Cambridge Encyclopedia of
Human Paleopathology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bennike, P. (2008). Trauma. In: Pinhasi, R. & Mays, S. (eds.) Advances in Human
Palaeopathology, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 309–28.
Bevan, J. (1999). Diving bells through the centuries. South Pacific Underwater
Medicine Society Journal, 29, 42–50.
Delgado, J. P. (1997). Encyclopedia of Underwater and Maritime Archaeology.
New Haven: Yale University Press.
During, E. (1997). Specific skeletal injuries observed on the human skeletal remains
from the Swedish seventeenth century man-of-war, Kronan. International Journal
of Osteoarchaeology, 7, 591–4.
Einarsson, L. (1990). Kronan – underwater archaeological investigations of a
17th-century man-of-war. The nature, aims and development of a maritime
 Anna Kjellström and Michelle D. Hamilton 49

cultural project. The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology and Under-

water Exploration, 19, 219–97.
(2001). Kronan. Kalmar: Kalmar läns Museum.
(2006). Kronanprojektet, Rapport Om 2006 Års Marinarkeologiska Undersökningar
Av Regalskeppet Kronan. Kalmar: Kalmar läns Museum.
(2013). Kronanprojektet, Rapport Om 2012 Års Marinarkeologiska Undersökningar
Av Regalskeppet Kronan. Kalmar: Kalmar läns Museum.
Einarsson, L. & Mörzer Bruyns, W. F. J. (2003). A cross-staff from the wreck of the
Kronan (1676). The International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, 32, 53–60.
Grandin, G. (1985). Kronan Går Under. In: Axel, J. B. (ed.) Regalskeppet Kronan.
Höganäs: Bra Böcker, 138–9.
Kerley, E. R. (1973). Forensic anthropology. In: Wecht, C. H. (ed.) Legal Medicine
Annual. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 161–98.
Kimmerle, E. H. & Baraybar, J. P. (eds.) (2008). Skeletal Trauma: Identification of
Injuries Resulting from Human Remains Abuse and Armed Conflict. Boca Raton:
CRC Press.
Komar, D. A. & Buikstra, J. E. (2008). Forensic Anthropology: Contemporary Theory
and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lindkvist, T. & Sjöberg, M. (2010). Det Svenska Samhället 800–1720. Klerkernas Och
Adelns Tid. Lund: Studentlitteratur.
Lodén, M. 2008. Svärdshugg eller explosion? En osteogisk analys ay skelettelment med
perimortala huggmärken från regalskeppet Kronan. Master Thesis, Stockholm
University.
Merbs, C. F. (1989). Trauma. In: Iscan, M. Y. & Kennedy, K. A. R. (eds.) Reconstruc-
tion of Life from the Skeleton. New York: Alan R. Liss, 161–99.
Olsson, E. L. (1985). Kronans Änkor. In: Axel, J. B. (ed.) Regalskeppet Kronan.
Höganäs: Bra Böcker, 166–7.
Ong, B. B. (1999). The pattern of homicidal slash/chop injuries: a 10 year retrospective
study in University Hospital Kuala Lumpur. Journal of Clinical Forensic Medicine,
6, 24–9.
Ortner, D. J. (2003). Identification of Pathological Conditions in Human Skeletal
Remains, 2nd edn. London: Academic Press.
Quatrehomme, G. (2007). A strange case of dismemberment. In: Brickley, M. B. &
Ferllini, R. (eds.) Forensic Anthropology: Case Studies from Europe. Springfield:
Charles C. Thomas, 99–119.
Sauer, N. J. & Simson, L. R. (1984). Clarifying the role of forensic anthropologists in
death investigations. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 29, 1–6.
Skenbäck, U. (1985). Timmermän, Befäl Och Andra. In: Axel, J. B. (ed.) Regalskeppet
Kronan. Höganäs: Bra Böcker, 82–3.
Sorg, M. H., Haglund, W. D. & Wren, J. A. (2012). Current research in forensic
taphonomy. In: Dirkmaat, D. C. (ed.) A Companion to Forensic Anthropology.
Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell Publishing, 477–527.
Stewart, T. D. (1979). Essentials of Forensic Anthropology: Especially as Developed in
the United States. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas.
50 The taphonomy of maritime warfare

SWGANTH. (2011). Trauma Analysis [Online]. Available: http://swganth.startlogic.

com/Trauma%20Rev/.pdf. [Accessed September 28, 2013.]
Symes, S. A., Williams, J. A., Murray, E. A., Hoffman, J. M., Holland, T. D., Saul,
J. M., Saul, F. P. & Pope, E. J. (2001). Taphonomic context of sharp-force trauma
in suspected cases of human mutilation and dismemberment. In: Haglund, W. D. &
Sorg, M. (eds.) Advances in Forensic Taphonomy: Method, Theory, and Archaeo-
logical Perspectives. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 403–34.
Symes, S. A., Chapman, E. N., Rainwater, C. W., Cabo, L. L. & Myster, S. M. T.
(2010). Knife and Saw Toolmark Analysis in Bone: A Manual Designed for the
Examination of Criminal Mutilation and Dismemberment [Online]. National
Institute of Justice Technical Report. Available: http://www.ncjrs.gov/pdffiles1/
nij/grants/232227.pdf.
Tegtmeyer, C. E. (2012). A comparative analysis of serrated and non-serrated sharp
force trauma to bone. Texas State University-San Marcos: MA thesis.
White, T. D., Black, M. T. & Folkens, P. A. (2012). Human Osteology, 3rd edn.
San Diego: Academic Press.
4 The determination of homicide vs.
suicide in gunshot wounds
v in c e n t h . st e f a n

4.1 Background

When examining a set of human skeletal remains in a bioarchaeological or

forensic context, the assessment of perimortem trauma and the collection of
evidence that can be utilized to determine the cause and/or manner of death
are just a couple of the critical objectives facing a biological/forensic anthro-
pologist. When evidence of perimortem gunshot wound (GSW) trauma is
evident in a set of human remains the question needs to be asked as to how
the decedent obtained that trauma, i.e. accident, suicide, or homicide. In most
situations involving homicidal GSW trauma, it is difficult to determine
whether the decedent was truly a victim (non-participant in a conflict) or a
perpetrator of violence shot in the course of a conflict (justifiable homicide).
The presence of ligatures, blindfolds, etc. may aid in those distinctions;
otherwise, each individual dying from a GSW is a “victim” to a varying
degree. A similar point of potential confusion and difficulty is found in
recognizing suicidal vs. homicidal GSWs in certain situations. In many
cases, the context of the remains and the scene will aid in the determination
of suicide vs. homicide. “Context accounts for the intention of those perpet-
rating crimes and the fatal environment (i.e. where the incident took place).
Were the victims fighting, detained, bound, crowded into a small concrete
room, or lying in a field at the time of their deaths?” (Kimmerle and Baraybar
2008).
This chapter will attempt to address these issues and lines of potential
evidence that can be utilized to assess the manner of death involving GSWs.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

51
52 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

4.2 Context of remains

As should be evident to all, GSW victims tend not to be able to bury

themselves following their death, so some subsequent activity facilitated their
burial. Careful examination of the burial needs to be conducted to determine if
the grave is “homicide-related” or owing to natural taphonomic activity
(Roksandic 2002; Schmitt 2002). Graves, either single burials or mass graves,
are often utilized to conceal human remains in an attempt by the perpetrator(s)
to hide the evidence of a crime (Schmitt 2002). The presence of blindfolds and
restraints on the victims within the burials would further indicate the burial was
a result of “homicide-related” activity. “Evidence of executions, such as
blindfolds, ligatures, wounds to the back of the head, or those inflicted when
the individual was in a kneeling or lying position and witness testimony or
other investigative/documentary forms of evidence are all indicative of
murder” (Kimmerle and Baraybar 2008).
Surface deposition of GSW victims poses a more difficult task of assessing
manner of death. The specific context of the victim at the time of death, as well
as the postmortem context of the victim’s remains, could provide invaluable
information as to the manner of death.
Figure 4.1a illustrates an example of a “clandestine” burial, with the
victim lying in a supine position, approximately 4–6 inches below ground
level. Although the decedent had sustained an entrance GSW to the
right frontal bone (Figure 4.1b), with an exit GSW near the osteometric
landmark “lambda,” resulting in a trajectory consistent with a suicidal, self-
inflicted GSW, the lack of a weapon within the grave and the fact the
decedent was buried all indicate this individual had died as a result of
homicidal activity.
The next figures present two cases of GSW victims with surface depos-
ition of their remains. Figure 4.2a is of a homicidal GSW victim, while
Figure 4.2b is of a suicidal GSW victim. The decedent in Figure 4.2a
possessed a tangential entrance GSW to the posterior left parietal bone, with
an incomplete exit in the superior frontal squama. The trajectory of the GSW
is more consistent with a homicidal GSW than with a suicidal GSW.
A distinct entrance GSW could not be determined with the decedent in
Figure 4.2b; however, a clear exit GSW is present in the occipital bone,
indicating an anterior–posterior trajectory, consistent with a suicidal GSW.
Also found at the scene was a rifle, suspected to be the weapon which
inflicted the GSW. Although the presence of the weapon with the decedent
does not preclude homicide as a possible manner of death, in an undisturbed
crime scene, the weapon is more likely to be found in close proximity to
suicide victims (Spitz 1993).
 Vincent H. Stefan 53

Figure 4.1. a Clandestine burial of GSW homicide victim.

Figure 4.1. b GSW – entrance in right frontal, exit near landmark lambda. Homicide.
54 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

Figure 4.2. a Surface deposition of GSW homicide victim.

Figure 4.2. b Surface deposition of GSW suicide victim. Probable anterior

splanchnocranial entrance, exit through the occipital bone.
 Vincent H. Stefan 55

4.3 Defensive wounds

In some incidents involving assaults with a firearm, the victims make attempts
to protect themselves by positioning themselves to minimize the target area
presented by their body or by placing their arms in front of their faces in an
attempt to protect their face and head. Distinctive wounds to the bones of the
forearm, the ulna and radius, and the hand may be observed, indicating that
such self-defense posturing was attempted by the victim. For example, a victim
apprehending that the bullet/projectile is approaching to hit them in the head
may instinctively attempt to protect their head either by turning it away or by
raising the arms, with the bullet passing-off just by grazing the scalp or
striking/hitting the arm (Vij et al. 2012).
When examining and evaluating a potential self-defensive GSW, special
attention must be made to determine the trajectory of the projectile, taking into
account possible changes in body orientation. A GSW to the radius may have
the appearance of a posterior–anterior trajectory when considering the body in
a standard anatomical position, but may in fact have been an anterior–posterior
trajectory if the arm was raised in front of the face and head for protection.
There can never be 100% certainty about the position/orientation of the victim
and the perpetrator of GSWs, but the careful evaluation and consideration of
all possible positions/orientations in conjunction with the GSWs can result in
the inclusion and exclusion of certain scenarios, which in turn can assist in the
assessment of manner of death.

4.4 Multiple wounds

In cases involving suicidal GSWs it is rare, though not impossible, to observe

multiple GSW traumas (Kury et al. 2000; Spitz 1993). In a study of 288
firearm deaths, Druid (1997) found that 57% of homicide victims possessed
multiple GSWs, while only 3% of suicides possessed multiple GSWs. Hejna
et al. (2012) discuss three cases of multiple, suicidal GSWs to the head. Kury
et al. (2000) discuss two cases of multiple, suicidal GSWs to the head and
discuss the scientific literature that document other such cases. In their assess-
ment, the vast majority of multiple suicidal GSWs to the head involve the
utilization of handguns (revolvers and pistols), while “high-velocity guns and
large-caliber bullets with high stopping power obviously tend to cause
immediate incapacitation” (Kury et al. 2000), limiting the victim's ability to
inflict subsequent wounds.
The presence of multiple GSW traumas in a single victim, or GSW trauma
defects in close anatomical proximity may indicate the assault was inflicted by
56 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

an independent assailant. Meddings and O’Conner (1999) state the location,

number, and severity of GSWs could demonstrate homicidal intent. Molina
and DiMaio (2008), in a study of rifle GSWs, found that in cases with multiple
rifle wounds it was 21.6 times more likely to be a result of homicide than
suicide. Additionally, Molina and DiMaio found that multiple wound locations
were the most common “location” for homicidal rifle wounds, followed by the
head and chest (Molina and DiMaio 2008).

4.5 Trajectory and range of fire

As mentioned previously, “Evidence of executions, such as blindfolds, liga-

tures, wounds to the back of the head, or those inflicted when the individual
was in a kneeling or lying position and witness testimony or other investi-
gative/documentary forms of evidence are all indicative of murder” (Kimmerle
and Baraybar 2008). Bullet trajectory cannot definitively prove manner of
death – it can, however, provide evidence “consistent with” a particular
manner of death. Site of entrance is one component of trajectory of fire.
Desinan and Mazzolo (2005) note that “shooting in inaccessible sites cannot
be suicide” and that “it is not true that suicides always shoot themselves in the
head on the same side as their dominant hand.” Karger and DuChesne (1997)
document a case where the handedness of the decedent and the trajectory of the
projectile excluded the possibility that the GSW was self-inflicted accidentally
or by suicide.
However, range of fire can rule out suicide as a manner of death. With
suicides, the range of fire must be within arm’s length, depending on the type
of weapon and excluding some mechanical device to assist in firing the
weapon (Desinan and Mazzolo 2005). An example of mechanically assisted,
suicidal shotgun GSW to the back is presented by Durak et al. (2006). In this
example, the decedent utilized a string to pull the trigger of a shotgun, resulting
in a GSW to the back at a range of approximately 140.0 cm.
The presence or absence of soot, powder burns, and stippling (powder
tattooing) on the skin, as well as clothing or skin rupture from trapped gases,
will indicate whether an entrance GSW was contact, near contact or greater
range, and thus provide evidence consistent with or not consistent with suicide,
homicide, or other (Tokdemir et al. 2007). Intermediate GSWs typically
produce powder tattooing and/or stippling of the skin. The size and density
of such powder-induced injuries around an entry wound are used to estimate
the separation distance between the muzzle of the responsible firearm and the
entry site through test firings at selected muzzle-to-target distances, with
ammunition comparable to the injury-producing round and the evidence
 Vincent H. Stefan 57

firearm (Haag 2005). Therefore, in addition to the distance between the firearm
muzzle and surface of the body, the pattern of powder burns and stippling are
influenced by the type of firearm, as well as the type of ammunition and
propellant within that round, producing distinctive patterns (Haag 2005).
In a retrospective study of 288 GSW fatalities, Druid (1997) determined that
suicidal GSWs were predominantly contact wounds, while only 33 of 112
(approximately one-third) of the homicidal GSWs were contact, near-contact,
or intermediate-range wounds. Suicide entrance wound sites tended to occur at
the mouth, right temple, or left chest, while homicide entrance wound sites
tended to be more variable. Although 38% of the homicidal GSWs had
entrance wounds to the right temple and the left side of the chest (sites
common to suicidal GSWs), the trajectory of these wounds differed signifi-
cantly from suicidal wounds (Druid 1997). A back-to-front trajectory is more
common in homicide, even with a GSW to the right temple, and an intraoral
GSW with a downward trajectory is not likely to occur in a suicide, but is more
common in homicide. A study by Karger et al. (2002) supports the findings
discussed by Druid, yet they caution that certain trajectories cannot be utilized
to exclude suicide.
In an exhaustive study of rifle GSWs, Molina and DiMaio (2008) found that
the location of suicidal rifle GSWs tended to be intraoral, while homicidal head
wounds tended to be temporoparietal or occipital. Yet, a wound to the head is
3.5 times more likely to be a result of suicide than homicide. With regard to
wounds to specific locations on the head, wounds to the back of the head are
28 times more likely to be a homicide, as are wounds to the face (33 times
more likely). Additionally, the presence of multiple rifle wounds was 21.6
times more likely to be a result of homicide than suicide. With regard to range-
of-fire, distant rifle wounds are 1000 times more likely to be homicide;
intermediate rifle wounds are 2.5 times more likely to be homicide; and contact
rifle wounds are 170 times more likely to be suicide.
Similar results were obtained when these researchers examined cases
involving shotgun GSWs (Molina et al. 2007). As with rifle GSWs, Molina
et al. (2007) found that the location of suicidal shotgun GSWs tended to be in
the head and was predominantly intraoral or submental, while homicidal
shotgun wounds tended to occur in the chest and head, with the specific
location of head wounds in the face. Multiple wounds and multiple locations
of wounds were seen more frequently in cases involving homicide than in
cases of suicide. Contact wounds were observed more frequently in suicides
than homicides, while distant wounds were observed more frequently in
homicide cases (Molina et al. 2007).
Figures 4.3a and 4.3b illustrate several examples of multiple GSW traumas,
as well as GSW trajectory. The decedent in Figure 4.3a received three GSWs,
58 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

Figure 4.3. a Multiple GSWs to thoracic cavity. Posterior–anterior trajectory.

one in each of the right, left, and mid upper torso. Evaluation of the wounds
indicated the trajectory of fire was posterior–anterior, and slightly superior–
inferior, a trajectory that is most clearly recognized when examining the
damage present to the first and second thoracic vertebrae. Figure 4.3b presents
two cases, one involving wounds to the occipital and posterior parietal bones
and the second involving wounds to adjacent right ribs. The entrance wounds to
the cranium clearly indicate a trajectory of posterior–anterior, and slight left–
right. The presence of multiple GSWs, the close anatomical proximity of the
wounds, and the trajectory of these wounds are all consistent with homicide.

4.6 Discussion

“The distinction between homicide, suicide and accident can sometimes be

extremely difficult” (Desinan and Mazzolo 2005). As illustrated by the cases
presented, in many situations the determination of manner of death can be
deduced through the assessment of context, presence of defensive wounds, and
presence of multiple GSWs, as well as the trajectory of the GSWs. Despite the
importance of determining manner of death in a forensic context, an exhaustive
 Vincent H. Stefan 59

Figure 4.3. b Multiple GSWs to left parietal and occipital, and adjacent right ribs.

search of the scientific literature has revealed that few articles have been
published dealing with assessing and determining manner of death in GSWs.
Most of the articles found are either case studies dealing with unusual GSW
deaths (Durak et al. 2006; Kury et al. 2000; Sekula-Perlman et al. 1998;
Zietlow and Hawley 1993) or surveys of GSW cases examining wound
location, number of wounds, and/or range of shot (Karger and DuChesne
1997; Karger et al. 2002; Molina and DiMaio 2008; Molina et al. 2007).
Some features and lines of evidence utilized to evaluate manner of death in
GSWs, and all mechanisms of death for that matter, are so “self-evident” that
almost no scientific literature is dedicated to their discussion and review,
making any mention of them seem “anecdotal,” as is the case with this chapter.
Some of these features are the presence of ligatures and blindfolds, evidence of
possible defensive wounds, and the disposition of the remains (i.e. buried,
60 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

unburied, etc.). When encountered by forensic practitioners and investigators,

immediate and often “obvious” conclusions are reached with regard to manner
of death.
A review of the available literature, however, does present informative data
that can be utilized in the assessment of manner of death involving GSWs.
Some general conclusions are as follows.
1. Intentional, clandestine burial of decedents with GSWs tends to be “homi-
cide-related.”
2. The presence of blindfolds and restraints on the decedents indicates
“homicide-related” activity.
3. Multiple GSWs are more commonly observed in cases involving homicide.
4. Multiple wound location is more consistent with homicide.
5. Suicidal GSWs are predominantly contact or near-contact wounds.
6. Gunshot entrance wounds located in inaccessible sites are more consistent
with homicide.
7. Back-to-front and downward bullet trajectories are more consistent with
homicide.
As can be inferred from the usage of such terms as “consistent with,” “more
commonly observed,” and “would tend to be,” these general conclusions are
not absolute by any stretch of the imagination. Each case needs to be examined
carefully to determine if the observed evidence supports or contradicts these
generalized conclusions.

4.7 Summary and conclusions

There is no single feature or wound characteristic that can be exclusively

attributed to a single manner of death. The best any forensic practitioner can
do is to evaluate the GSW traumas present in a decedent and make an
evaluation as to which manner of death the evidence is more consistent with.
The features of the victim and GSW trauma that are routinely evaluated to
assess manner of death include context of remains, presence of ligatures/
blindfolds, presence of defensive wounds, presence of powder burns and
stippling (powder tattooing), presence of multiple wounds, wound location/
trajectory, and range of fire. Some of these features tend to be “more
consistent” with suicide, while others tend to be “more consistent” with
homicide. In the end, it is the total, summed weight of the objective/subject-
ive observations of these features that will lead a forensic investigator to
make the determination as to whether a GSW victim died as a result of
suicidal or homicidal activity.
 Vincent H. Stefan 61

To many readers, this chapter will seem “simplistic” and “anecdotal,” and in
all honesty it is. The paucity of scientific literature dealing with this topic is a
reflection of how most of these features become “common knowledge” and
“obvious” as forensic practitioners gain more experience and exposure to more
cases. The correct assessment of manner of death depends on the accurate
observation, evaluation, and interpretation of all evidence related to the case.
The knowledge base that is required by forensic practitioners, that which is
necessary to make these accurate investigations, is often acquired through first-
hand experience. For each case involving GSWs, there is physical evidence
that can be scientifically, “objectively” examined and empirical data that can
be collected. It is the “subjective” interpretation of this evidence and empirical
data to determine manner of death that has garnered little scientific evaluation
and, as a result, there are few publications in the scientific literature.

References
Desinan, L. & Mazzolo, G. M. (2005). Gunshot fatalities: suicide, homicide or
accident? A series of 48 cases. Forensic Science International, 147S, S37–40.
Druid, H. (1997). Site of entrance wound and direction of bullet path in firearm
fatalities as indicators of homicide versus suicide. Forensic Science International,
88, 147–62.
Durak, D., Fedakar, R. & Türkmen, N. (2006). A distance-range, suicidal shotgun
wound of the back. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 51, 131–3.
Haag, L. C. (2005). Physical forms of contemporary small-arms propellants and their
forensic value. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 26,
5–10.
Hejna, P., Šafr, M. & Zátopková, L. (2012). The ability to act – multiple suicidal
gunshot wounds. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 19, 1–6.
Karger, B. & DuChesne, A. (1997). Who fired the gun? A causistic contribution to the
differentiation between self-inflicted and non-self-inflicted gunshot wounds. Inter-
national Journal of Legal Medicine, 110, 33–5.
Karger, B., Billeb, E., Koops, E. & Brinkmann, B. (2002). Autopsy features relevant for
discrimination between suicidal and homicidal gunshot injuries. International
Journal of Legal Medicine, 116, 273–8.
Kimmerle, E. H. & Baraybar, J. P. (eds.) (2008). Skeletal Trauma: Identification of
Injuries Resulting from Human Rights Abuses and Armed Conflict. Boca Raton:
CRC Press.
Kury, G., Weiner, J. & Duval, J. V. (2000). Multiple self-inflicted gunshot wounds to
the head: report of a case and review of the literature. The American Journal of
Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 21, 32–5.
Meddings, D. R. & O’Conner, S. M. (1999). Circumstances around weapon injury in
Cambodia after departure of a peacekeeping force: prospective cohort study.
British Medical Journal, 319, 412–15.
62 Homocide vs. suicide in gunshot wounds

Molina, D. K. & DiMaio, V. J. (2008). Rifle wounds: a review of range and location as
pertaining to manner of death. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and
Pathology, 29, 201–5.
Molina, D. K., Wood, L. E. & DiMaio, V. J. (2007). Shotgun wounds: a review of range
and location as pertaining to manner of death. The American Journal of Forensic
Medicine and Pathology, 28, 99–102.
Roksandic, M. (2002). Position of skeletal remains as a key to understanding mortuary
behavior. In: Haglund, W. D. & Sorg, M. H. (eds.) Advances in Forensic Taph-
onomy. Method, Theory, and Archaeological Perspectives. Boca Raton: CRC
Press, 99–117.
Schmitt, S. (2002). Mass graves and the collection of forensic evidence: genocide, war
crimes, and crimes against humanity. In: Haglund, W. D. & Sorg, M. H. (eds.)
Advances in Forensic Taphonomy. Method, Theory, and Archaeological Perspec-
tives. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 277–92.
Sekula-Perlman, A., Tobin, J. G., Pretzler, E., Ingle, J. & Callery, R. T. (1998). Three
unusual cases of multiple suicidal gunshot wounds to the head. The American
Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 19, 23–9.
Spitz, W. U. (1993). Spitz and Fisher’s Medicolegal Investigation of Death: Guidelines
for the Application of Pathology to Crime Investigation. Springfield, IL: Charles
C. Thomas.
Tokdemir, M., Kafadar, H., Turkoglu, A. & Bork, T. (2007). Forensic value of
gunpowder tattooing in identification of multiple entrance wounds from one bullet.
Legal Medicine (Tokyo, Japan), 9, 147–50.
Vij, K., Garg, A., Sandhu, S. S., Langeh, S. & Bakshi, I. (2012). Medicolegal implica-
tions of defence wounds. Journal of Punjab Academy of Forensic Medicine &
Toxicology, 12, 54–6.
Zietlow, C. & Hawley, D. A. (1993). Unexpectedly homicide: three intraoral gunshot
wounds. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 14, 230–3.
5 The first cut is the deepest: looking
for patterns in cases of human
dismemberment
andrew c. seidel and l aura c.
fu l gini t i

5.1 Introduction

More so than most murders, homicides involving postmortem dismemberment

tend to capture the imagination of the public and spur on speculation as to the
identity and motives of the perpetrator. Owing in part to the influence of popular
culture, there is the unwarranted tendency to associate dismemberments with
serial killers (Konopka et al. 2007). Yet, despite the morbid interest that such
cases draw, there is little that can be definitively said about either the victims
of dismemberment or the authors of such crimes. The lack of knowledge
concerning this type of crime can be attributed primarily to their rarity (Dogan
et al. 2010; Konopka et al. 2007; Rajs et al. 1998) as well as to the difficulties
involved with solving homicide cases involving fragmented remains.
We begin this chapter with an overview of the literature concerning dismem-
berment cases, detailing classification schemes that have been introduced and
inferences that are typically drawn from case characteristics. We then present a
series of recommended protocols when dealing with dismembered human
remains. Following this, brief descriptions of eight dismemberment cases from
Maricopa County, Arizona, are provided. The results of previous surveys of
dismemberment cases from other countries are discussed, especially in regard to
characteristics that are common in such cases. These outcomes, as well as a brief
discussion on the differences between male and female homicide offenders, are
used to suggest that homicides involving dismemberments might have different
characteristics depending on the sex of both their victim and their perpetrator.
We conclude by presenting and discussing the results of a preliminary analysis
of 102 dismemberment cases taken primarily from published accounts.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

63
64 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

5.2 Classification of dismemberments

Dismemberment of the human body, here defined as the intentional removal of

a body segment or segments (adapted from Kahana et al. 2010), is often
viewed by both the public and the media as more heinous than homicide alone
and is frequently accompanied by speculations about serial killers (Konopka
et al. 2007). Despite popular imagination, it seems that most cases involving
dismemberment of the corpse, although certainly not all, are driven by less
exotic motives – namely the desire to facilitate the disposal of the body and/or
to attempt to conceal the identity of the deceased (Delabarde and Ludes 2010;
Di Nunno et al. 2006; Hyma and Rao 1991; Kahana et al. 2010; Reichs 1998).
Within the literature, cases involving dismemberment are often categorized by
the perceived (or sometimes known) motive underlying the act itself as well as
by the pattern of actual defects inflicted upon the corpse.
Dismemberment is considered to be a subset of mutilation, defined by
Rajs et al. as “the act of depriving an individual of a limb, member, or
other important part of the body; or deprival of an organ; or severe disfigure-
ment” (1998: 563). As such, dismemberments are frequently classified in the
literature by their perceived underlying motivation as: (1) defensive; (2) aggres-
sive; (3) offensive; or (4) necromanic (Di Nunno et al. 2006; Häkkänen-
Nyholm et al. 2009b; Konopka et al. 2006; 2007; Rajs et al. 1998). Defensive
mutilation refers to acts carried out to facilitate the transportation or disposal of
the remains, to make it difficult to identify the deceased, or to conceal evidence
of the crime. Aggressive mutilations are carried out as a result of a state of
outrage that persists after the death of the victim and frequently the act of
dismemberment itself contributes to the cause of death (e.g. death by decapi-
tation). Offensive mutilations are brought about by the need to kill and then
carry out sexual urges or by the need to inflict pain, injury, or death while
carrying out sexual urges (Rajs et al. 1998). As such, this type of mutilation
typically accompanies lust or necrosadistic murders and frequently involves the
severing or disfigurement of the face and genitalia of the victim. Necromanic
mutilation may or may not involve homicide and is primarily concerned with
trophy-taking or the acquisition of a “keepsake,” sometimes involving the
exhumation of a corpse. With the increasing efficacy of DNA analyses, a fifth
category of postmortem mutilation has appeared – those committed solely in
order to remove evidence that could lead to the identification of the perpetrator
(Di Nunno et al. 2006; Karger et al. 2000).
Dismemberments have also been classified as either localized or generalized
based on the patterning of cuts evident on the body (Delabarde and Ludes
2010; Kahana et al. 2010; Reichs 1998). Localized dismemberment typically
involves the removal of the head, the hands (or fingers), or both. This is
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 65

usually done in an effort to mask the identity of the victim, although this
motivation is less likely when all of the removed body parts are deposited
in the same place (Konopka et al. 2006; Reichs 1998). Generalized dismem-
berment usually involves the removal of the limbs and/or the head and is
typically inferred to have been done to facilitate transportation or concealment
of the corpse (Figure 5.1). Generalized dismemberments can be further sub-
divided into: (1) body bisections, in which the corpse is separated by a
horizontal cut through the torso (Kahana et al. 2010); (2) limb bisections, in
which the limbs are cut through the diaphyses or metaphyses of the long
bones; and (3) disarticulations, in which limb removal is accomplished by
severing the joints themselves; this is characterized by cut marks in the
intracapsular area, surrounding muscle insertions, and near articular surfaces
(Kahana et al. 2010; Reichs 1998). Of these three patterns of generalized
dismemberment, disarticulations are frequently described as reflecting some
degree of knowledge concerning anatomy or butchering (Kahana et al. 2010;
Reddy 1973; Reichs 1998). This assertion has been challenged by Konopka
et al. (2007) who, in their analysis of 23 dismemberment cases from Poland,
found only one instance out of four disarticulations in which the perpetrator’s
profession (a cook) even loosely related to anatomical knowledge. However,
the profession of a perpetrator does not necessarily reflect their interests,
education, or training.

5.3 Recommended protocols

Regardless of the pattern of cuts or whether or not it was the intended effect,
dismemberment introduces complications into the investigation of the accom-
panying crime. As discussed earlier, the act of dismembering may serve to
obscure the identity of the victim. Furthermore, the damage to the body
incurred during the dismemberment may conceal the actual cause of death,
thereby leaving open the possibility of the death being ruled accidental,
suicidal, or natural, and consequently the effective erasure of a crime
(Di Nunno et al. 2006; Rajs et al. 1998). As a result of these and other
difficulties, dismemberment cases are typically more challenging to close.
In Japan, for instance, the clearance rate for dismemberment cases is 78%, as
opposed to a reported 90% clearance rate for all homicides in that country
(Watanabe and Tamura 2001), and an even lower clearance rate is reported for
Poland (Konopka et al. 2007). For the cases presented below from Maricopa
County, seven out of eight were solved.
Such difficulties have led many researchers to advocate extensive documen-
tation of cases involving dismemberment. The scene of recovery itself should
66 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

Figure 5.1. Case 1 provides an example of a generalized dismemberment. Solid line

indicates the location where the torso was bisected.

be carefully documented. A complete inventory and description of all

recovered remains should be undertaken, along with extensive photographic
documentation of the remains prior to undertaking any maceration or analysis.
Any present soft tissue should be examined for the presence of scars, tattoos,
signs of drug use, trauma, and other potentially informative features. All
associated clothing and personal effects should be carefully documented,
paying special attention to manufacturer labels, laundry tags, and unique
clothing attributes. Where possible, fingerprints, palm prints, and footprints
should be taken, as well as radiographs to look for foreign matter which may
help to elucidate cause of death or potentially reveal prior surgical
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 67

Figure 5.2. Kerf wall from femur of Case 6. White arrows illustrate the two different
orientations of striae. Note the breakaway spur.

interventions. DNA samples and dental radiographs should also be taken when
possible. Lastly, casts of the cut specimens or the specimens themselves should
be retained for possible future analyses (Di Nunno et al. 2006; Hyma and Rao
1991; Reichs 1998). Furthermore, if specimens are retained, then reapprox-
imation of remains can be attempted should additional body segments be
discovered at a future date (Buikstra and Gordon 1980).
After maceration, additional important information regarding tool type
used, cutting sequence, and the directionality of blade progress can and
should be gleaned from examination of the skeletal tissue. Reichs (1998)
advocates the retention of sections of bone extending at least 3 inches from
the cut surface to preserve any potential false start defects. False starts are
particularly good indicators of saw tooth shape and size (Symes et al. 1998).
Further, both halves of a cut should be investigated whenever possible as
differences in the characteristics of the kerf walls can provide information
about the type of cutting implement used. Directionality of the cut can be
traced from the aspect of the bone exhibiting false starts to the aspect of the
cut exhibiting breakaway spurs (Figure 5.2). This information, in combin-
ation with the observation and recording of any super-positioning of defects
on the bone, can help shed light on the sequence of dismemberment as
well as body positioning during the act of dismemberment (Reichs 1998).
Determining the sequence of injuries is especially important to rule out
dismemberment itself as the cause of death (Delabarde and Ludes 2010).
68 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

This suite of variables can be used to provide behavioral information con-

cerning the perpetrator, to link victims together, to winnow down a list of
potential suspects, and to corroborate eye-witness accounts (Reichs 1998).

5.4 Description of cases from Maricopa County, Arizona

The following brief descriptions of the osseous traumata evident in a series of

dismemberment cases derive from Maricopa County, Arizona between 1984
and 2012.

5.4.1 Case 1

Exhumation of an unidentified female yielded two portions of a well-

preserved torso. Scene photographs from the original investigation depict
two wrapped packages, each containing a section of the body, placed in a
dumpster. The first portion consisted of the thorax from the level of the
second thoracic vertebra to the level of the third lumbar vertebra. Neither
arm was present. The second portion consisted of all elements from the
inferior portion of the third lumbar vertebra to the proximal femora. The
lower legs, arms, neck, and head of this individual were never recovered.
The pattern of epiphyseal union indicates that the victim was between the ages
of 16 and 18 at the time of her death.
Following maceration, examination of the remains revealed that the femora
were bisected at a level approximately 12.0 cm inferior to the tip of the greater
trochanter. The cut surface exhibited uneven striae, indicating a minimum of
two attempts to sever the femoral diaphysis. Several smaller sharp force
defects accompanied the bisecting cut. To remove the arms, transverse cuts
were made through both scapulae, leaving intact only the inferior angles. There
are additional sharp force defects oriented roughly parallel to the bisecting cut
located on the vertebral borders of both scapulae. The removal of the head was
accomplished in a puzzling manner. A transverse cut bisects the spinous
process of the second thoracic vertebra. One continuous sharp force defect,
oriented nearly coronally, bisects the right pedicles of the third, fourth, and
fifth thoracic vertebrae, while a second continuous sharp force defect, oriented
at an oblique angle to the first, bisects the left laminae of the third and fourth
thoracic vertebrae, and the left pedicle of the fifth. The vertebral bodies of the
second through fifth thoracic vertebrae were not recovered. Both cuts termin-
ate in a transverse cut that bisects the body of the sixth thoracic vertebrae
(Figure 5.3). A series of sharp force defects evident on left and right ribs 1–6
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 69

Figure 5.3. Third through sixth thoracic vertebrae from Case 1. White arrows indicate
the three different sharp force defects used to remove the victim’s head and neck.

appear to be associated with these cuts as well as the removal of the arms. In
addition to this unorthodox removal of the head and neck, the sternum of
the victim was bisected sagittally.

5.4.2 Case 2

These remains consisted of an adult male torso that was placed in a sealed
Rubbermaid tub and deposited in a remote commercial dumpster. The victim
was decapitated by a transverse cut through the third cervical vertebra and
sectioned again at the level of the third lumbar vertebra. In addition, the left
humerus was cut at a level approximately 9.0 cm inferior to the humeral head,
and the right humerus was bisected approximately 11.0 cm inferior to the head.
The head, lower portion of the upper limbs, abdomen, pelvis, and lower limbs
were never recovered.
Macroscopic and microscopic investigation of the cut surfaces of the verte-
brae and the humeri revealed that all cuts were made in a single event and
exhibited fine, fairly uniform striations. Experimental cut marks made by a
Milwaukee Heavy Duty “Sawzall” Brand saw using a 12-inch blade on
70 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

donated human femora were found to match the defects evident on the
cut surfaces of the vertebrae and humeri from this case.

5.4.3 Case 3

These remains consisted of a nearly complete adult female recovered from a

residential trash container. Minimal thermal injury was evident on the right foot,
leg, and a portion of the abdomen. The body was severed in four locations: at the
level of the third and fourth cervical vertebrae, at the level of the third and fourth
lumbar vertebrae, and at the level of the knees. Radiographic examination
revealed an unhealed “parry” fracture on the right distal ulna.
Following maceration, examination of the cranium revealed evidence of
blunt force osseous traumata. A small number of superficial incised defects
accompanied the cut between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae. The third
lumbar vertebra was bisected, exhibiting two transverse, irregular striations,
and associated damage to the second lumbar vertebra. The inferior portion of
the left femoral condyles had been sheared off and this was associated with
sharp force defects on the left tibial plateau and fibular head. The right tibia
and fibula were bisected approximately 5.0 cm inferior to the tibial plateau.
Morphological attributes of these defects suggest that cutting initiated from the
posterior aspect of the legs and proceeded anteriorly.

5.4.4 Case 4

Portions of remains from a dismembered adult male discovered in a Rubber-

maid tub disposed of in the desert were submitted for maceration and examin-
ation of the dismemberment sites. After maceration, an oblique cut was
revealed on the right tibial plateau, initiating approximately 3.2 cm inferior
to the plateau on the medial side and terminating at the level of the articular
condyle on the lateral side. This defect did not involve the right fibula.
A second cut bisected the left tibial diaphysis approximately 7.0 cm inferior
to the medial condyle and 8.0 cm inferior to the lateral condyle. This cut
involved the right fibular diaphysis, as well. Both of these cuts exhibited
undulating striations of various depths through the trabecular bone along with
microscopic, roughly parallel striations evident in the cortical bone. The first
lumbar vertebra was missing the superior surface along its anterior half and
associated damage was evident on the twelfth thoracic vertebra. Sharp force
trauma was also evident on the left tenth through twelfth ribs and the right
twelfth rib. Experimental cut marks made by a jigsaw on a donated human
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 71

femur were found to match the defects evident on the cut surfaces of the
vertebrae and tibiae from this case. Additionally, there was microscopic
evidence that the torso had been frozen prior to dismemberment.

5.4.5 Case 5

The remains of a decomposed, dismembered, and charred adult male were

discovered in a residential trash container that had been left in the parking lot
of a church. The skull, atlas, right femur minus the head, and the left and right
humeri were submitted for maceration and examination. After maceration, the
skull was reconstructed to facilitate examination and description of osseous
traumata. Upon reconstruction, the skull was found to exhibit fracture patterns
indicative of at least eight, and probably ten, separate impacts. The proximal
end of the right femur exhibited comminuted fracturing, separating the femoral
neck from the head. The diaphysis was found to be held together by surgical
interventions and an elaborate healed callus. A complete fracture was located
inferior to this callus. Transverse incised marks were found to be located near
both sites of fracturing. The left humerus exhibited a complete comminuted
fracture located approximately 9.0 cm inferior to the humeral head. A series of
transversely oriented incised defects were found on the proximal portion of the
humerus near this level. The combination of fractures and incisions suggest
that the limbs were removed from this individual using a combination of both
blunt and sharp force.

5.4.6 Case 6

Portions of a decomposed adult male were discovered inside a suitcase that had
been placed within a commercial dumpster. Remains initially submitted for
analysis consisted of a partial human torso, including the inferior half of the
fourth cervical vertebra, the right and left proximal humeri, and the right and
left proximal femora. A separate portion included the distal portion of the right
femur as well as the proximal two-thirds of the right tibia and fibula.
Upon maceration, the fourth cervical vertebra was found to be bisected
transversely. The cut surface exhibited parallel striations that measured
approximately 0.1 cm in width and were oriented roughly mediolaterally.
The right humerus was bisected approximately 10.0 cm inferior to the humeral
head. The cut surface exhibited a breakaway spur on the anterior aspect of the
bone as well as two false starts on the lateral edge of the bone located superior
to the cut surface. Striae evident on the cut surface measured approximately
72 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

0.1 cm in width and were generally oriented mediolaterally. The left humerus
was also bisected at a level approximately 10.0 cm inferior to the humeral head
and exhibited a breakaway spur on the medial aspect of the bone. Three false
starts were evident on the lateral aspect of the bone located superiorly to the
bisection. The cut surface exhibited roughly parallel striae, oriented antero-
posteriorly in direction, and measuring approximately 0.1 cm in width. The left
femur was bisected approximately 19.1 cm inferior to the femoral head and
exhibited a breakaway spur on the medial aspect of the bone. The cut surface
exhibited roughly parallel striations that measured approximately 0.1 cm in
width and were oriented both anteroposteriorly and mediolaterally. The right
femur was bisected approximately 20.3 cm inferior to the femoral head and
exhibited a breakaway spur on the posteromedial aspect of the bone. The cut
surface exhibited roughly parallel striae that were oriented more-or-less antero-
posteriorly. The inferior portion of the femur exhibited false starts on both the
lateral and the anterior aspects. The right tibia was bisected approximately
29.1 cm inferior to the proximal end and the cut exhibited a step-off at the
lateral edge. The cut surface exhibited roughly parallel striae that measured
approximately 0.1 cm in width and were oriented both mediolaterally and
anteroposteriorly. There were two false starts on the medial aspect of the bone.
The right fibula was bisected approximately 27.3 cm below the proximal end
and exhibited a breakaway spur on the lateral aspect. There was a false start on
the medial side of the bone. The inferior portion of the fourth cervical vertebra
could be reassociated with its superior portion, which was submitted along
with the remainder of the cervical vertebrae and the skull under a separate case
number. Nine months later, the right ankle and foot; the left hand, radius, ulna,
and distal two-thirds of the humerus; the left knee, including the distal femoral
shaft and the proximal tibia and fibula; and the left foot of the same individual
were recovered from a separate location (Figure 5.4).

5.4.7 Case 7

The skeletonized remains of an adult male were discovered concealed under

some brush in a desert area. The ribcage, right radius and ulna, sternum, right
clavicle, third through seventh cervical vertebrae, and a disc of cranial vault
bone were submitted for maceration following an autopsy for the purpose of
evaluating any osseous traumata as well as assisting in the identification of a
partially skeletonized set of decapitated remains. Approximately 2 weeks later,
the cranium from this individual was found in a separate location and con-
firmed to belong to the same individual by means of fitting the disc of cranial
vault bone into an ovoid defect on the cranium.
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 73

Figure 5.4. Retention of remains can facilitate reapproximation of skeletal elements

recovered at different times. The two limb segments depicted here, from Case 6, were
recovered approximately 9 months apart. Note the breakaway spur and the false starts.

After maceration, several long, linear, V-shaped sharp force defects were
identified on the cranium, some of which were associated with areas of missing
bone. Several more sharp force defects were located on the third cervical
vertebra, which had fractured into three pieces, as well as the fourth and fifth
cervical vertebrae. These defects are consistent with decapitation. The left
eighth rib and right seventh rib exhibited defects along their shafts. The right
radius and ulna both exhibited complete fractures of the distal shaft associated
with a sharp force defect. The radius exhibited two additional sharp force
defects, and the ulna exhibited an additional four. These defects were all
consistent with self-defense wounds. Over 1 year later, additional portions of
the cranium, as well as the mandible and the atlas, were recovered.

5.4.8 Case 8

The body of an adult female was discovered in the hallway of her home with
a hacksaw embedded in her right lower leg. The right proximal tibia and
fibula of an adult female were submitted for maceration and the evaluation
74 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

of osseous traumata. The medial aspect of the right tibial shaft exhibited
multiple incised defects, V-shaped in profile. Multiple incised defects were
also present on the anteromedial and lateral aspects of the tibia, although
these were shallower in depth than those on the medial aspect. A single
incised defect, square-shaped in cross-section, was present further down the
tibial shaft. The morphology of this latter defect was consistent with that
produced by a saw blade known to have been used on the decedent. Although
incomplete, this defect was meant to dismember the victim; however, the
suspect “got tired.”

5.5 Characteristics of dismemberment cases

Despite their overall rarity (Dogan et al. 2010; Konopka et al. 2007; Rajs et al.
1998), several studies have been carried out utilizing samples of homicides
with postmortem mutilation, typically involving dismemberment. Results of
these studies suggest that several characteristics of this kind of crime are fairly
common. To begin with, most dismemberment cases are classified as defen-
sive in nature, and most perpetrators are male. In Maricopa County, while the
majority of cases appear to be defensive in nature, the majority of the perpet-
rators were female.
Research suggests that the bulk of dismemberments are committed by
perpetrators who knew their victims, and often were related to them either
by blood or marriage (Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009b; Konopka et al. 2007;
Rajs et al. 1998; Watanabe and Tamura 2001). For example, in only 8.7% of
Polish cases were the victim and the offender unknown to each other
(Konopka et al. 2007) and the corresponding proportion for a sample of
Japanese cases is 13.3% (Watanabe and Tamura 2001). In Maricopa County,
the victims and suspects knew each other in all seven instances in which both
parties were identified. In only three of these cases, however, were they
intimate relations.
Most dismemberments took place at the scene of the preceding homicide,
often the private residence of the victim, the perpetrator, or both, and most
cases involved tools that were readily available, such as kitchen knives, axes,
woodworking saws, or hacksaws (Konopka et al. 2007). This holds true in
Maricopa County as well.
Dismemberment cases are more common in large urban areas (Rajs et al.
1998), but this observation may be caused by other factors such as increased
population density or increased presence of law enforcement agencies and
hence an increased chance of detection. Most offenders who dismember their
victims have a history of psychiatric treatment (Häkkänen-Nyholm et al.
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 75

2009b; Rajs et al. 1998). However, the majority of dismemberments are

not planned in advance and they are only rarely serial in nature (Konopka
et al. 2007).
Although some studies have attempted to identify characteristics associated
with specific categories of dismemberment (i.e. defensive, aggressive, offen-
sive, and necromanic) (e.g. Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009b; Rajs et al. 1998),
few studies seem to address the possibility of differences based on sex, either
of the victim or of the offender. One notable exception is the work of
Watanabe and Tamura (2001), who analyzed a series of 134 homicides with
subsequent dismemberment that took place in Japan between 1947 and 1998.
Based on the application of a non-linear canonical correlation analysis to a
series of victim factors (e.g. sex, age), offence factors (e.g. cause of death,
number of body parts removed), and offender factors (e.g. age, sex, relation-
ship to victim), Watanabe and Tamura divided their cases into three categories:
(1) those cases in which the victim is less than 20 years of age; (2) those cases
in which the victim is 20 years old or more and female; and (3) those cases in
which the victim is 20 years old or more and male. Differences observed in
these categories suggest that an investigation of the sex of both the victim and
the suspect in dismemberment cases may be a fruitful line of inquiry.

5.6 Differences between the sexes pertaining to homicide

The majority of homicides are committed by males. Although the value varies
from place to place and year to year, most studies report that females only
commit between 7% and 15% of homicides annually (Goetting 1988;
Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009a; Jurik and Winn 1990; Karlsson 1998;
Kellerman and Mercy 1992; Ormstad et al. 1986; Putkonen et al. 2001; Rogde
et al. 2000). The victims of female homicide offenders are typically male, and
more likely to be family members or intimates, especially (ex)spouses or (ex)
lovers, with between 60% and 78% of the victims reported as falling into these
categories (Goetting 1988; Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009a; Jurik and Winn
1990; Mann 1990; Ormstad et al. 1986; Putkonen et al. 2001; Weizmann-
Henelius et al. 2003). Conversely, women are far less likely to kill strangers
than are males (Mann 1990; Weizmann-Henelius et al. 2003). A study of
female homicide offenders in Finland found that the victims had no relation-
ship with the offender in only two out of 125 cases (Putkonen et al. 2001).
Women are almost twice as likely as males to participate in victim-precipitated
killings (i.e. the victim initiated the conflict by acting violently towards their
eventual slayer) (Goetting 1988; Jurik and Winn 1990). Perhaps related to this
component of self-defense, women have also been found to be more likely
76 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

than males to remain at the scene and to notify somebody after the crime has
been committed (Goetting 1988; Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009a). Likely
related to all of the above observations, women have also been found to kill
in private settings more often than males – either in their own home, that of the
victim, or the residence that they share with the victim (Goetting 1988;
Häkkänen-Nyholm et al. 2009a; Jurik and Winn 1990; Mann 1990).
Within the larger population of female homicide offenders, there seems to
be some meaningful variation. According to one study, based in Finland,
women who attacked (but did not necessarily kill) strangers or acquaintances
were more likely to have a history of violence, to have a higher rate of violent
recidivism, and to have a higher rate of alcohol abuse. Women who attacked
individuals who were emotionally close to them tended to be older (mean age
37 as opposed to mean ages of 30.1 and 28.7 for women who attacked
acquaintances and strangers, respectively), were more usually married, more
often mothers, more often employed, and typically were better educated
(Weizmann-Henelius et al. 2003). Another study found that personality dis-
orders and psychoses among female homicide offenders show some degree of
segregation based on their victim profile. Women who attacked adults tended
to be diagnosed with personality disorders, while those individuals who
victimized children tended to be diagnosed with psychotic disorders (Putkonen
et al. 2001).
Further differences become apparent between male and female homicide
offenders when the murder weapon is considered. Häkkänen-Nyholm et al.
(2009a) found that firearms, punching, and kicking are more likely to be
employed by male offenders, while suffocation was found more often among
female offenders. They suggest that this pattern is likely associated with the
higher number of children that are killed by women in their Finnish sample. In
another sample from Finland, Putkonen et al. (2001) found that stabbing was
the most common means of homicide, accounting for 65% of cases, followed
by strangulation and blunt force (12% and 11%, respectively). Studies based in
the USA found that female homicide offenders most often used a handgun to
commit the crime, but that they also resorted to stabbing their victim more
often than male homicide offenders (Goetting 1988; Jurik and Winn 1990;
Kellerman and Mercy 1992). Regarding female homicide victims, a study
carried out in the USA between 1976 and 1987 reported that almost 30% of
female victims were bludgeoned, strangled, or suffocated. The comparable
proportion for male homicide victims is 12% (Kellerman and Mercy 1992).
Given these reported differences in the victim profiles and manner of killing
between male and female homicide offenders, is it not possible that similar
sex-based differences exist in the population of individuals who dismember
their victims?
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 77

5.7 Sex-based differences in dismemberment cases

To investigate whether or not male and female perpetrators who dismembered

their victims differ in any discernible way, as well as whether or not charac-
teristics of the crime vary with the sex of the victim, a database was compiled
using both published dismemberment cases as well as the selection of cases
presented above. Sources for this database are listed in Table 5.1. A total of
102 dismemberment cases was located and information, where available, was
recorded concerning the date of occurrence, the age and sex of the victim, the
age and sex of the suspect, the relation of the victim to the suspect, the manner
of death, the implement used for dismemberment, the body segments that were
recovered, the minimum number of segments that the body was sectioned into,
and the disposal method of the remains. Not all categories of information were
available for each case. Results are presented in Table 5.2.
When sex of the victim of dismemberment is considered, males and
females account for nearly equal proportions of the total sample (52% and
48%, respectively). Male victims are slightly older, but not significantly so
(t ¼ 0.82; P value ¼ 0.21). For victims of both sexes, the age of the suspects
was comparable. A slightly lower percentage of male dismemberments were
committed by females than female dismemberments. Further, the mean

Table 5.1. Sources used in database and number of cases

from each source.

Sources used in database Number of cases per source

Andrews 2003 2
Delabarde & Ludes 2010 2
Di Nunno et al. 2006 2
Dogan et al. 2010 1
Hyma & Rao 1991 4
Kahana pers. comm., May 16, 2013 20
Karger et al. 2000 1
Konopka et al. 2006 1
Konopka et al. 2007 23
Rajs et al. 1998 20
Randall 2009 1
Reddy 1973 1
Reichs 1998 7
Sugiyama et al. 1995 3
Symes et al. 2001 2
Toms et al. 2008 2
Tümer et al. 2012 2
Unpublished cases 8
78 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

Table 5.2. Select descriptive statistics for males and females both as victims
of dismemberment and as perpetrators.

Victims Mean Age Median Range % Killed by Mean age of

(n ¼ 102) Age female suspect

Male victims 38.3 (n ¼ 46) 38 12–73 22.6 (7/31) 37.8 (n ¼ 23)

(n ¼ 53)
Female victims 34.9 (n ¼ 48) 31 3–85 27.3 (9/33) 38.5 (n ¼ 36)
(n ¼ 49)

Mean minimum number Mean age male Mean age female

of segments suspect suspect

Male victims 5.2 (n ¼ 40) 38.3 (n ¼ 17) 37.3 (n ¼ 4)

(n ¼ 53)
Female victims 5.9 (n ¼ 40) 39.7 (n ¼ 19) 37.0 (n ¼ 5)
(n ¼ 49)

Perpetrators (n Mean Age Median Range % Victims Mean age of

¼ 60) Age female victims

Male suspects 39.0 (n ¼ 36) 33.5 18–71 50.0 (23/46) 37.9 (n ¼ 46)
(n ¼ 46)
Female suspects 37.1 (n ¼ 9) 33 22–50 57.1 (8/14) 37.9 (n ¼ 14)
(n ¼ 14)

Mean minimum number Mean age male Mean age female

of segments victims victims

Male suspects 6.7 (n ¼ 39) 37.7 (n ¼ 23) 38.2 (n ¼ 23)

(n ¼ 46)
Female suspects 4.6 (n ¼ 9) 47.5 (n ¼ 6) 30.8 (n ¼ 8)
(n ¼ 14)

minimum number of body segments produced by the dismemberment was not

significantly different between male and female victim populations (t ¼ 0.99;
P value ¼ 0.327). While some differences exist in the number of deaths attributed
to each of sharp force, blunt force, strangulation, and gunshot wounds between
the sexes, these differences are also not significant (χ2 ¼ 4.13; ν ¼ 3; P ¼ 0.25).
When sex of the suspect is examined, males account for 76.7% of the
perpetrators of dismemberments while females account for the remaining
23.3%. The mean age of the victims of male perpetrators is the same as that
of female perpetrators. An interesting pattern emerges when the victims are
segregated by sex in that the mean age of the female victims of female suspects
is nearly 17 years younger than the mean age of their male victims (mean age
for female victims is 30.8 and mean age for male victims is 47.5). No such
separation occurs amongst the victims of male suspects. Unfortunately, sample
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 79

size is too small for statistical validation of this result. The mean number of
body segments produced throughout the course of the dismemberment is
slightly higher among male suspects, but not significantly so (t ¼ 1.36;
P value ¼ 0.18). The number of deaths attributed to sharp force, blunt force,
strangulation, and gunshot wounds seem to differ, with female suspects rarely
employing strangulation or firearms, but again, the sample is too small for
statistical comparison. Roughly in line with characteristics of female homicide
offenders, 12 out of 14 female suspects in this sample (85.7%) dismembered
an intimate relation. In comparison, intimate relations were the victims of
dismemberment for 23 out of 42 male suspects (54.8%).

5.8 Discussion and conclusions

Very few differences emerge between the populations of male and female
victims of dismemberments or between the populations of male and female
offenders. In comparison to the general population of homicides, both males
and females share relatively equal representation as victims of dismemberment
(as opposed to a predominance of males as victims in the general homicide
population). Likewise, while females tend to account for approximately 15%
of the homicides committed, they account for a larger proportion of dismem-
berments committed (23.3% of the current sample). Proportionally more
females were killed by strangulation and proportionally more males were
killed by gunshot wounds. Likewise, although sample size was small, female
suspects appeared to prefer either blunt or sharp force as a means of dispatch-
ing their victims, while males also employed strangulation and, rarely in this
sample, firearms. Despite an already documented predilection for female
suspects to kill intimate relations, the female suspects who carried out dismem-
berments killed intimate relations almost exclusively.
The results of this analysis are extremely limited. The data employed were
compiled from published sources, and with little consistency of the kinds of
information presented between publications. This served to drastically reduce
the sample size for any given comparison of variables. Further, many published
case studies are published because of their spectacular nature. Inclusion of
such cases in the current study may skew the dataset in unpredictable ways.
Additional problems exist in compiling a dataset of cases from several different
places and time periods. Removing such cases from their cultural and temporal
context may destroy the evidence for any regional patterns that exist in this kind of
violence. Nevertheless, the relative rarity of dismemberment cases necessitates
such compilation in the hopes of creating statistically viable comparative samples.
Despite the limitations of the current dataset, some intriguing differences
were suggested between both male and female dismemberment victims and
80 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

perpetrators. The possibility of differences in weapon choice between male and

female perpetrators of dismemberment is especially interesting since, if such a
difference is shown to be real and not simply an artifact of sample size, it
may have some small amount of utility for identifying suspects in novel
dismemberment cases. Further analyses should be performed with larger,
more controlled samples of dismemberment cases to pursue this line of inquiry
as well as to further characterize the differences (or lack thereof) between
males and females both as victims and perpetrators of postmortem
dismemberment.

Acknowledgments
The authors would like to thank Dr. Tzipi Kahana for her assistance in
providing us with details concerning a series of dismemberment cases that
she analyzed. We would also like to acknowledge the Maricopa County Office
of the Medical Examiner.

References
Andrews, J. M. (2003). Central nervous system consequences of an unusual body
disposal strategy: case report and brief experimental investigation. Journal of
Forensic Sciences, 48, 1–5.
Buikstra, J. E. & Gordon, C. C. (1980). Individuation in forensic science study: decapi-
tation. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 25, 246–59.
Delabarde, T. & Ludes, B. (2010). Missing in Amazonian jungle: a case report of
skeletal evidence for dismemberment. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 55, 1105–10.
Di Nunno, N., Costantinides, F., Vacca, M. & Di Nunno, C. (2006). Dismemberment: a
review of the literature and description of 3 cases. The American Journal of
Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 27, 307–12.
Dogan, K. H., Demirci, S., Deniz, I. & Erkol, Z. (2010). Decapitation and dismember-
ment of the corpse: a matricide case. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 55, 542–5.
Goetting, A. (1988). Patterns of homicide among women. Journal of Interpersonal
Violence, 3, 3–19.
Häkkänen-Nyholm, H., Putkonen, H., Lindberg, N., Holi, M., Rovamo, T. &
Weizmann-Henelius, G. (2009a). Gender differences in Finnish homicide offence
characteristics. Forensic Science International, 186, 75–80.
Häkkänen-Nyholm, H., Weizmann-Henelius, G., Salenius, S., Lindberg, N. & Repo-
Tiihonen, E. (2009b). Homicides with mutilation of the victim’s body. Journal of
Forensic Sciences, 54, 933–7.
Hyma, B. A. & Rao, V. J. (1991). Evaluation and identification of dismembered human
remains. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, 12, 291–9.
Jurik, N. C. & Winn, R. (1990). Gender and homicide: a comparison of men and
women who kill. Violence and Victims, 5, 227–42.
 Andrew C. Seidel and Laura C. Fulginiti 81

Kahana, T., Aleman, I., Botella, M. C., Novoselsky, Y., Volkov, N. & Hiss, J. (2010).
Postmortem dismemberment in two Mediterranean countries. Journal of Forensic
Identification, 60, 557–72.
Karger, B., Rand, S. P. & Brinkmann, B. (2000). Criminal anticipation of DNA investi-
gations resulting in mutilation of a corpse. International Journal of Legal Medi-
cine, 113, 247–8.
Karlsson, T. (1998). Sharp force homicides in the Stockholm Area, 1983–1992.
Forensic Science International, 94, 129–39.
Kellerman, A. L. & Mercy, J. A. (1992). Men, women, and murder: gender-specific
differences in rates of fatal violence and victimization. The Journal of Trauma,
33, 1–5.
Konopka, T., Bolechała, F. & Strona, M. (2006). An unusual case of corpse
dismemberment. The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology,
27, 163–5.
Konopka, T., Strona, M., Bolechała, F. & Kunz, J. (2007). Corpse dismemberment in
the material collected by the Department of Forensic Medicine, Cracow, Poland.
Legal Medicine, 9, 1–13.
Mann, C. R. (1990). Black female homicide in the United States. Journal of Interper-
sonal Violence, 5, 176–201.
Ormstad, K., Karlsson, T., Enkler, L., Law, B. & Rajs, J. (1986). Patterns in sharp force
fatalities – a comprehensive forensic medical study. Journal of Forensic Sciences,
31, 529–42.
Putkonen, H., Collander, J., Honkasalo, M.-L. & Lönnqvist, J. (2001). Personality
disorders and psychoses form two distinct subgroups of homicide among female
offenders. Journal of Forensic Psychiatry, 12, 300–12.
Rajs, J., Lundström, M., Broberg, M., Lidberg, L. & Lindquist, O. (1998). Criminal
mutilation of the human body in Sweden – a thirty-year medico-legal and forensic
psychiatric study. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 43, 563–80.
Randall, B. (2009). Blood and tissue spatter associated with chainsaw dismemberment.
Journal of Forensic Sciences, 54, 1310–14.
Reddy, K. S. N. (1973). Identification of dismembered parts: the medicolegal aspects of
the Nagaraju case. Forensic Science, 2, 351–74.
Reichs, K. J. (1998). Postmortem dismemberment: recovery, analysis, and interpret-
ation. In: Reichs, K. J. (ed.) Forensic Osteology: Advances in the Identification of
Human Remains, 2nd edn. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas, 353–88.
Rogde, S., Hougen, H. P. & Poulsen, K. (2000). Homicide by sharp force in two
Scandinavian capitals. Forensic Science International, 109, 135–45.
Sugiyama, S., Tatsumi, S., Noda, H., Yamaguchi, M., Furutani, A., Izumi, M.,
Wakatsuki, R., Yoshimura, M. et al. (1995). Investigation of dismembered corpses
found during the past 10 years in Osaka. Hanzaigaku Zasshi, 61, 192–200.
Symes, S. A., Berryman, H. E. & Smith, O. C. (1998). Saw marks in bone: introduction
and examination of residual kerf contour. In: Reichs, K. J. (ed.) Forensic Oste-
ology: Advances in the Identification of Human Remains, 2nd edn. Springfield:
Charles C. Thomas, 389–409.
82 Looking for patterns in cases of human dismemberment

Toms, C., Rogers, C. B. & Sathyavagiswaran, L. (2008). Investigation of homicides

interred in concrete – the Los Angeles experience. Journal of Forensic Sciences,
53, 203–7.
Tümer, A. R., Akçan, R., Karacaoğlu, E., Balseven-Odabaşi, A., Keten, A.,
Kanburoğlu, C., Unal, M. & Dinç, A. H. (2012). Postmortem burning of the
corpses following homicide. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 19, 223–8.
Watanabe, K. & Tamura, M. (2001). Mutilation-murder cases in Japan. In: Farrington,
D. P., Hollin, C. R. & McMurran, M. (eds.) Sex and Violence: The Psychology of
Crime and Risk Assessment. New York: Psychology Press, 229–41.
Weizmann-Henelius, G., Viemerö, V. & Eronen, M. (2003). The violent female
perpetrator and her victim. Forensic Science International, 133, 197–203.
6 Victims of violence? A methodological
case study from precolonial
Northern Mexico
cheryl p . anderson

6.1 Introduction

Bioarchaeology is significant for the study of violence as it provides direct

evidence of violent acts in the past through the identification of lethal and non-
lethal wounds. These data, combined with other evidence, may lead to the
identification of patterns of violence. Recent research in bioarchaeology has
demonstrated how human skeletal data may allow for the identification of
victims as well as considerations about the perpetrators of violence (Martin and
Harrod 2012). La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos (The Cave of the Two Knives)
presents one example of how current methodology for investigating violence
may be applied to reinterpret older skeletal collections, potentially leading to
the identification of victims and perpetrators in the past.
La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos was originally excavated and reported on by
Richard and Sheilagh Brooks in the 1950s, and the human skeletal remains
they recovered are currently curated in the Department of Anthropology at the
University of Nevada, Las Vegas. In 2010, a preliminary examination of the
remains revealed trauma potentially consistent with violence and thus a
reanalysis of the collection was undertaken to investigate implications for
conflict in the region (Anderson et al. 2012). This proved challenging as the
age of the remains was then unknown, some of the remains originally exca-
vated were no longer with the rest of the collection, and some of the records
were no longer available. Moreover, little archaeological work has been done
in this portion of Mexico, and, of the studies that have been performed, few
have focused on bioarchaeological evidence. To interpret the data collected
from the human remains from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, the use of multiple

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

83
84 Victims of violence?

lines of evidence was necessary. In this case, ethnographic data on the

Rarámuri (Tarahumara Indians) and their mortuary practices, ethnohistoric
data written by Spanish colonial sources that describe groups living in the
region, and archaeological data from other sites in the Sierra Madre Occidental
were used. These lines of evidence, combined with the bioarchaeological data,
were used to explore whether the remains represent victims of violence or if
the trauma present on some of the individuals and the state of the remains may
be explained by burial rituals and/or ancestor veneration. Ultimately, the
analysis proved to be successful in providing a reasonable explanation for
the signs of trauma found on some individuals.

6.2 Case study: La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos

La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos (The Cave of the Two Knives) is a cave burial site
located in the Sierra Madre Occidental near the town of San Francisco de Borja
in Chihuahua, Mexico (see Anderson et al. 2012; Brooks and Brooks 1990).
Human remains and artifacts from this site were collected by Richard and
Sheilagh Brooks during 1956 and 1957 while they were surveying and exca-
vating archaeological sites in Chihuahua and Durango (Brooks and Brooks
1990). The site has been described by Brooks and Brooks (1990) as a small
cave with a midden inside that contained human remains and artifacts. The La
Cueva de Dos Cuchillos site is located in a region that is now populated by
people of the modern Rarámuri culture (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Brooks and
Brooks 1990; Kennedy 1996; Merrill 1988; Pennington 1963). The topog-
raphy of this region of the Sierra Madre Occidental is described as foothills,
with channels running down them, resulting from the erosion of rivers and
arroyos. Inside the channels there are a number of rock shelters and caves
(Brooks and Brooks 1990).
During excavation of the cave, human skeletal remains were discovered
commingled and scattered in the cultural deposits of the midden. Some of the
skeletal remains were also burned, although evidence for fire within the cave
was not discovered by the excavators (Brooks and Brooks 1990). Artifacts in
the cave included corn cobs, ceramics, basket fragments, spindle whorls,
beads, burned wooden sticks, the foreshaft of an arrow, gourd ladles, red
ocher, a scraper, manos, smoothing stones, a chopper, stone flakes, stone bowl
pieces, and shell pendants. Additionally, two metal knives, thought to date to
the seventeenth or eighteenth century, were found with blue trade beads from
the colonial period. There was no specific association between the human
remains and either the historic or precolonial artifacts. Because of the types of
artifacts present in the cave, it was originally thought that remains represented
 Cheryl P. Anderson 85

a closely related group of people that dated between the late precolonial period
and the eighteenth century (Brooks and Brooks 1990; Brooks and Brooks
n.d.). A recent radiocarbon date of cal AD 1280–1400 now shows that at least
some individuals date to the late precolonial period, although it is possible that
other burials are from later time periods. The radiocarbon date was obtained
from the mandible of burial 1–118; this is an old adult (50þ years) male to be
discussed in more detail below (Anderson et al. 2012).
A reanalysis of the human remains from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos was
performed using standard osteological procedures (Bass 2005; Brooks and
Suchey 1990; Buikstra and Mielke 1985; Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994; Hillson
1996; Johnston 1962; Phenice 1969; Scheuer and Black 2000; Smith 1991) to
document and explain signs of trauma and potential violence. The minimum
number of individuals was estimated based on the most represented skeletal
element (Stodder and Osterholtz 2010; White 1992; White et al. 2012). At
least 17 individuals were interred in the cave, including ten adults and seven
subadults. During the analysis, one old adult male, burial 1–118 (mentioned
above) was found to exhibit perimortem chop marks on the left os coxa, left
femur, and right tibia (Anderson et al. 2012). The chop mark located on the
proximal right tibia is shown in Figure 6.1. Additionally, two isolated second

Figure 6.1. Proximal right tibia with chop mark (adapted from Anderson et al. 2012).
86 Victims of violence?

cervical vertebrae were found to have perimortem teardrop fractures (Anderson

et al. 2012), which are often associated with hyperextension of the neck and
head trauma (Galloway 1999; Shapiro et al. 1973). This type of fracture is
infrequent in modern times (Korres et al. 1994) and no other bioarchaeological
examples are known (Anderson et al. 2012). No other definitive signs of
trauma were found on the other human remains from the site, although the
occipitals of two subadults had possible perimortem breakage. In addition to
trauma, the bones of three individuals, one adult and two subadults, showed
signs of burning. The burning on the adult was quite extensive and covered the
ribs and vertebral column (Anderson et al. 2012). One of the burned subadults
was an individual with potential perimortem breakage on the base of the skull.
Owing to the complex mortuary context and the presence of perimortem
trauma on at least three individuals, a comprehensive review of the ethno-
graphic, ethnohistoric, and archaeological records was performed to make
sense of this unusual assemblage.

6.3 Ethnographic data

Ethnographic data can be a powerful tool for investigating mortuary practices

and potential evidence for violence in the past. This type of data has been
utilized in other archaeological studies of violence in the Southwest, e.g. by
Darling (1998), who employs these ethnographic and ethnohistoric reports to
explore the reasons behind Ancestral Pueblo violence in the Greater South-
west. This type of data has also been used to investigate burial practices in
the past, such as by Ellis (1968), who used ethnographic reports to aid in
interpreting precolonial mortuary patterns from the American Southwest. Of
course it should not be expected that practices exhibited by cultural groups will
remain consistent over time. In some cases, however, ethnographic informa-
tion can be an important line of evidence and, when combined with other types
of data, can add to bioarchaeological interpretations of the past.
To interpret the mortuary context of the remains in this case and determine if
the burial data were consistent with standard mortuary practices or indicative
of violence, a review of the ethnographic information on the Rarámuri was
critical. At La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, the presence of multiple, disarticulated
and commingled human remains, and the presence of burning on some indi-
viduals could have been further evidence for a violent death for some of these
people in addition to the perimortem trauma found on three burials. In their
original report, Brooks and Brooks (1990) suggest that a number of circum-
stances could account for the state of the human remains, including mortuary
ritual, interment of only token pieces of the dead, and colonial period violence,
 Cheryl P. Anderson 87

or disease. In this case, the ethnographic data made it possible to rule out some
of these scenarios through an understanding of the principal components of
Rarámuri burial rituals and their social meaning.
According to the ethnographic reports, the Rarámuri have been described as
a semi-nomadic, semi-agricultural people living in Western Chihuahua,
Mexico. At the time of Spanish contact the Rarámuri were surrounded by
several cultural groups, including the Tubar, Témori, Tepehuán, Concho, Jova,
Pima Bajo, Guazapar, and Varohío. All of these peoples speak closely related
Uto-Aztecan languages (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Pennington 1963). Trad-
itionally, Rarámuri subsistence included mainly corn, beans, and squash,
accompanied by fish and wild plants (Pennington 1963). Residential practices
have been described by Lumholtz (1902) and suggest that Rarámuri were
generally mobile and would inhabit different locations throughout the year.
Residence type was described as variable, with some groups living in houses,
some in caves, and some groups alternating between caves and houses at
different times during the year (Lumholtz 1902).
Ethnographic reports also describe distinct Rarámuri burial practices and
ideas about the dead. Death, according to modern Rarámuri beliefs, occurs
when an individual’s soul separates from the rest of the body. This results in a
deceased individual that is still perceived to be alive by the community,
although in an altered state. The dead can be encountered by the living while
they are asleep or sometimes also while they are awake (Merrill 1988). The
potential for interaction between the living and the dead is a cause for concern,
however, among the Rarámuri as the living can become ill if they come into
contact with the soul of a deceased person (Lumholtz 1902; Merrill 1988) or if
they consume any food or drink contaminated by the deceased (Merrill 1988).
The souls of the dead do not reside solely in the world of the living and some
suggest that the souls can move between heaven and earth or that, after all of
the necessary burial rituals are completed, the dead will go to heaven perman-
ently (Merrill 1988).
Because of the potential for the dead to harm the living, people commonly
fear the dead and do what is required to convince them to leave the living alone
(Lumholtz 1902; Merrill 1988). To accomplish this, the Rarámuri must satisfy
the needs of the deceased. One of the first required actions of the living is to
give the deceased a proper burial (Merrill 1988). Specific burial practices can
include wrapping the deceased in a blanket and placement of their hands tied
together on their chest with a cross or down at their sides (Bennett and Zingg
1976; Kennedy 1996; Lumholtz 1902; Merrill 1988). After wrapping a
deceased individual, a fire is built next to the body (Bennett and Zingg
1976; Kennedy 1996; Merrill 1988). On the ground a cross and rosary are
placed and near the cross there are items such as food, clothes, and knives.
88 Victims of violence?

These are the possessions the deceased used during their lifetime (Bennett and
Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996). Food items interred with the dead will often
include corn and beans. The body of the dead individual is then placed in a
house by itself and everyone else in the household sleeps elsewhere (Bennett
and Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996; Merrill 1988). People often do not wish to
touch the body and are afraid of being in close proximity (Kennedy 1996;
Merrill 1988). The dead are generally left in the house for one night and then
buried the next day (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996; Merrill 1988).
The actual burial ceremony practiced by the Rarámuri can be variable, with
the biggest contrast between Christian and non-Christian groups. During a
non-Christian burial family members and neighbors generally assemble at the
house, uncover the head of the deceased, and make crosses of incense smoke
over the body (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996). The family speaks to
the deceased and encourages them not to return and frighten the family or
damage the crops or animals (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996;
Lumholtz 1902). The family promises the deceased that they will provide food
and perform the required number of death fiestas (Kennedy 1996). The body is
then brought to a cave that contains the remains of other people who have
already been buried. The body and burial items are set down near the burial
cave with a fire kindled at the feet of the deceased. The body is then pushed
inside the cave along with the food and any other grave items. Once the body
and grave items are inside the cave is closed with stones and mud. After the
burial is finished, any individuals who carried the body are cured in a special
ceremony (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Kennedy 1996).

6.4 Ethnohistoric data

Ethnohistoric reports can also be useful for understanding intragroup and

intergroup interactions in the past. While it is understood that historic reports
will not necessarily present an entirely accurate picture of the past, they may
still provide invaluable information and are often the only type of record
available (Spielmann et al. 2009). Ethnohistoric evidence has been used
extensively by other researchers working with late precolonial or colonial
period assemblages in the New World (e.g. Duncan 2005; Gaither et al.
2008; Klaus and Tam 2009; Nelson et al. 1992; Pérez et al. 2008; Spielmann
et al. 2009; Stojanowski 2009). Some of these have focused on violence,
veneration, or both. For example, Spielmann et al. (2009) examines ethnohis-
toric documents about the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 and Duncan (2005) uses
ethnographic and ethnohistoric accounts to investigate Postclassic Maya
assemblages, including examples of ancestor veneration and violation of
 Cheryl P. Anderson 89

the deceased. These examples exemplify the utility of combining ethnohistoric

data with skeletal and archaeological evidence.
In the case of La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, ethnohistoric data were used to
understand the relationships between the Rarámuri and other groups residing
in the region. These reports were often written by Spanish Jesuits who were
living among the Rarámuri or in nearby settlements. According to the ethno-
historic literature, intergroup violence was common in the early seventeenth
century AD. This violence included acts such as scalping and the taking of
trophy heads (Beals 1933, 1973; Moser 1973; Nelson et al. 1992). Spanish
reports discuss how the heads of captured enemies were removed with hatchets.
The heads were then perforated and displayed, and this has been compared to
the Aztec practice of placing heads on skull racks (Kelley 1978; Moser 1973).
Groups identified as practicing head-taking included the Rarámuri, Yaqui,
Tepahue, Acaxee, Cora, Xixime, and Tepehuan, among others (Kelley 1978;
Moser 1973). Cannibalism may have been part of the ceremonies surrounding
the treatment of dead enemies, although this may have also been a part of ritual
human sacrifice among some cultures (Beals 1973). One example concerns the
Acaxee, whose practice of decapitating enemies, followed by ritual cannibal-
ism, was tied to their ideology, with the remains being offered to a deity (Beals
1973). Another account of the Acaxee, Xixime, and Tepehuan in Durango,
Mexico, written by Father Andrés Pérez de Ribas in 1645, discusses frequent
warfare in the past between groups that sometimes spoke the same language.
In some instances entire communities would be involved in the conflict
(de Ribas 1971 [1645]). De Ribas (1971 [1645]) also specifically mentions
the Tepehuan as being hostile to the Rarámuri, as well as to other groups. The
ethnohistoric reports of the groups living in Northern Mexico also describe
some of the weapons that would have been used in violent conflict in the past.
These weapons included obsidian or flint-edged wooden swords, hatchets,
bows and arrows, and spears (Beals 1973; de Ribas 1971 [1645]).
Another type of violence that has been discussed in the ethnohistoric (and
ethnographic) reports as perhaps relevant to the Rarámuri is sacrifice. Human
sacrifice is known to have occurred in various parts of the Americas during the
precolonial period. Many bioarchaeological reports have provided skeletal
evidence for human sacrifice (e.g. Berryman 2007; De Anda Alanis 2007;
Eeckhout and Owens 2008; Gaither et al. 2008; Mendoza 2007). In Northern
Mexico, among some cultures, ritual human sacrifice is reported in the ethno-
historic literature. For example, child sacrifice is thought to have occurred in
this region to cure an adult from illness (Beals 1973). It has been suggested by
some (Bennett and Zingg 1976; Pastron and Clewlow Jr. 1974) that the
Rarámuri may have practiced human sacrifice at some point in the past.
Pastron and Clewlow Jr. (1974), however, interpret their findings in a historic
90 Victims of violence?

cave, where all the adult skulls were missing, as more likely the result of
witchcraft. In contrast, Beals (1973) suggests that the Rarámuri may have
practiced animal sacrifice but maintains that there is no indication of human
sacrifice, although it did likely occur among at least one cultural group in
Northern Mexico. There has thus far been no study that has demonstrated that
the Rarámuri practiced human sacrifice.

6.5 Archaeological data

In addition to ethnographic and ethnohistoric data, archaeological evidence is,

of course, critical for providing a comparative context. For this reason, arch-
aeological reports from sites near La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos were used to
identify other examples of potential violence from the same time period in the
region. A number of cave burial sites from this region have been described (see
Ascher and Clune 1960; Green 1985; Lister 1958; Lumholtz 1902; Pastron and
Clewlow Jr. 1974; Pinter 1985; Walker 2006; Zingg 1940), and they provide
the comparative data necessary for understanding the assemblage at La Cueva
de Dos Cuchillos.

6.5.1 Mortuary practices

In addition to ethnographic reports of Rarámuri mortuary practices, archaeo-

logical reports of burial sites were reviewed and demonstrated a regional
pattern. Overall, the archaeological record is fairly consistent with the ethno-
graphic reports of Rarámuri burial practices. The use of burial caves, often
containing multiple individuals, is very similar to the practices reported in the
ethnographic literature. Also, the types of grave goods reported mirror those
described in later times, and include food and personal items. Additionally, at
some sites there are signs of wrapping of bodies and occasionally signs of fire
are detected.
One example of this comes from Waterfall Cave, where the remains of 10
individuals were recovered. This site is thought to be precolonial (1000–1600
AD) based on associated artifacts found in the cave, including a lack of
colonial period items. Both individual and multiple interments were present
inside the burial cave. The burials were found in flexed positions and the heads
of the individuals were facing toward the cave entrance. The bodies of the
deceased appear to have been wrapped in blankets and then mats and stones
were placed on top of the wrappings. Adult males, adult females, and subadults
were present in the cave and a fire pit was also discovered in the cave near the
 Cheryl P. Anderson 91

burials. Materials within the cave consisted of pottery, textiles, plant remains,
lithics, and faunal remains (Ascher and Clune 1960).
Another example comes from an unnamed burial cave reported by Pastron
and Clewlow Jr. (1974), although this cave was thought to be only 70–125
years old. The human remains in this cave indicated that multiple individuals
were interred and were placed in flexed positions. There was also evidence
suggesting that the heads of these individuals were facing toward the east,
which is a common burial practice. Both adults and subadults were represented
in the cave but, interestingly enough, no adult crania were present. All of the
cranial fragments that belonged to infants were bleached white, indicating that
they had been exposed to sunlight (Pastron and Clewlow Jr. 1974). While these
remains are from no earlier than the late nineteenth century AD, and are therefore
not contemporaneous with La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, similar mortuary prac-
tices suggest some potential continuities with earlier behaviors or customs.
More recently, Walker (2006) investigated 13 burial caves in the Sierra
Madre Occidental. The dates of these caves ranged from AD 1099 to AD 1769
but the one cave that dated to approximately 1769 (AD 1720–1819) was the
only historic cave (Walker 2006). The burial practices observed by Walker
(Walker 2006) are consistent with the burial practices described in ethno-
graphic and ethnohistoric reports of the Rarámuri. For example, all of the
caves except one contained multiple individuals that were generally placed in
flexed positions. Evidence that some of the bodies were wrapped in mats was
found in some instances as well. Additionally, one of the caves contained
evidence for a fire. Grave goods in the caves included ceramics, corn, and
lithics (Walker 2006).

6.5.2 Evidence for violence

To date, very little skeletal evidence for violence has been identified in
archaeological assemblages in this portion of the Sierra Madre Occidental. It
is possible that violence was relatively rare in this region or that signs of
violence have been obscured by taphonomy. Alternatively, the lack of evi-
dence may be due to the paucity of archaeological investigations in this area.
Of the available archaeological publications, human remains reported have
been subjected to very few in-depth skeletal analyses. One exception, however,
is recent work by Walker (2006), who included modern bioarchaeological
analysis of the human remains from 13 burial caves. Walker (2006) provides
full bioarchaeological reports of the skeletal remains, including any evidence
for trauma. Of the 13 burial caves examined, two contained the remains of
individuals exhibiting perimortem trauma. One of these, Hedionda cave
92 Victims of violence?

(AD 1262–1511), contained the remains of two individuals with perimortem

blunt force trauma to the head. This included a young adult woman with both
antemortem and perimortem trauma to the basicranium. A young adult male
found in the cave also had both antemortem and perimortem trauma, including
perimortem blunt force trauma to both the right and left sides of the head
(Walker 2006). The second cave, Cueva Juárez (AD 1208–1302), contained
the remains of an adolescent (probable) female with perimortem blunt force
trauma to the basicranium that resulted in decapitation. Walker (2006) suggests
that this decapitated female may have suffered an accident or been the victim of
violence. The blows to the right and left side of the head on the male individual
are interpreted as being the result of a fall where the head strikes the ground on
both right and left sides. No interpretation is offered by Walker (2006) as to the
potential cause of trauma on the third individual.

6.6 Discussion

When investigating signs of trauma on an individual, there are often multiple

possible interpretations of the cause of such trauma (Walker 2001). Walker
(2001) points out that bodily injury observed by the bioarchaeologist could
result from dramatically different causes. For example, skeletal trauma may be
caused by violence or it could result from funerary preparations of a venerated
ancestor. Because of the diversity of possible interpretations, it is important to
examine all lines of evidence to decide which interpretation is the most
probable. As more contextual evidence is compiled, the number of reasonable
hypotheses that could be used to explain the trauma should decrease (Walker
2001). In investigating the evidence of traumatic injury found on at least three
individuals at the site of La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, skeletal, ethnographic,
ethnohistoric, and archaeological data were used to explore two potential
scenarios. The first scenario is that the perimortem trauma and state of the
remains may be explained by standard Rarámuri burial practices and/or ances-
tor veneration. The alternative scenario is that perimortem injury and burning
would not be expected to occur during burial ritual and these individuals more
likely represent victims of violence.

6.6.1 Ancestor veneration and burial ritual

Veneration of the dead has been documented among multiple modern and
precolonial cultures. According to Duncan (2005), veneration can include
honoring certain deceased members of a community and/or helping the soul
 Cheryl P. Anderson 93

of the dead journey to its final destination. Certain individuals can be selected
for this treatment, including leaders and those of religious significance. Ven-
eration can be complex to differentiate in the archaeological record and may
incorporate acts of violence (Duncan 2005). Several disarticulated processed
skeletal assemblages in the precolonial Americas have been interpreted as the
result of ancestor veneration (e.g. Duncan 2005; Pérez 2012a). In cultures that
practice processing of the deceased, body parts may become important sym-
bols and a source of comfort for the living (Pérez 2012a). An example of this
type of ancestor veneration is seen at La Quemada, which includes the disar-
ticulation and display of the bodies of ancestors in special burial contexts
(Nelson et al. 1992; Pérez 2012b; Pérez et al. 2008). Alta Vista, Chalchihuites
similarly contained disarticulated remains, primarily males, with cut marks and
perforated skulls (Kelley 1978; Nelson et al. 1992). Ancestor veneration was
considered a possibility during the analysis of the trauma and state of the
assemblage at La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos. Standard mortuary ritual, separate
from veneration of specific individuals, was also considered as an explanation.
Upon examination of the ethnographic and archaeological data on Rarámuri
burial practices, it seems unlikely that the perimortem trauma found on the
three individuals at La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos resulted from either standard
mortuary ritual or ancestor veneration. First, there are no other known cases of
chop marks reported, such as those found on burial 1–118, or neck fractures on
other contemporaneous Rarámuri burials. If this were a standard practice, even
for only select individuals, it would be expected to be more common. The
trauma on burial 1–118 is actually quite different from some of the reported
cases of veneration as the body of 1–118 does not appear to have been
dismembered and there is no evidence for removal of body parts. Also, this
individual was placed with the rest of the deceased community members, not
in a special location. Second, there are no reports in the ethnographic or
ethnohistoric literature that suggest that the Rarámuri ever processed the
remains of the deceased in any way that would lead to this type of trauma.
In contrast, the Rarámuri are fearful of the deceased and consider them to be a
threat to the living. The Rarámuri avoid contact with the body of the deceased
and do not wish to even be close to the body (Kennedy 1996; Merrill 1988).
For example, the deceased person is encouraged to leave the living alone and
any person who touches the deceased must be cured afterwards. Also, the
home of the deceased will be immediately abandoned by the family if they die
in the home (Bennett and Zingg 1976). This does not just occur in more recent
times, however, as Joseph Neuman in 1681 described that when a death occurs
in a dwelling, that habitation will be destroyed and never lived in again.
Additionally, in 1683 Juan María Ratkay also discussed similar behaviors,
writing that, after a death, the family of the deceased would move immediately
94 Victims of violence?

to another home and may even burn the old home (Pennington 1963). It
appears that, for the Rarámuri to encourage the deceased to leave them alone,
they quickly provide all the necessary things to help the deceased successfully
make the journey to the afterlife (Bennett and Zingg 1976). This process seems
to include a minimal amount of physical contact between the living and the
dead, and the placement of the bodies of the deceased away from the
community.
In contrast to the perimortem trauma, the commingled, disturbed state of the
remains is very consistent with reported Rarámuri burial practices and other
Rarámuri archaeological sites. This is likely an unintentional consequence of
the interment of multiple individuals over time and, according to the ethno-
graphic accounts, the Rarámuri may forget the location of previous burial spots
and will dig a grave on top of an older burial. Also significant for understand-
ing burial assemblages, the Rarámuri reportedly do not take or use bones of
their own deceased nor do they practice secondary burial (Merrill 1988). In
addition, there is not much variability in terms of burial treatments and all
members of a community appear to be treated similarly. This, combined with
the fear of the dead, suggests that the state of the assemblage may best be
explained by standard mortuary ritual.

6.6.2 Violence

Violence has been documented throughout human history and is perhaps one
of the most universal characteristics of human interpersonal relationships
(Martin and Harrod 2012; Walker 2001). Despite the long history of violence
and its prevalence in modern societies, however, it is not well understood
(Martin and Harrod 2012; Schröder and Schmidt 2001). While there are
different ways of defining violence, some ways of conceptualizing it include
the “assertion of power” (Schröder and Schmidt 2001: 2) or, as stated by David
Riches (1986: 8), “an act of physical hurt deemed legitimate by the performer
and illegitimate by (some) witness.” Similarly to contemporary societies, in the
past violence was likely important for demonstrations of power and for solving
disputes (Martin 1997). Violence is not just a reaction to outside factors,
however, but has complex cultural significance (Pérez 2012a). One of the
goals of this project was to determine whether La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos
provided direct evidence that violence affected at least some Rarámuri com-
munities during the late precolonial period.
Considerable bioarchaeological evidence for violence during the precolonial
period has been documented in the Americas (e.g. Kuckelman et al. 2002;
Martin et al. 2008; Osterholtz 2012; Pérez 2006; Turner and Turner 1999;
 Cheryl P. Anderson 95

White 1992), but very little of this work has focused on the Sierra Madre
Occidental. Other than La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos, Hedionda cave and Cueva
Juárez present the only other known examples of potential violence at pre-
colonial Rarámuri sites. The evidence from these sites is significant, however,
in that the remains from these two caves are approximately contemporaneous
with the remains exhibiting trauma from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos. It has
also been argued that the injuries on all three of these individuals could be
consistent with violence, possibly similar to ethnohistoric descriptions of
intergroup conflict in the region (Anderson et al. 2012).
In understanding the patterning of injuries on the remains from La Cueva de
Dos Cuchillos, comparisons with the mortuary practices of the Rarámuri were
critical. These practices generally include the use of burial caves, presence of
multiple individuals, grave goods such as food and other small items, evidence
for fire, and wrapping of the bodies. Because of this information, when
interpreting the human remains from this site, any signs consistent with these
burial practices would be considered normal and not indicative of violence.
For example, the burning that was observed on three individuals, two of whom
did not exhibit noticeable perimortem trauma, and one of whom had potential
perimortem breakage on the base of the skull, was ruled out as a sign of
violence. This is because the Rarámuri practice of lighting fires next to the
deceased could lead to accidental burning, although the extensive burning
found on one adult individual might still be unexpected. The presence of
multiple individuals was also ruled out as evidence for violence as this mortu-
ary pattern is standard for the Rarámuri cultural group and most of these
individuals did not exhibit any trauma. After determining that 14 of the 17
individuals in this cave did not demonstrate any signs of violence, the pattern
of injuries on the remaining three individuals were examined.
Out of the possibilities considered during the analysis, the perimortem
trauma patterns observed on three individuals from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos
were most consistent with violence. The injuries on burial 1–118, for example,
consisted of multiple chop marks made by a sharp implement. This included
blows to both the front and back of the individual (Anderson et al. 2012). These
sharp force wounds could have been caused by one of the weapons described in
the ethnohistoric record and are unlikely to be accidental. The neck fractures on
the other two individuals could also indicate violence, although this is less
definite. The type of fracture observed on these two individuals, the teardrop
fracture, is very uncommon (Korres et al. 1994) but when it occurs it is the
result of severe head trauma (Galloway 1999; Shapiro et al. 1973). While
accidental falls could potentially cause this kind of head trauma, it seems
suspicious that two individuals from the same community would suffer the
same type of fall and receive the same type of neck fracture. The type of trauma
96 Victims of violence?

that leads to teardrop fractures could be similar to the cause of the head trauma
observed at Hedionda cave and Cueva Juárez (Anderson et al. 2012). Unfortu-
nately, it was not possible to associate these vertebrae with any of the other
remains, preventing examination of the entire individual in these two cases.

6.7 Conclusion

Bioarchaeology often involves examining and interpreting human remains

from a variety of complicated contexts. In the case of La Cueva de Dos
Cuchillos, this skeletal assemblage presented a unique and challenging puzzle
as to whether or not certain individuals were the victims of violence. To form a
reasonable interpretation of the remains, ethnographic, ethnohistoric, and
archaeological data were combined with skeletal evidence to reconstruct the
cultural context. This approach was ultimately successful, leading to an inter-
pretation that at least one, and possibly three, individuals from La Cueva de
Dos Cuchillos were victims of violence. While conclusions about specific
practices of violence among the Rarámuri and other local groups cannot be
made based on such a small sample size, La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos,
combined with the two other reported sites examined by Walker (2006),
provide empirical evidence that violence may have impacted individuals in
this region. This could include intergroup violence between the Rarámuri and
another local group if a regional pattern of this type of violence was present, as
suggested in the ethnohistoric accounts. It is also possible, however, that there
may have been violence between the Rarámuri and non-local groups traveling
through the Sierra Madre or possibly intragroup conflict among the Rarámuri
(Anderson et al. 2012). After their deaths, these victims appear to have been
provided the standard Rarámuri mortuary rituals by their community, inter-
ment in a cave with grave items and other local individuals. The remaining 14
individuals in the cave, however, do not appear to have been victims as they do
not have any noticeable traumatic injuries and their treatment was consistent
with Rarámuri burial practices.
The case study from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos presents another example of
the utility of using these types of data together to aid in the identification and
understanding of violence in the precolonial past. In this case, the method
allowed for the identification of previously unknown victims but could not
provide any definite conclusions as to the identities of the perpetrators. Walker
(2001) discusses how bioarchaeology, through the accumulation of multiple
lines of evidence, can provide a clearer and more nuanced understanding of
violence in the past. Using this approach to bioarchaeology, the analysis of the
remains from La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos presents an additional example of how
 Cheryl P. Anderson 97

the use of multiple types of evidence provides rich contextual data that allow for
better understanding of the skeletal data and their behavioral implications.

Acknowledgments
This research would not have been possible if not for the careful documenta-
tion, excavation, and curation of these remains by the late Drs. Richard and
Sheilagh Brooks. The author would also like to thank Dr. Debra Martin for her
guidance and support. Funding for this project was provided by the University
of Nevada, Las Vegas Graduate and Professional Student Association grant
and a Department of Anthropology Edwards and Olswang scholarship.

References
Anderson, C. P., Martin, D. L. & Thompson, J. L. (2012). Indigenous violence in
northern Mexico on the eve of contact. International Journal of Paleopathology,
2, 93–101.
Ascher, R. & Clune, F. J. (1960). Waterfall Cave, Southern Chihuahua, Mexico.
American Antiquity, 26, 270–4.
Bass, W. M. (2005). Human Osteology: A Laboratory and Field Manual, 5th edn.
Columbia: Missouri Archaeological Society.
Beals, R. L. (1933). The Acaxee: A Mountain Tribe of Durango and Sinaloa. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
(1973). The Comparative Ethnology of Northern Mexico before 1750. New York:
Cooper Square Publishers Inc.
Bennett, W. C. & Zingg, R. M. (1976). The Tarahumara: An Indian Tribe of Northern
Mexico. Glorietta: The Rio Grande Press, Inc.
Berryman, C. (2007). Captive sacrifice and trophy taking among the ancient Maya. In:
Chacon, R. J. & Dye, D. H. (eds.) The Taking and Displaying of Human Body
Parts as Trophies by Amerindians. New York: Springer US, 377–99.
Brooks, S. & Suchey, J. (1990). Skeletal age determination based on the os pubis: a
comparison of the Acsádi-Nemeskéri and Suchey-Brooks methods. Human Evo-
lution, 5, 227–38.
Brooks, S. T. & Brooks, R. H. (1990). Skeletal Remains from La Cueva De Dos
Cuchillos, San Francisco De Borja, Chihuahua, Mexico. Para Conocer Al
Hombre: Homenaje a Santiago Genovés a 33 Años Como Investigador En La
Unam. Universidad National Autónoma de México, 261–71.
Brooks, S. T. & Brooks, R. H. (n.d.) Unpublished Site Report.
Buikstra, J. E. & Mielke, J. H. (1985). Demography, diet, and health. In: Gilbert, R. I. &
Mielke, J. H. (eds.) The Analysis of Prehistoric Diets. Orlando: Academic Press,
359–422.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection
from Human Skeletal Remains. Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum
98 Victims of violence?

of Natural History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archeological Survey, Research

Series, No. 44.
Darling, A. J. (1998). Mass inhumation and the execution of witches in the American
Southwest. American Anthropologist, New Series, 100, 732–52.
De Anda Alanis, G. (2007). Sacrifice and ritual body mutilation in postclassical Maya
society: taphonomy of the human remains from Chichén Itzá’s Cenote Sagrado. In:
Tiesler, V. & Cucina, A. (eds.) New Perspectives on Human Sacrifice and Ritual
Body Treatments in Ancient Maya Society. New York: Springer Press, 190–208.
De Ribas, A. P. (1971) [1645]. Excerpts from the account of the triumphs of our holy
faith among the most fierce and savage people of the New World. . . Vol. 3. In:
Hedrick, B. C. Kelley, J. C. & Riley, C. L. (eds.) The North Mexican Frontier.
Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 154–68.
Duncan, W. N. (2005). Understanding veneration and violation in the archaeological
record. In: Rakita, G. F. M., Buikstra, J. E., Beck, L. A. & Williams, S. R. (eds.)
Interacting with the Dead: Perspectives on Mortuary Archaeology for the New
Millennium. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 207–27.
Eeckhout, P. & Owens, L. S. (2008). Human sacrifice at Pachacamac. Latin American
Antiquity, 19, 375–98.
Ellis, F. H. (1968). An interpretation of prehistoric death customs in terms of modern
southwestern parallels. In: Schroede, A. H. (ed.) Collected Papers in Honor of
Lyndon Lane Hargrave. Santa Fe: Museum of New Mexico Press, 57–75.
Gaither, C., Kent, J., Sánchez, V. V. & Tham, T. R. (2008). Mortuary practices and
human sacrifice in the middle Chao valley of Peru: their interpretation in the
context of Andean mortuary patterning. Latin American Antiquity, 19, 107–21.
Galloway, A. (ed.) (1999). Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force
Trauma. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas.
Green, J. S. (1985). Ethnographic analysis of a 12th century female mummy from
Chihuahua, Mexico. In: Tyson, R. A. & Elerick, D. V. (eds.) Two Mummies from
Chihuahua, Mexico: A Multidisciplinary Study. San Diego: San Diego Museum
Papers No. 19, San Diego Museum of Man, 121.
Hillson, S. W. (1996). Dental Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Johnston, F. E. (1962). Growth of long bones of infants and young children at Indian
Knoll. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 20, 249–53.
Kelley, E. A. (1978). The temple of the skulls at Alta Vista, Chalchihuites. In: Riley, C. L.
& Hedrick, B. C. (eds.) Across the Chichimec Sea. Carbondale: Papers in Honor of
J. Charles Kelley: Southern Illinois University Press, 102–26.
Kennedy, J. G. (1996). Tarahumara of the Sierra Madre. Pacific Grove: Asilomar Press.
Klaus, H. D. & Tam, M. E. (2009). Surviving contact: biological transformation, burial,
and ethnogenesis in the colonial Lambayeque Valley, North Coast of Peru. In:
Knudson, K. J. & Stojanowski, C. M. (eds.) Bioarchaeology and Identity in the
Americas. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 126–52.
Korres, D. S., Zoubos, A. B., Kavadias, K., Babis, G. C. & Balalis, K. (1994). The “tear
drop” (or avulsed) fracture of the anterior inferior angle of the axis. European
Spine Journal, 3, 151–4.
 Cheryl P. Anderson 99

Kuckelman, K. A., Lightfoot, R. R. & Martin, D. L. (2002). The bioarchaeology and

taphonomy of violence at Castle Rock and Sand Canyon Pueblos, Southwestern
Colorado. American Antiquity, 67, 486–513.
Lister, R. H. (1958). Archaeological Excavations in the Northern Sierra Madre Occi-
dental, Chihuahua and Sonora, Mexico, with Reports by Paul C. Mangelsdorf and
Kate Peck Kent. Boulder: University of Colorado Press.
Lumholtz, C. (1902). Unknown Mexico: a Record of Five Years’ Exploration among
the Tribes of the Western Sierra Madre; in the Tierra Caliente of Tepic and
Jalisco; and among the Tarascos of Michoacan, Vol. 1. New York: C. Scribner’s
Sons.
Martin, D. L. (1997). Violence against women in the La Plata River Valley (A.D. 1000–
1300). In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled Times: Violence and
Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 45–75.
Martin, D. L. & Harrod, R. P. (2012). Body parts and parts of bodies: traces of violence
in past cultures, editorial. International Journal of Paleopathology, 2, 49–52.
Martin, D. L., Akins, N. J., Crenshaw, B. J. & Stone, P. K. (2008). Inscribed in the body,
written on the bones: the consequences of social violence at La Plata. In: Nichols,
D. L. & Crown, P. L. (eds.) Social Violence in the Prehispanic American South-
west. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 98–122.
Mendoza, R. G. (2007). The divine gourd tree: Tzompantli skull racks, decapitation
rituals, and human trophies in Ancient Mesoamerica. In: Chacon, R. J. & Dye, D. H.
(eds.) The Taking and Displaying of Human Body Parts as Trophies by Amerin-
dians. New York: Springer, 400–43.
Merrill, W. R. (1988). Rarámuri Souls: Knowledge and Social Process in Northern
Mexico. Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press.
Moser, C. M. (1973). Human Decapitation in Ancient Mesoamerica. Washington,
D. C.: Dumbarton Oaks.
Nelson, B. A., Darling, J. A. & Kice, D. A. (1992). Mortuary practices and the
social order at La Quemada, Zacatecas, Mexico. Latin American Antiquity, 3,
298–315.
Osterholtz, A. J. (2012). The social role of hobbling and torture: violence in the
prehistoric Southwest. International Journal of Paleopathology, 2, 148–55.
Pastron, A. G. & Clewlow Jr. C. W. (1974). The ethno-archaeology of an unusual
Tarahumara burial cave. Man, 9, 308–11.
Pennington, C. W. (1963). The Tarahumar of Mexico: Their Environment and Material
Culture. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press.
Pérez, V. R. (2006). The politicization of the dead: an analysis of cutmark morphology
and culturally modified human remains from La Plata and Peñasco Blanco (A.D.
900–1300). University of Massachusetts Amherst: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
(2012a). The politicization of the dead: violence as performance, politics as usual.
In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of
Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 13–28.
(2012b). The taphonomy of violence: recognizing variation in disarticulated skeletal
assemblages. International Journal of Paleopathology, 2, 156–65.
100 Victims of violence?

Pérez, V. R., Nelson, B. A. & Martin, D. L. (2008). Veneration or violence? A study of

variations in patterns of human bone modification at La Quemada. In: Nichols,
D. L. & Crown, P. L. (eds.) Social Violence in the Prehispanic American South-
west. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 123–42.
Phenice, T. W. (1969). A newly developed visual method of sexing the os pubis.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 30, 297–301.
Pinter, S. A. (1985). Descriptions of two mummies from Chihuahua, Mexico. In: Tyson,
R. A. & Elerick, D. V. (eds.) Two Mummies from Chihuahua, Mexico:
A Multidisciplinary Study. San Diego: San Diego Museum Papers No. 19, San
Diego Museum of Man, 13.
Riches, D. (1986). The phenomenon of violence. In: Riches, D. (ed.) The Anthropology
of Violence. New York: Blackwell, 1–27.
Scheuer, L. & Black, S. M. (2000). Developmental Juvenile Osteology. San Diego:
Elsevier Academic Press.
Schröder, I. W. & Schmidt, B. E. (2001). Introduction: violent imaginaries and violent
practices. In: Schmidt, B. E. & Schröder, I. W. (eds.) Anthropology of Violence
and Conflict. London, New York: Routledge, 1–24.
Shapiro, R., Youngberg, A. S. & Rothman, S. L. (1973). The differential diagnosis of
traumatic lesions of the occipito-atlanto-axial segment. Radiologic Clinics of
North America, 11, 505–26.
Smith, B. H. (1991). Standards of human tooth formation and dental age assessment. In:
Kelley, M. A. & Larsen, C. S. (eds.) Advances in Dental Anthropology. New York:
Wiley-Liss, 143–68.
Spielmann, K. A., Clark, T., Hawkey, D., Rainey, K. & Fish, S. K. (2009). “. . .Being
weary, they had rebelled”: Pueblo subsistence and labor under Spanish Colonial-
ism. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 28, 102–25.
Stodder, A. L. W. & Osterholtz, A. J. (2010). Analysis of the Phr: methods and data
collection. In: Perry, E. M., Stodder, A. L. W. & Bollong, C. A. (eds.) Animas La
Plata Project Volume Xv – Bioarchaeology. Phoenix: SWCA, 243–78.
Stojanowski, C. M. (2009). Bridging histories: the bioarchaeology of identity in post-
contact Florida. In: Knudson, K. J. & Stojanowski, C. M. (eds.) Bioarchaeology
and Identity in the Americas. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 59–81.
Turner, C. G., II & Turner, J. A. (1999). Man Corn: Cannibalism and Violence in the
Prehistoric American Southwest. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press.
Walker, C. M. (2006). The bioarchaeology of newly discovered burial caves in the
Sierra Tarahumara. University of Oregon: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Walker, P. L. (2001). A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence.
Annual Review of Anthropology, 30, 573–96.
White, T. D. (1992). Prehistoric Cannibalism at Mancos 5mtumr-2346. Princeton:
Princeton University Press.
White, T. D., Black, M. T. & Folkens, P. A. (2012). Human Osteology, 3rd edn. San
Diego: Academic Press.
Zingg, R. M. (1940). Report on Archaeology of Southern Chihuahua. Denver: Contri-
butions of the University of Denver, Center of Latin American Studies, No 1.
 Part III
Ritual and performative violence
7 Signatures of captivity and
subordination on skeletonized human
remains: a bioarchaeological case
study from the ancient Southwest
r yan p . ha r r o d a nd de bra l. martin

7.1 Introduction

In early May of 2013, three young women were rescued from a horrific scene
of modern-day captivity and enslavement in Cleveland, Ohio. Taken hostage
and held captive for approximately 10 years, the released women revealed
details about their abduction and subsequent physical beatings, rapes, restraint
with chains and ropes, verbal assaults, pregnancies, forced miscarriages,
periods of starvation, confinement to small spaces, and denial of access to
medical care through daily violent acts of subordination and exploitation by a
single male (accessed on May 10, 2013, on page A21 of the New York
Times edition with the headline: Officials, Citing Miscarriages, Weigh Death
Penalty in Ohio Case. www.nytimes.com/2013/05/10/us/cleveland-kidnapping.
html?_r=0). As forensic anthropologists and bioarchaeologists, we wondered
what story their bones might tell that could provide an empirical reality to these
kinds of violence visited upon the women. While this kind of information may
be forthcoming in the future from radiography or CT scans, it is clear from
their testimonies that the bones may reveal the effects of periodic starvation,
misaligned broken and healed bones, healed cranial depression fractures,
unusual patterns of muscular markings (from either habitual use or no use),
and a histological signature of poorly mineralized bones. These physical
assaults may be the tip of the iceberg in terms of other kinds of psychological
and emotional damage from being stripped of their identities and their
humanity.
In a sweeping and grand overview of slavery in world prehistory, Patterson
(1982) provides ample evidence that culturally sanctioned captivity, particularly

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

103
104 Signatures of captivity on human remains

of women and children, has been found to occur in almost every ancient and
historic society since the Neolithic and the domestication of plants and
animals. He writes persuasively about the ways that captured humans come
to be owned as personal property, and the underlying power structures that
keep these kinds of systems in place. He notes that, while males were some-
times taken as captives for ritual purposes, it was females who were the most
prized, not only for sexual purposes, but also as farm hands and laborers
(Patterson 1982: 179). Females were also more easily assimilated into the
captor societies, and, if their children were also abducted, they would resist
captivity even less.
Thus, while captivity is well documented for early city-states, much less has
been written about non-state societies. Cameron (2011) notes the ubiquity of
captives and the central role that they have played in both cultural and
economic terms. She documents for many cultures on a global scale the ways
in which female captives were subordinated and often labored at craft produc-
tion and other activities that demanded skill and hard work. Females as
currency and bodies as wealth is a common theme in much of the writing
about the ways that captivity and slavery operate within economic systems of
owned property, purchasing power, and debt (Peebles 2010).
For pre-state indigenous groups in North America, Cameron (2008; Cam-
eron in press) provides an extensive review of warfare, raiding, abduction, and
captivity of primarily females and children across the Americas. Using ethno-
historic, archival, and archaeological sources, she provides compelling data
that suggest the indigenous systems of warfare and captive-taking that had
been in places for centuries before contact with the Spanish were quickly
usurped and exploited by the early colonists. Tung and Knudson (2011) have
likewise documented the role of warfare and captive-taking in precolonial
groups in South America.
What all of these reviews of captive-taking in non-state and state-level
ancient societies have in common is the underlying and institutionalized
practices of violence that keep the cycle of raiding and captive-taking in place
over hundreds of years. Captives are by definition used without their consent
as part of these larger systems of social control. How can captives and the
violence used to subordinate them be read on the skeletonized remains?
Interpreting captive violence in bioarchaeological or forensic settings is
always challenging because it must be reconstructed with evidence pieced
together from the human remains as well as all other available lines of
evidence. While reconstructing what was done to the body by examination
of the skeletonized remains has limits, getting at the ultimate meaning and
motivation is even more difficult. Nevertheless, as the chapters in this volume
demonstrate, there is much that can be learned by forensic anthropologists and
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 105

bioarchaeologists about the meaning and even the motivations with careful and
integrative analyses. Peebles (2010: 233) implores that “. . . [A]nthropology
may be uniquely situated to insist continually on the relationship between . . .
debt and bodily punishment.” Violence is at the core of capturing, subduing,
subordinating, and enforcing desired behaviors for those unfortunate enough to
become captives.

7.2 Captives in the ancient Southwest (AD 850–1150)

Using ethnohistoric and archival sources, Barr (2005), Brooks (2002), and
Gutiérrez (1991) have documented widespread forms of slavery at contact at
the Pueblo borderlands in the historic Southwest, with captive women and
children at the center of a complex web of trade, prestige, and cultural
exchange. They suggested, but did not have data to support, that systems of
raiding and capture of Pueblo women were in place long before the colonial
period.
With the extensive study of a series of ancestral Pueblo burials of women
exhibiting signs of violence and pathology from La Plata, evidence was
provided that Barr, Brooks, and Gutiérrez were correct. Captives were identi-
fied at the La Plata archaeological sites near Farmington, New Mexico dating
to around AD 1100. This study is a follow-up to and expansion of previous
studies published by the authors on this group of females from La Plata
(Martin 1997, 2008a, 2008b; Martin and Akins 2001; Martin et al. 2001,
2008, 2010).
The current research expands upon the original data from the La Plata
archaeological sites to demonstrate the presence of captives as a more wide-
ranging phenomenon in the ancient Southwest, especially during a period of
cultural transformation (AD 850–1150) dubbed the Chaco Phenomenon.
Harrod (2013) has examined many more skeletal collections from this period
and has found other cases of captivity.
The Chaco Phenomenon is a large regional complex characterized by trade
and shared architecture, and a system of functional and symbolic roads that
developed during the Pueblo II and early Pueblo III periods (c. AD 850–1150)
(Irwin-Williams 1972; Sebastian 1992; Washburn 2011). This study further
expands on the original La Plata dataset by considering the presence of males
and subadults who possess biological indicators of captivity and subordination
as well, suggesting that it was not just females who were taken captive in the
Southwest context.
Demonstrating that there was a system of captivity and exploitation in the
past requires the identification of individuals within a larger segment of
106 Signatures of captivity on human remains

society that show indicators on the skeletonized remains of violence and

abuse. In the past, bioarchaeological studies often were most focused on
population-level studies so that paleoepidemiological patterns could be
established. This population-level approach was an important corrective to
the historical development of the discipline. Prior to the late 1970s, studies
of ancient human remains were very descriptive and focused upon severe
expressions of disease. These were important as case studies, but they did
not speak to the general level of health and adaptation at the population
level.
Thus, in the 1980s, bioarchaeologists began to ask questions about health
and wellbeing at the community (or population) level. Questions were formu-
lated about selective adaptations, the effects of diet, and shifts in nutrition
and health that impacted morbidity and mortality (Cohen and Armelagos 1984;
Gilbert and Mielke 1985; Huss-Ashmore et al. 1982; Larsen 1987). Since this
time, the majority of the studies in bioarchaeology have become very
population-centric, often losing track of unique individuals who can offer
additional information.
A recent edited volume by Stodder and Palkovich (2012) addresses this
issue by challenging researchers to identify and extensively examine unique
individuals to uncover clues about their lives. Focusing on individuals, how-
ever, does not mean that population-level analyses are ignored. Practice theory
suggests that the structure and nature of populations is a consequence of the
complex interactions that exist between all individuals within a society. Thus,
the only way to put an individual into context is to understand the population
of which they were a part, because, taken together, each level of analysis
provides a more complete picture of the social, economic, and political
structure of past societies.
It is possible that, in reporting population frequencies of male and female
trauma, individuals within the larger population that might have been unique in
their expression or patterning of trauma could be masked. For example,
Morgan (2010: 36) reported on frequencies of trauma for individuals from
Pecos Pueblo and surrounding sites over a 1000-year period (c. AD 600–1600)
using population frequencies. These included the percentage of all individuals
who had cranial trauma, postcranial trauma, healed trauma, and perimortem
trauma by age, sex, and period. The only thing that can be said of data
presented in population summaries such as this one is that more males than
females showed trauma, and that trauma increased over time. The population-
level presentation has obscured the patterning of trauma across individual
bodies and the ability to provide a more nuanced understanding of the empir-
ical data. About 10% of the females showed healed trauma, but it is not clear if
this is in the form of cranial depression fractures, ribs, or long bones.
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 107

Presenting trauma data, the closest thing available to understanding interper-

sonal violence, in this way prevents any kind of interpretation on the suspected
causes of these trauma data.
Harrod and Martin (in press) explore the concept of captivity in the past
by examining individual patterns of trauma and linking these to larger
population trends. They illustrate that the term captivity is a broad term
and that individuals identified as captives can, and often do, vary in terms of
their perceived social status and the ways in which they are exploited within
each society. Despite the variation in lived experience, and whether or not
the individuals epitomize the traditional concept of captives or not, this
research shows that there is a distinct pattern associated with the subordin-
ation of individuals and that this can be identified on skeletonized remains.
Thus, even though the term captive is used, it is important to remember that
the experience of each captive may differ from individual to individual and
site to site. This kind of variation and complexity demands analyses that
move from individual to population and from population to population
within and between regions.
The ancient Southwest presents a good place to examine the variable use
of captives, the ways in which they were subdued and subordinated, and
how widespread the practice was spatially and temporally. As mentioned
previously, the ethnohistoric research by Barr (2005) and Brooks (2002) is
especially important because they both provide detailed accounts of a highly
structured system of captivity in the Southwest shortly after contact. Barr
(2005: 21) writes that “. . . the very heterogeneity of Indian bondage sug-
gests comparisons with the range of slave practices in Africa, Asia, the
Mediterranean, and other parts of the world where at different times and
places persons, primarily women, were held and used as not only economic
but also social and political capital – comparisons that resonate with grow-
ing scholarly discussion of slavery in a global perspective.” Reconstruction
of population demographics of sites throughout the Southwest by Kohler
and Turner (2006) that reveal a disproportionate amount of women and
children at some sites provides additional support for the existence of pre-
existing systems of captivity.

7.2.1 Identifying captives from skeletonized human remains

The La Plata females provided a rich source of data that included multiple lines
of evidence that some of them were captives. As outlined more explicitly in the
following section, data from the human remains provided one kind of pattern-
ing, but other patterns emerged when the archaeological context was examined.
108 Signatures of captivity on human remains

The use of the term archaeological in this instance refers to the context in
which the individuals are situated, including the mortuary context (i.e. burial
location, body position, and presence or absence of grave goods), as well as the
overall spatial context of the site itself (i.e. its location on the landscape, its
place in time, and its complexity or simplicity compared to surrounding sites).
By looking at the entire archaeological context, it is possible to start to
ascertain the ways in which individuals that appear to be captives differed
from other individuals at that site and across the region. The interpretation of
these multiple lines of evidence (skeletons, mortuary context, site) from the
archaeological context was enhanced by ethnohistoric and archival research on
captivity in the past (Brooks 2002; Patterson 1982; Ruby and Brown 1993).
The importance of these ethnohistoric accounts is that they provide some first-
person accounts of what captivity involved or written records of how captivity
was initiated and maintained. Using multiple lines of evidence in reconstruct-
ing any activity having to do with trauma and violence is crucial. While
archaeology provides the context, the importance of bioarchaeological data
is that the body records the accumulated life history. The value of analyzing
human skeletal remains is that the quality of an individual’s life in terms of
exposure to violence, overall health, and level of activity is recorded on the
bones. Prior bioarchaeological work has revealed that, oftentimes, individuals
who have lower social status are at greater risk of traumatic injury, health
disparities, and degeneration of the musculoskeletal system as a result of
strenuous labor (Blakey 2001; Corruccini et al. 1982; Harrod et al. 2013;
Rankin-Hill et al. 2000). When trauma and these other indicators of stress
accumulate within a lifetime on the skeleton, they reveal much more infor-
mation than when indicators of pathology and stress are viewed in isolation.

7.3 Identifying captives from skeletonized human remains

The approach to analyzing the burials recovered from each site was to identify
the basic identity of each individual, which involves assessing changes in
health, nutrition, activity, and trauma (Harrod 2013: 64). “These data were
essential because they revealed differences between individuals at each site,
which allowed for a more comprehensive understanding of how and why
violence and social inequality, a ubiquitous yet poorly understood human
behavior, existed in the Puebloan world” (Harrod 2013: 70). The importance
of reconstructing the identity in this project is that it provides a profile of each
individual that can be used to identify the coercive and violent activities that
captives could be subject to that would result in changes to the skeleton
associated with this activity (Table 7.1).
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 109

Table 7.1. Skeletal correlates of subordination and captivity. Modified from

Martin et al. (2010: 6–7, Martin 2008b: 163).

Hypothesized skeletal changes with captivity

Activity Skeletal, demographic, and archaeological correlates

Capture and forced abduction · Healed cranial depression fractures

· High occurrence
Healed broken ribs and long bones
Desire for prestige or trade · Increase in the amount
of reproductive-aged women
· Cranial and postcranial offractures
rare, exotic materials
Subordination, beatings · Recidivism, co-occurrence of trauma and pathology
· Entheseal changes, ossified ligaments, and asymmetries
Hard physical or domestic labor · Work-related osteoarthritis
· Postcranial fractures (accident/occupation-related)
· Non-specific infections
Punishment · Evidence of torture
· Early death
· Skeletal changes (head shape and cradle boarding)
Not recognized member of · Irregular burial
community · Differential amounts of grave goods
· Nutritional stress (cribra orbitalia and porotic
Food restriction, forced poverty · hyperostosis)
· Differences in stature
Poor sanitation, living conditions · Non-specific infections (staph. and strep.)
· Tuberculosis, treponematosis
7.4 Raiding and captivity: interpreting the patterning
of violence from skeletal remains

The data for this project were obtained from the excavation of two commu-
nities in the La Plata River Valley, along with the analysis of previously
excavated skeletal collections housed at the American Museum of Natural
History (AMNH). The burials analyzed in this study included only those sets
of human skeletal remains that were identified as individual burials, so com-
mingled and poorly preserved remains were not included.
The individuals identified as captives in this project are associated with the
sites of La Plata, Kin Bineola, and Aztec Ruins. The importance of each of
these sites is that they are outliers or satellite communities associated with the
Chaco Phenomenon, described earlier. The site referred to as La Plata in this
project actually consists of two sites, Barker Arroyo and Jackson Lake, that
were excavated between 1988 and 1991 (Martin et al. 2001). These sites are
dated to AD 1000–1200 and are located in an area of the Four Corners that is
described as being fertile and a veritable “bread basket” (Toll 1993). The site
110 Signatures of captivity on human remains

of Kin Bineola is the site closest to the center of the Chaco Phenomenon. This
site is the second largest of the satellite communities, second only to Aztec
Ruins (Lekson 2007: 38). Finally, the last site is Aztec Ruins, which consists
of three independent communities. Only one of the communities is of interest
in this study and that is the site of West Ruin or Aztec West because it is from
where the burials were excavated (Morris 1924).

7.4.1 La Plata

The data on violence, trauma, and pathology from the La Plata site have been
published in several venues and will only be briefly summarized here (for
detailed accounts see Martin 2008a, 2008b; Martin et al. 2001, 2010). Of the
66 burials retrieved from the two La Plata sites, 43 were complete enough to do
thorough analyses. One subadult had a healed postcranial fracture. Three males
had healed fractures in a rib, a hand, and a toe bone. Nine females had multiple
and serious healed trauma in the form of cranial depression fractures, and face,
nose, and rib fractures. There was vertebral and pelvic trauma and displace-
ment in several of the females. In addition, these females had the most severe
cases of infection and nutritional anemia. They also exhibited more marked
lesions related to extreme enthesis development on some of the upper and
lower extremities. Each of these females were thrown and buried in abandoned
pit structures without grave goods, which is in direct contrast with females
without trauma and all other males. Isotopic data revealed that these females
were not non-local, but Pueblo women from other areas within the region.
From these multiple indicators of stress markers and trauma, a profile of
raiding for women and abduction was constructed (Martin et al. 2010).
A modified version of this profile is shown in Table 7.1, presenting a more
concise set of indicators for the bioarchaeological signature of captives. The
skeletal and mortuary data on the subset of La Plata women who experienced
interpersonal violence and other stressors match many, if not all, of the
indicators presented in this table (see Martin et al. 2008a for a full description
of these multiple indicators of stress).
One of the more striking patterns on the La Plata females was the presence of
well-healed cranial depression fractures. Walker (1997) presented a detailed
examination of historic patterns of violence in wife-beating and found there to
be a distinctive pattern of hitting women on the head. Hitting individuals on the
head is the most expedient way to subdue but not cause death. It often renders
individuals unconscious for some period of time and, when they awaken, they are
disoriented, in pain, and often unable to make decisions or communicate clearly.
This condition renders the victim relatively easy to subordinate and control.
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 111

The La Plata females with trauma all had some form of single or multiple
cranial depression fractures. In one study (Martin et al. 2008), a neuropatholo-
gist examined the head wounds and reasoned that these blunt force trauma
blows to the head would have likely led to mild or moderate traumatic brain
injury (TBI). There are a multitude of side effects associated with even mild
TBI, such as cognitive, motor, and speech deficits, and fatigue, irritability, and
migraine headaches. TBI can also lead to poor concentration and blurred
vision, the inability to process information, and emotional instability. Given
the nature of the healed cranial depression fractures on the La Plata females, it
is highly likely that they survived the original blows to the head but suffered
from any or all of the behavioral sequelae or abnormal bodily conditions of
TBI. It was also discovered that individuals who had one trauma also had other
pathologies and trauma in various stages of healing (Martin et al. 2001). For
example, one female aged 30–35 survived a crushing blow to the top of her
head that affected three separate regions of the cranium, and healed with an
uneven and problematic knitting together of the bones. Given the location of
the injury, she would have had problems with motor control and emotions,
balance, and general coordination. She also had a trauma-induced partial
dislocation of her pelvis, perhaps sustained in a fall. She had osteoarthritis at
this site as well. This is likely indicative of injury recidivism, the pattern of
having one problem from trauma or pathology leading to additional problems.

7.4.2 Kin Bineola

Kin Bineola is a large Pueblo site located approximately 11 miles south of the
center of Chaco Canyon. This site is less understood than La Plata because the
burials from the site were recovered by Hrdlička at the turn of the nineteenth
century, which has led to ambiguity in the dates and mortuary context. All that
is known about the mortuary context is that the burials were recovered from a
location outside the Pueblo, about one-third of a mile away (Akins 1986: 165).
Additionally, the dates for the burials are not well understood, with the
exception of a single burial that was recently dated to AD 891–1147 (Coltrain
et al. 2007: 306). The rest of the burials are assumed to be from the Pueblo II
period based on the fact that archaeological reconstruction of the site itself,
such as tree-ring dates, indicates that the site was built during the Pueblo II
period (Bannister et al. 1970; Marshall et al. 1979).
At the site of Kin Bineola, like at La Plata, the rate of violence against
women was very high. Seven of the eleven (63.6%) adult females had trauma,
in contrast to only one of five (20.0%) males and two of the fourteen (14.3%)
children having evidence of trauma. In a recent study (Harrod 2013), the rate
112 Signatures of captivity on human remains

of trauma among women at Kin Bineola was compared to that at other sites in
the region during the Pueblo II, and it was found that the occurrence of trauma
at Kin Bineola was significantly higher than at the other sites. The site of La
Plata is the only other site with a comparable rate of trauma. Being that Kin
Bineola is one of the largest sites in the region, outside of Chaco Canyon, it has
been suggested that it may have been an important satellite community, so it is
possible that the women with evidence of violence were captives in a system of
labor exploitation.

7.4.3 Aztec Ruins

Aztec Ruins is a slightly later site that dates to between the early to mid Pueblo
III period. It is the largest pueblo outside of Chaco Canyon (Brown et al. 2008:
235). Unlike La Plata and Kin Bineola, the rate of trauma among females at
Aztec Ruins is not noticeably higher than trauma among males. Instead, it
appears that there may be select individuals of both sexes that have indicators
of possibly being captives.
First, there is a young adult female at Aztec Ruins buried in Room 182 who
has both cranial and postcranial trauma that is indicative of having suffered
repeated injury (i.e. injury recidivism). According to Morris (1924: 195) she
was in a tightly flexed position. Both this individual and the one interred
directly above her in Room 135 were noted by Morris (1924: 173, 195) to be
individuals that were short in stature and upon burial wrapped in feather cloths,
with no evidence of grave goods.
There is a second young adult at Aztec Ruins who has multiple indicators of
potential captivity on the body. Although Morris (1924: 183) suggests that this
individual is “apparently female,” analysis by Harrod (2013) and Martin and
Stone (2003) suggest that this is likely a developing male. Despite there being
no evidence of a cranial depression fracture, he has two healed broken ribs, the
right hip appears to have been dislocated, asymmetry of the upper arms where
the left humerus is noticeably smaller, and there are degenerative changes of
the lower spine. Analysis of the entheseal development seems to suggest that
he has moderate buildup for a young adult, which could indicate a heavier
workload during his lifetime.
Finally, there is an individual that was recovered from a kiva that may have
been a captive at Aztec Ruins. This individual is only represented by cranial
remains and, according to Morris (1924: 193), the head appears to have been
thrown into the structure with other refuse or trash. Based on robust morph-
ology, this individual appears to be a probable male; however, without the
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 113

postcranial remains it is not certain if this individual is a male or a very robust

female. The importance of this skull is that there are several healed cranial
injuries as well as perimortem injuries that occurred around the time of death.
This individual is also unique because “[t]his skull is the first example of
oblique deformation exhumed in the Aztec Ruin” (Morris 1924: 193). Morris
had suggested that these isolated cranial remains came from a burial interred in
another part of the site, but it is possible that this represents a trophy skull.
The importance of each of these burials is that they not only have traumatic
injuries but an accumulation of other pathological conditions that seems to
suggest that they may have been at more risk than other members of the
community.

7.5 The ongoing and multiple forms of violence related to captivity

Many of the individuals in these studies that are noted to be captives have
multiple traumatic injuries or trauma associated with other pathological condi-
tions. The importance of these overall findings is that these individuals all
demonstrate a pattern of injury recidivism and comorbidity factors that suggest
a life history fraught with hazardous activities, interpersonal violence, and hard
labor.
Looking at individuals with multiple traumatic injuries provides a method
for identifying injury recidivism as a pattern of re-injury and related patholo-
gies. The presence of individuals with both cranial and postcranial trauma
provides one more insight into the role that violence played among the
ancestral Pueblo. Thus, all cranial injuries were evaluated with consideration
of postcranial trauma and were scrutinized for patterns that may have repre-
sented a single injury event, such as falls from heights (Galloway 1999;
Lovell 1997, 2008).
Injury recidivism is not limited to trauma alone, however; it is also
important to look at individuals who have trauma in association with evi-
dence of activity-related changes and pathological conditions. Similar to
repeated trauma, the presence of trauma and other health-related changes
may indicate that some people within a particular society were a subclass
or subaltern group who worked harder and were at more risk of being
targeted for violence.
In terms of activity-related changes, these studies all included analyses of
both robusticity differences and entheseal development. For both robusticity
and entheseal development, which are age-dependent phenomenon, individ-
uals were compared by age-specific categories. The pathological conditions of
114 Signatures of captivity on human remains

interest in this project were primarily those that are indicative of nutritional
anemia conditions such as cribra orbitalia, porotic hyperostosis, and infections
such as periosteal reactions.
The importance of understanding the process of injury recidivism is that
severe head trauma or TBI may have predisposed people to other types of
injury. Using methods established by Judd (2002) and insights gained from a
recent project with modern Turkana populations in Kenya (Harrod et al. 2012),
this project was not only focused on identifying cranial trauma but attempted
to understand the consequence of a severe head injury in the form of TBI. TBI
is essentially severe, long-term damage to the brain that causes cognitive
deficiencies. The type of cognitive impairment that develops depends on
where the damage to the brain occurs.
For example, according to Stern (2004: 179), damage to the frontal or
temporal lobes often results in personality or social dysfunctions. The Centers
for Disease Control also report a number of problems that arise, and these
include a decrease in attention and focus, reduced emotional control (e.g.
aggression and impulsivity), memory problems, as well as a deterioration of
verbal and physical abilities (Centers for Disease Control 2010). TBI is a
worldwide problem as “head injuries account for the majority of all trauma-
related deaths; and at least 6.2 million people in Europe and 5.3 million in the
United States live with disability, impairment, or handicap from TBI”
(Vagnerova et al. 2008: 206). Well-documented cognitive side effects from this
type of injury include cognitive, motor, and speech problems, migraines and
dizziness, poor concentration, emotional instability, increased aggressiveness
and antisocial behavior, and amnesia (Centers for Disease Control 2010; Cohen
et al. 1999; Leon-Carrion and Ramos 2003; The Brain Injury Association of
Wyoming 2004). Aside from cognitive impacts, TBI can also have social
effects that include the increased likelihood of re-injury (i.e. injury recidivism),
imprisonment, or of becoming homeless (Centers for Disease Control 2010).
The increased risk of future injury is due to the fact that the original TBI,
whether it was mild, moderate, or severe, causes lingering neurological and
behavioral side effects (Bazarian and Atabaki 2001; Glaesser et al. 2004;
Hwang et al. 2008; Stern 2004). This increased risk of repeated injury has
been documented for ancient populations as well (Judd 2002; Martin et al.
2008). Although TBI may be one reason for recidivism it is not the only
explanation, as the culture in which an individual was raised or social learning
(Bandura 1973) is also a probable factor for why people exposed to violence
tend to accrue more injuries throughout their lifetime. For example, among
children it has been well documented that the exposure to violence has an effect
on the level of violence in which one is involved as an adult (Wilson and Daly
1995). Additionally, it may be entirely possible that a person’s personality
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 115

Figure 7.1. Pathways in which violence can lead to injury recidivism.

makes them more likely to engage in risky behavior or more likely to be at risk
as a target of violence.
Regardless of the cause of injury recidivism, there is a general pattern to
how an individual is impacted (Figure 7.1).

7.6 Captives, then and now

From the descriptions of modern day captivity in the news during the spring
of 2013, the rescued captives in Cleveland, Ohio have captured the attention
of media outlets and US citizens who wonder how this could have happened
right under their noses. It can only be hoped that this isolated case of female
captivity opens up a broader look at the enormous scope of captivity and
slavery today. Both Bales (1999: 256) and Bowe (2008: xvii) note that,
although slavery is officially outlawed in every nation state, there are more
enslaved people today than at any other time in history. Most sources
place the estimated number of captive slaves today at 20–30 million (www.
freetheslaves.net/SSLPage.aspx?pid=304).
With bioarchaeological and forensic data, the experience of captivity and
enslavement can be better understood. These victims of a particular kind of
violence meant to subdue and subordinate (but not initially kill) have a story to
tell that is part of the larger understanding of the ways that humans are
dehumanized and used for another’s purposes. In many of these cases, as in
Cleveland, Ohio, it happens right in front of us. Young girls are abducted and
sold into sexual slavery; young men, women, and children are forced to work
in substandard factories to earn substandard wages.
116 Signatures of captivity on human remains

Bioarchaeological data in particular offer insight into those that survived the
initial blows to the head and acts of violence meant to subdue and subordinate.
It is crucial to examine the individuals who survived in the research agenda of
how captivity and enslavement are produced and reproduced in different times
and places. While the forensic anthropologists can focus on deadly violence,
this project focuses on non-lethal violence used in very specific ways to keep
humans subordinate and captive. This project is a small step toward untangling
one type of violence related to systems of justice that fail to rectify the
asymmetrical relationships that exist and that provide places where captivity
can happen right under our noses.

References
Akins, N. J. (1986). A Biocultural Approach to Human Burials from Chaco Canyon,
New Mexico, Reports of the Chaco Center, No. 9. Santa Fe: National Park Service.
Bales, K. (1999). Disposable People: New Slavery in the Global Economy, Revised
Edition. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Bandura, A. (1973). Aggression: A Social Learning Process. Englewood Cliffs: Pren-
tice-Hall.
Bannister, B., Robinson, W. J. & Warren, R. L. (1970). Tree-Ring Dates from New
Mexico a, G-H. Shiprock–Zuni–Mt. Taylor Area. Tucson: Laboratory of Tree-Ring
Research, The University of Arizona.
Barr, J. (2005). From captives to slaves: commodifying Indian women in the border-
lands. The Journal of American History, 92, 19–46.
Bazarian, J. J. & Atabaki, S. (2001). Predicting postconcussion syndrome after minor
traumatic brain injury. Academic Emergency Medicine, 8, 788–95.
Blakey, M. L. (2001). Bioarchaeology of the African diaspora in the Americas: its
origin and scope. Annual Review of Anthropology, 30, 387–422.
Bowe, J. (2008). Nobodies: Modern American Slave Labor and the Dark Side of the
New Global Economy. New York: Random House.
Brooks, J. F. (2002). Captives and Cousins: Slavery, Kinship, and Community in the
Southwest Borderlands. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, Pub-
lished for the Omohundro Institute of Early American History and Culture.
Brown, G. M., Windes, T. C. & McKenna, P. J. (2008). Animas anamnesis: Aztec Ruins
or Anasazi Capital? In: Reed, P. F. (ed.) Chaco’s Northern Prodigies: Salmon,
Aztec, and the Ascendancy of the Middle San Juan Region after AD 1100. Salt
Lake City: The University of Utah Press, 231–50.
Cameron, C. M. (2008). Invisible Citizens: Captives and Their Consequences. Salt Lake
City: The University of Utah Press.
(2011). Captives and culture change. Current Anthropology, 52, 169–209.
(in press). The effects of warfare and captive-taking on indigenous mortality in post-
contact North America. In: Swedlund, A. C., Cameron, C. M. & Kelton, P. T.
(eds.) Beyond Germs: The Impact of Colonialism on Indigenous Health in
America. Dragoon: Amerind Foundation.
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 117

Centers for Disease Control (2010). Traumatic Brain Injury in Prisons and Jails: An
Unrecognized Problem. Atlanta: CDC.
Cohen, M. N. & Armelagos, G. J. (eds.) (1984). Paleopathology at the Origins of
Agriculture. Orlando: Academic Press.
Cohen, R. A., Rosenbaum, A., Kane, R. L., Wamken, W. J. & Benjamin, S. (1999).
Neuropsychological correlates of domestic violence. Violence and Victims, 14,
397–411.
Coltrain, J. B., Janetski, J. C. & Carlyle, S. W. (2007). The stable- and radio-isotope
chemistry of western basketmaker burials: implications for early Puebloan diets
and origins. American Antiquity, 72, 301–21.
Corruccini, R. S., Handler, J. S., Mutaw, R. J. & Lange, F. W. (1982). Osteology of a
slave burial population from Barbados, West Indies. American Journal of Physical
Anthropology, 59, 443–59.
Galloway, A. (1999). The biomechanics of fracture production. In: Galloway, A. (ed.)
Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force Trauma. Springfield:
Charles C. Thomas, 35–62.
Gilbert, R. I. & Mielke, J. H. (eds.) (1985). The Analysis of Prehistoric Diets. Orlando:
Academic Press.
Glaesser, J., Neuner, F., Lütgehetmann, R., Schmidt, R. & Elbert, T. (2004). Posttrau-
matic stress disorder in patients with traumatic brain injury. BMC Psychiatry,
4, 1–6.
Gutiérrez, R. A. (1991). When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away: Marriage,
Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500–1846. Stanford: Stanford University
Press.
Harrod, R. P. (2013). Chronologies of pain and power: violence, inequality, and social
control among ancestral pueblo populations (AD 850–1300). University of
Nevada, Las Vegas: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Harrod, R. P. & Martin, D. L. (in press). Bioarchaeological case studies of slavery,
captivity, and other forms of exploitation. In: Marshall, L. W. (ed.) The Archae-
ology of Slavery: A comparative Approach to Captivity and Coercion. Carbondale:
Southern Illinois University Press.
Harrod, R. P., Liénard, P. & Martin, D. L. (2012). Deciphering violence: the potential of
modern ethnography to aid in the interpretation of archaeological populations. In:
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Violence.
Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 63–80.
Harrod, R. P., Thompson, J. L. & Martin, D. L. (2013). Hard labor and hostile encounters:
what human remains reveal about institutional violence and Chinese immigrants
living in Carlin, Nevada (1885–1923). Historical Archaeology, 46, 85–111.
Huss-Ashmore, R., Goodman, A. H. & Armelagos, G. J. (1982). Nutritional inference
from paleopathology. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, 5, 395–474.
Hwang, S. W., Colantonio, A., Chiu, S., Tolomiczenko, G., Kiss, A., Cowan, L.,
Redelmeier, D. A. & Levinson, W. (2008). The effect of traumatic brain injury
on the health of homeless people. Canadian Medical Association Journal (CMAJ),
179, 779–84.
118 Signatures of captivity on human remains

Irwin-Williams, C. (ed.) (1972). The Structure of Chacoan Society in the Northern

Southwest: Investigations at the Salmon Site-1972. Portales: Eastern New Mexico
University Contributions in Anthropology 4(3).
Judd, M. A. (2002). Ancient injury recidivism: an example from the Kerma Period of
Ancient Nubia. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 12, 89–106.
Kohler, T. A. & Turner, K. K. (2006). Raiding for women in the pre-hispanic northern
Pueblo Southwest? Current Anthropology, 47, 1035–45.
Larsen, C. S. (1987). Bioarchaeological interpretations of subsistence economy and
behavior from human skeletal remains. In: Schiffer, M. B. (ed.) Advances in
Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 10. San Diego: Academic Press,
339–445.
Lekson, S. H. (2007). Great house form. In: Lekson, S. H. (ed.) The Architecture of
Chaco Canyon, New Mexcio. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press, 7–44.
Leon-Carrion, J. & Ramos, F. J. (2003). Blows to the head during development can
predispose to violent criminal behaviour: rehabilitation of consequences of head
injury is a measure for crime prevention. Brain Injury, 17, 207–16.
Lovell, N. C. (1997). Trauma analysis in paleopathology. Yearbook of Physical Anthro-
pology, 40, 139–70.
(2008). Analysis and interpretation of skeletal trauma. In: Katzenberg, M. A. &
Saunders, S. R. (eds) Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, 2nd edn.
Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 341–86.
Marshall, M. P., Stein, J. R., Loose, R. W. & Novotny, J. E. (1979). Anasazi Commu-
nities of the San Juan Basin. Santa Fe: Public Service Company of New Mexico,
Albuquerque; New Mexico Historic Preservation Bureau.
Martin, D. L. (1997). Violence against women in the La Plata River Valley (A.D. 1000–
1300). In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled Times: Violence and
Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 45–75.
(2008a). Reanalysis of trauma in the La Plata Valley (900–1300): strategic social
violence and the bioarchaeology of captivity. In: Stodder, A. L. W. (ed.) Reanaly-
sis and Reinterpretation in Southwestern Bioarchaeology. Tempe: Arizona State
University, Anthropological Research Papers, 167–84.
(2008b). Ripped flesh and torn souls: evidence for slavery in the prehistoric South-
west, AD 800–1500. In: Cameron, C. M. (ed.) Invisible Citizens: Captives and
Their Consequences. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press, 159–80.
Martin, D. L. & Akins, N. J. (2001). Unequal treatment in life as in death: trauma and
mortuary behavior at La Plata (AD 1000–1300). In: Mitchell, D. R. & Brunson-
Hadley, J. L. (eds.) Ancient Burial Practices in the American Southwest. Albu-
querque: University of New Mexico Press, 223–48.
Martin, D. L. & Stone, P. K. (2003). Reanalysis of Aztec Ruins and Pueblo Bonito
Remains at the American Museum of Natural History [Unpublished Raw Data].
Las Vegas: Department of Anthropology, University of Nevada.
Martin, D. L., Akins, N. J., Goodman, A. H. & Swedlund, A. C. (2001). Harmony and
Discord: Bioarchaeology of the La Plata Valley. Santa Fe: New Mexico Office of
Archaeological Studies.
 Ryan P. Harrod and Debra L. Martin 119

Martin, D. L., Akins, N. J., Crenshaw, B. J. & Stone, P. K. (2008). Inscribed on the
body, written in the bones: the consequences of social violence at La Plata. In:
Nichols, D. L. & Crown, P. L. (eds.) Social Violence in the Prehispanic American
Southwest. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 98–122.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Fields, M. (2010). Beaten down and worked to the bone:
bioarchaeological investigations of women and violence in the ancient Southwest.
Landscapes of Violence, 1, Article 3.
Morgan, M. E. (ed.) (2010). Pecos Pueblo Revisted: The Biological and Social Context.
Cambridge: Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology Harvard University.
Morris, E. H. (1924). Burials in the Aztec Ruin. New York: Anthropological Papers of
the American Museum of Natural History.
Patterson, O. (1982). Slavery and Social Death. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Peebles, G. (2010). The anthropology of credit and debt. Annual Review of Anthropol-
ogy, 39, 225–40.
Rankin-Hill, L. M., Blakey, M. L., Carrington, S. H. H. & Howson, J. E. (2000). Political
economy of fertility and population growth among enslaved Africans in colonial
New York. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 111, 259.
Ruby, R. H. & Brown, J. A. (1993). Indian Slavery in the Pacific Northwest. Spokane:
The Arthur H. Clark Company.
Sebastian, L. (1992). The Chaco Anasazi: Sociopolitical Evolution in the Prehistoric
Southwest. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Stern, J. M. (2004). Traumatic brain injury: an effect and cause of domestic violence
and child abuse. Current Neurology and Neuroscience Reports, 4, 179–81.
Stodder, A. L. W. & Palkovich, A. M. (eds.) (2012). The Bioarchaeology of Individ-
uals. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
The Brain Injury Association of Wyoming (2004). Study of undiagnosed brain injuries
in Wyoming’s prison population. In: Force, A. T. (ed.). Casper: The Wyoming
Department of Health Division Developmental Disabilities, 1–23.
Toll, H. W. (1993). Results of Resurvey and Evaluation of Archaeological Sites in the
Dawson Arroyo Segment of the La Plata Highway Project. Archaeology Notes 67.
Santa Fe: New Mexico Office of Archaeological Studies.
Tung, T. A. & Knudson, K. J. (2011). Identifying locals, migrants, and captives in the
Wari heartland: a bioarchaeological and biogeochemical study of human remains
from Conchopata, Peru. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 30, 247–61.
Vagnerova, K., Koerner, I. P. & Hurn, P. D. (2008). Gender and the injured brain.
Anesthesia & Analgesia, 107, 201–14.
Walker, P. L. (1997). Wife beating, boxing, and broken noses: skeletal evidence for the
cultural patterning of violence. In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled
Times: Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 145–80.
Washburn, D. K. (2011). Pattern symmetries of the Chaco Phenomenon. American
Antiquity, 76, 252–84.
Wilson, M. & Daly, M. (1995). An evolutionary psychological perspective on male
sexual proprietariness and violence against wives. Violence and Victims, 8, 271–94.
8 Classic Maya warfare and skeletal
trophies: victims and aggressors
rebecca storey

8.1 Introduction

The Classic Maya civilization of Mesoamerica (c. 250–1050 CE) was one
of the most important of the pre-Columbian New World because of
its writing and highly developed iconography. The increased study in the
latter decades of the twentieth century of the archaeological and icono-
graphic evidence, plus decipherment of the Maya writing glyphs, has
revealed a society where the rulers and elites were much concerned with
warfare, especially during the Late Classic (600–900 CE). Of course, this
record only details the uppermost stratum of Maya society and usually only
the victors. This means that there are many basic questions still remaining
about this warfare (Webster 1998), including the size and tactics of battles
and all the consequences of victory or loss. However, it is clear that warfare
was initiated and fought by rulers and elites, as an important aspect to
successful governance. From numerous depictions in sculptures and paint-
ings, it was important for rulers and their elite warriors to capture other
royals and elite warriors. These individuals were sacrificed to illustrate
the power of the victors, as well as perhaps to keep cosmological order
(Webster 1998). The art also shows skeletal heads made into masks and
other skeletal parts as part of the regalia. Such trophies have been found
archaeologically, and in many, although not all, examples they are clearly
linked to individuals. Thus, we probably have both the aggressors and
victims linked.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

120
 Rebecca Storey 121

8.2 The Sibun Valley

Excavations of more modest-sized sites in the middle and lower reaches of the
Sibun Valley, Belize, indicate that these settlements survived the period of
decline and abandonment in the adjacent Petén area (part of the famous Classic
Maya collapse) and thrived during the Terminal Classic period (800–950 CE).
This late fluorescence appears to mirror the rise and historical trajectory of
sites in northern Yucatán, such as Chichén Itzá, which were also to be
abandoned by the eleventh century CE in the last wave of the Classic Maya
collapse. Fueled by the growing hegemony of the north, the coastal Caribbean
trade network assumed an increased importance (Masson and Mock 2004).
Location on the Sibun River would allow sites to take advantage of this
increasing trade.
At the mid-valley site of Pakal Na, there is evidence of this late fluorescence
and coastal interaction, and the influence of the important site of Chichén Itzá.
Within Structure 130 (the largest at the site), an elaborate mortuary deposit
intruded into the eastern (front) central axis of this elongated platform
(Harrison-Buck et al. 2007). Both the quality and nature of the grave offerings,
including evidence of postmortem body processing and the extended period
over which the mortuary ritual occurred, indicate that the central individual
(Burial 1-A) was of high rank and probably a prominent and successful
warrior. The style and content of grave goods again point to northern influ-
ence, likely stemming from Chichén Itzá.
The large burial pit at Pakal Na measures roughly 1.3 m wide, 3.0 m in
length, and over 1.0 m in depth (Figure 8.1). The burial includes a total of six
individuals: a primary interment (1-A), who was accompanied by the partial
remains of four other individuals, who are represented by three discrete
clusters of disarticulated remains (1-B, 1-C, 1-D, and 1-E), plus an individual
represented by a carved human skull mask. Most appear to be male and older
than 35 years of age (the sex of one individual is undetermined); the primary
interment (1-A) was probably over 60 years of age at death and possibly close
to 80 years.
Burial 1-A was laid in an extended, supine position, with his legs crossed.
A robust individual, the old male showed pronounced muscle attachments on
the shoulder girdle and a prominent linea aspera of the femur. Thus, an active
lifestyle is indicated, which might be expected of a successful leader and
warrior. The skull of Burial 1-A had been removed and replaced with an
inverted bowl. The left arm and right forearm were also missing.
The disarticulated remains of Burial 1-B were located just east of 1-A.
Burial 1-B included a skull with atlas vertebra and pieces of the left shoulder.
Considerable wear on the teeth (one drilled for an inlay) and the closure of
122 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

Figure 8.1. Plan Map of Burial 1, Pakal Na. Skull mask was in the Burial 1C skeletal
cluster. (Reproduced with permission of the Xibun Archaeological Research Project.)
Drawing by K. Acone and S. Morandi, reprinted with permission.
 Rebecca Storey 123

some sutures indicate that Burial 1-B was an older adult, probably the oldest of
the secondary interments. The morphological features of the skull suggest a
more gracile male, indicating that the skull probably did not belong to the 1-A
interment. Drilled jaguar teeth and a deposit of cinnabar 5.0–10.0 cm thick
found over an area 20.0 cm diameter were associated with this skull.
Burial 1-D, located just north of 1-B, may be part of the 1-B individual, but
there is a clear separation between these two bone clusters (Figure 8.1). Thus,
1-D has been treated as a separate person. Burial 1-D consists primarily of arm
and leg bones with few other skeletal elements and they appear to have been
scattered, rather than bundled. The robusticity of these elements indicate that
this is also a male, but they also do not show any cortical bone loss that might
indicate an older individual like 1-B.
The Burial 1-C deposit, like 1-D, did not appear bundled, but rather was a
collection of bones with associated grave goods that had been placed on an
earthen shelf on the eastern side of the mortuary pit. At first, this was
considered to be another individual, but the analysis indicated that the skeletal
elements present were exactly those missing from Burial 1-A. Other human
remains within the 1-C deposit included a left arm and partial shoulder girdle,
most of a right forearm, and parts of the cervical vertebrae. Comparison of this
left humerus with the right humerus of Burial 1-A was sufficient to indicate
that these elements belonged to Burial 1-A, and to attribute all to that individ-
ual. There was no separate 1-C individual. There was no skull modification,
but two upper anterior teeth had been drilled for inlays that were not present at
the time of excavation. Because of the position of the forearms, some articula-
tion might have been still present when these were removed and then deposited
here, so the removal and redeposition occurred not too long after death. There
was also a cluster of six teeth, mostly molars and premolars, from another
individual (Burial 1-E). No cranial fragments could be linked to this individ-
ual, so it appears to be a deposit solely of teeth from a middle-aged to an older
individual, based on tooth wear. Sex is undetermined.
Mortuary ritual surrounding the main interment (1-A) included the burning
or smoking of the deceased, which likely included torching a wooden litter
upon which the old male had been placed. Charcoal was scattered throughout
the base of the pit, particularly under the lower legs of Burial 1-A where a
dense deposit of charcoal 15.0 cm thick had accumulated on top of a bed of
large sherds from a red-neck, striated olla (the sherds also were blackened and
coated with charcoal residue). The bones of the focal individual bear evidence
of smudging and scorching from smoke, although the bone is well preserved
and is not calcined as it would have been if cremated. A charcoal sample
(AA55938) collected from the burned wood beneath the legs of the primary
interment yielded a 2-sigma calibrated radiocarbon range of 687–959 CE.
124 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

Another sample (AA55936) with a calibrated range of 776–979 CE was

associated with the later construction that capped the burial pit. A Terminal
Classic date for the Pakal Na burial is confirmed. Further evidence of posthu-
mous manipulation of the primary interment is provided by traces of red and
yellow ocher paint on the bones, some in places like the promontory of the
sacrum that could only be accessed if bones were exposed and physically
removed. Despite removal and painting of the bones, mortuary specialists
preserved the articulated position of the skeleton (see Figure 8.1).
Notably, all individuals (including that represented by the skull mask) show
significant dental calculus deposits. This not only indicates poor dental
hygiene practices among these populations, but also signals a highly acidic
diet that can result from ingestion of large amounts of protein (Hillson 1996).
This dietary indicator, plus the robust health and advanced age of the primary
interment, suggests that these interments were individuals of high status, at
least as adults. Additionally, teeth from 1-A and 1-B had been modified
through filing or inlays, perhaps originally of jade. The main interment and
the other individuals had clear evidence of healed infections. Again, it is
probably a tribute to the generally good lifestyle and prestige accorded to
these individuals that they were able to survive systemic infection.
The complex mortuary ritual probably included the following events. First,
Burial 1-A was placed, likely on a perishable litter, in an extended position on
his back with feet crossed and hands placed on the pelvis. The body appears to
have been left to skeletonize, a process that would have been expedited by
burning and smoking the body. At some point, the skeletal elements were
painted and the left arm, partial torso, and cranium were removed and eventu-
ally placed on the ledge in deposit 1-C. The robust cranium appears to have
been partially bundled as a stack of vault pieces, although other skeletal
elements were just scattered in this area. This seems to indicate that at some
point the skull was deliberately broken, perhaps to weaken its power, before
final interment. It is also possible that the skeletal elements and skull were
displayed or served in rituals after removal from the body, and some unknown
period of time has passed since the original interment.
At this point, or perhaps earlier, additional human remains (1-B, 1-D, and 1-E)
were added to the base of the burial pit. There is no evidence of cut marks or
perimortem violence on the bones of the main interment, nor are signs of
violence present on any of the disarticulated remains of deposits 1-B, 1-C, and
1-D. There were not, however, very many joint areas preserved to be positive
that no dismemberment took place, but seven leg and arm long bones with
sufficient preservation definitely lack such marks. On the other hand, the skull
mask is covered with cut marks and this individual was probably the victim of
perimortem violence (see below).
 Rebecca Storey 125

All individuals appear to have been in a skeletonized state (i.e. defleshed)

when they were interred and the burial pit backfilled. Apparently, the disarticu-
lated individuals (1-B, 1-C, and 1-D) had been curated and likely functioned as
special companions for the primary interment. These could represent sacrificial
victims or other war trophies of the main individual but are just as likely to
represent a group of venerated ancestors who may have served to ritually
charge the burial ground. The curated remains of Burial 1-B, with offerings of
jaguar teeth and cinnabar (items often found with high-ranking Maya burials),
especially favor that interpretation.
A number of grave goods – including four perforated dog canines and the inner
spiral of a Queen Conch marine shell – were placed with the bones deposited in
1-C. Most notable, however, is the carved human skull mask that was part of this
bone cluster (Figure 8.2). The mask is similar, though far more elaborate, to skull
masks found with Classic period elite burials at the site of Copán in Honduras
(Storey 2005) and those at the Terminal Classic site of Xochicalco in the central
Mexican highlands (Hirth 1989). In Classic Maya art and sculpture, trophy masks
were worn as pectorals by elite warriors and likely were fashioned from captives
taken in war. The only age indicator on the Pakal Na specimen is moderate tooth
wear, which probably indicates a young to middle-aged adult at the time of death.
The marks of skinning are very clear, indicating that the head of the decapitated
captive was flayed and the skull carved shortly after death (see Figure 8.3). Along
the jaw line, there are vertical cut marks where the mandible was defleshed.
Additionally, the bone appears to have been “smoked”; areas of scorching are
concentrated on the interior surface of the skull, with only limited scorching on
the exterior surface. The skull mask could have been ceremonially burned as part
of the mortuary ritual or perhaps the head was burned to reduce the presence of
soft tissue. Once skeletonized, the back half of the skull was removed and the
edges polished. Then, the top of the skull was carved with a mat motif and drilled
holes placed at the interstices of the woven design (Figure 8.3). Triangular
designs line the sides of the square-shaped mat motif. Mock (1997) notes the
link between the mat design and rulership. The mat design is complemented by
another iconographic element, the smoke affix of the Mayan k’ahk’ glyph, carved
on the glabella and centered between the eye sockets (Figure 8.2). This element
also resembles the serpent tongues that form part of the warrior-on-serpent
images seen in both the Lower and Upper Temple of the Jaguars (Ringle et al.
1998) at Terminal Classic Chichén Itzá. There is some evidence of incision on the
infraorbital area as well, so all of the face was probably decorated, but only small
fragments of this portion of the skull were preserved.
Two cartouches containing animal imagery – canines or felines paired with
an unidentified avian species – were carved on each side of the mandible of the
Pakal Na skull mask (Figure 8.4). Additionally, the partial remains of other
126 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

Figure 8.2. The surviving pieces of carved skull mask, Pakal Na.

Figure 8.3. Close-up of mat pattern on skull mask with defleshing marks visible.
 Rebecca Storey 127

Figure 8.4. The carved mandible of skull mask. Cartouche and cut marks visible.

cartouches that appear to contain the same imagery are visible on the sides of
the cranial portion of the skull mask, along the edge of the mat motif. This
avian and canine or feline imagery is likely analogous to the paired images of
jaguars and eagles found in Terminal Classic iconography at Chichén Itzá,
such as the images on the Tzompantli or Temple of the Skulls and the adjacent
Platform of the Eagles, where both animals are seen devouring sacrificial
human hearts (Harrison-Buck et al. 2007). Again, this illustrates the focus of
the Terminal Classic Pakal Na site towards the northern Yucatán capital and
most powerful site of the period.
The mandible of the Pakal Na skull mask was drilled in several places along
the inferior margin (Figure 8.4). Feathers or other decorative elements could
have been attached to the mask, or the mandible could have been attached to the
skull and worn around the neck of the warrior, presumably by the individual
who had claimed the life of the captive. According to Hirth (1989), trophy heads
validated a warrior’s capture of a sacrificial victim and accorded him elevated
status through successful participation in warfare. With evidence of foreign
connections and martial prowess, it is no surprise that the focal burial – an older
male – received elaborate mortuary treatment upon his death. During the Late
Classic period, skull masks as burial offerings and extended mortuary ritual
involving elaborate body processing, such as the smoking and painting of
bones, appear limited to high-ranking individuals and members of royal
128 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

families (Storey 2005). Such royal treatment has been documented for the ruling
elite at a number of large Classic Maya centers, including Copán (Storey 2005),
Piedras Negras (Fitzsimmons 1998), and Caracol (Chase and Chase 1996). The
Pakal Na mortuary facility, located at a modest-sized Maya site, provides
information on changes in sociopolitical organization during the Terminal
Classic period, when successful warriors even in peripheral settlements might
be accorded a status equal to rulers in the earlier larger centers.
The northern-style ceramics and iconography associated with an important
deceased warrior and ruler of Pakal Na may indicate a materialization of an
allied northern relationship. The increased conflict and warfare in the Terminal
Classic is expressed through the inclusion of a skull mask suggestive of
captive-taking in the burial of the high-status male at the site of Pakal Na.
The Sibun Valley was a strategic production area for cacao, a prestige drink,
and much valued resource in the long-distance trade (McAnany et al. 2002),
so the evidence of elite wealth and elaborate mortuary treatment here is really
not surprising.

8.3 Late classic example from Copán, Honduras

Copán was one of the major centers of the Late Classic Maya and was aban-
doned during the Terminal Classic. Extensive excavations have been conducted
at the site for the past 30þ years in both the central Acropolis, which was the
domicile and ritual space of the ruling dynasty, and in residences of the
neighborhood of Las Sepulturas, 1km east of the Acropolis. Both the Acropolis
and elite residences have evidence of skeletal trophies, which is not surprising
as it was probably expected of all able-bodied elite males that they partake in the
wars of their polities. One elite compound, 9N-8, was almost completely
excavated, containing 10 patios and over 50 structures. This was clearly the
residence of an important elite lineage that had clear links to court positions with
the royal dynasty at the Acropolis (Webster 1989). The main patios here were
A and B, the former with sculpture and a carved bench in the principal building.
Interestingly, it was in a subsidiary patio, Patio D, that a skull mask was found;
this was the only such trophy found at this residence. The individual was a
young, gracile male, but clearly male by morphology, with the skull mask lying
on his chest. This was the only grave offering with this individual, who was
buried under the staircase in front of a large and centrally placed residence, a
position of honor. He did have moderate cranial modification and mesial
notches on the mandibular central incisors. Such dental and cranial modification
is found with many, although not all, individuals in the 9N-8 residence and
probably, in my estimation, indicates elite or noble status.
 Rebecca Storey 129

Figure 8.5. The skull vault of skull mask, with polished edge and drilled holes.

The skull mask had been cut just beyond the coronal suture, with the edge
polished and holes drilled for suspension (Figure 8.5). The cut went inferior
between the temporal fossa and the mastoid. The fossa is also drilled, so that
the mandible, drilled at the tops of the rami, could be suspended from the
mask. The mandible also had a series of holes at the inferior border (Figure
8.6), probably so that decorations such as feathers could be attached. There are
also at least eight holes drilled in the vault, and probably two more lost through
lack of preservation, which may be more than was needed to suspend it or tie it
to the face as a mask. It is possible that some of these holes were also for
feathers or other decoration. The face was present, but in too many pieces for
reconstruction. The individual was male, probably slightly older than the
“owner,” but elite status was indicated by the drilled and inlaid (probably
pyrite?) maxillary central incisors. While the main interment does not seem
robust enough to be a successful warrior, the skull mask is, as expected, from
an important captive. There is no reason to think that the aggressor and the
victim are not linked here; it obviously was important enough to the main
interment that it was buried with him.
Several broken skull masks, with the same drill holes and cuts as the one just
described, were recovered from a four-room structure on the northeastern
corner of the Great Plaza near the Acropolis. The excavators suggested that
it was a communal or young men’s house (Cheek and Spink 1986), which
are known from ethnohistoric sources to be present among the Maya.
130 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

Figure 8.6. Partial mandible of skull mask with drill holes.

The presence of the skull masks is strong evidence that this communal house
was probably occupied by young, unmarried elite men training for war and
ritual duties. Unlike the skull mask in Patio D of the 9N-8 residence, these
were incomplete and lacked face pieces. Because they were found among the
refuse, it appears that these were probably deliberately broken and discarded
and were not considered the personal property of any of the residents. It is also
possible that these were considered a cohort trophy of a group of warriors, and
it was important at some point to destroy these ritually, rather than link them to
any particular individual. Such cohort skeletal trophies are known from the
earlier Classic site of Teotihuacan, for example (Sugiyama 2005).

8.4 Conclusion

While some trophy heads are known, skull masks made from captives appear
to be an important trophy, to judge from the iconography of the Late/Terminal
Classic Maya. Maya elite men, especially, were expected to be warriors and to
be successful had to capture and sacrifice elite warriors from the opposing
polity (Webster 1998). Archaeologically, several of these skull masks have
been found. These have been elaborately modified to be used as pectorals,
 Rebecca Storey 131

hung from belts, or else to be worn as masks. Defleshing marks indicate that
such modifications were undertaken fairly soon after death. They also appear
to have holes drilled for decorations – usually feathers are depicted in the art.
Those from Copán and Pakal Na have been studied by the author. When
associated with a single interment, these definitely appear to be important
properties of the individuals. The skull masks have clear evidence of coming
from elite individuals. In this case, it is likely that both the aggressor and the
victim are linked in the mortuary treatment.
In one case, the aggressor was a robust individual, while in the other, he was
a rather gracile individual, indicating that elite males were expected to be
warriors, even if they were not physically impressive. At Pakal Na, the warrior
was probably also the ruler of the site during his lifetime, while at Copán, the
individual was simply an honored member of the residential group. Copán also
provides evidence of skull masks that do not appear to be linked to particular
individuals. Except for the individual in Patio D of the 9N-8 residence, the
skull masks seem to have been deliberately broken, especially to obliterate the
face. At Pakal Na, this was probably done at final interment, to terminate
whatever power it may have embodied when whole. There were only pieces
of the face of the skull mask at 9N-8, especially the maxilla, so it is possible
that the face was broken at the interment of the main individual, although
it remained on his chest. Skeletal trophies were powerful reminders of war
and its dangers, and probably gave the “owners” power and prestige in their
society.
Maya iconography has many examples of the stress on elite warfare, the
treatment of captives, and the use of skeletal elements from probable captives
(see Cucina and Tiesler 2007). However, the bioarchaeological evidence of
warriors and their trophy skull masks make this violence personal and materi-
alized, as involving individuals whose archaeological context and skeletal
features support the information that is in the art and accompanying texts –
namely that both perpetrators and victims were elites, even in the case of the
skull masks within a young men’s house. This was violence within Maya
society between individuals who shared very much the same culture and
seemed to involve only adult males. The ritual nature of this violence, and
that being able to exhibit the results of ritual violence was important, is
revealed by both the art and the skeletons. Maya warfare was fought for status,
for control and tribute, and to prove the favor of the gods between competing
polities; the results had a dampening effect on losers and seemed to bring
prosperity to winners, at least until the next conflict (Webster 1998). Maya
ritual violence was both performance and political (Pérez 2012). In that, it
aligns with other New World pre-Columbian cultures, such as the Wari Empire
of Peru (Tung 2012) and Cahokia, near St. Louis today, of the Mississippian
132 Maya wafare and skeletal trophies

period of the central and southeastern United States (Koziol 2012), where
sacrifice and skeletal trophies are also found bioarchaeologically in particular
patterns for each culture. The association of skull masks with meanings of
power, control, and supernatural favor is crucial to what it meant to be an elite
Maya warrior. The victims undoubtedly understood the risks when they went
to war, and that it was a risk that was inherent in an elite status in Classic Maya
society. The roles and meanings attached to perpetrators and victims of warfare
violence were well understood among the Classic period Maya and served to
link the individuals in death.

Acknowledgments
The Xibun Archaeological Research Project received financial support from
the National Science Foundation (BCS-0096603). It was conducted with the
permission of the Institute of Archaeology, Belize. The Copán research is
conducted with the permission of the Instituto Hondureño de Antropología e
Historía, Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and has financial support from the World
Bank, the Fulbright Foundation, and the University of Houston.

References
Chase, D. Z. & Chase, A. (1996). Maya multiples: individuals, entries, and tombs in
structure A34 of Caracol, Belize. Latin American Antiquity, 7, 61–79.
Cheek, C. D. & Spink, M. L. (1986). Excavaciones En El Groupo 3, Estructure 223
(Operacion Vii). In: Sanders, W. T. (ed.) Excavaciones En El Area Urbana
De Copán, Tomo 1. Tegucigalpa: Instituto Hondureno de Antropologia e Historia,
27–154.
Cucina, A. & Tiesler, V. (eds.) (2007). New Perspectives on Human Sacrifice and
Ritual Body Treatments in Ancient Maya Society. New York: Springer.
Fitzsimmons, J. L. (1998). Classic mortuary anniversaries at Piedrs Negras, Guatemala.
Ancient Mesoamerica, 9, 271–8.
Harrison-Buck, E., McAnany, P. A. & Storey, R. (2007). Empowered and disem-
powered during the late to terminal classic transition: Maya burial and terminal
rituals in the Sibun Valley, Belize. In: Tiesler, V. & Cucina, A. (eds.) New
Perspectives on Human Sacrifice and Ritual Body Treatments in Ancient Maya
Society. New York: Springer, 74–101.
Hillson, S. (1996). Dental Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hirth, K. G. (1989). Militarism and social organization at Xochicalco, Morelos. In:
Diehl, R. A. & Berlo, J. C. (eds.) Mesoamerica after the Decline of Teotihuacan.
Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton Oaks, 69–82.
Koziol, K. M. (2012). Performances of imposed status: captivity at Cahokia. In: Martin,
D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Violence.
Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 226–250.
 Rebecca Storey 133

Masson, M. & Mock, S. (2004). Ceramics and settlement patterns at terminal classic
period lagoon sites in Northern Belize. In: Demarest, A. A., Rice, P. M. & Rice,
D. S. (eds.) The Terminal Classic in the Maya Lowlands. Boulder: University
Press of Colorado, 367–401.
McAnany, P., Thomas, B., Morandi, S., Peterson, P. A. & Harrison, E. (2002). Praise
the ahaw and pass the kakaw: Xibun Maya and the political economy of Cacao. In:
Masson, M. A. & Friedel, D. A. (eds.) Ancient Maya Political Economies. Walnut
Creek: Altamira Press, 123–39.
Mock, S. B. (1997). Monkey business at northern river lagoon: a coastal-inland inter-
action sphere in Northern Belize. Ancient Mesoamerica, 8, 165–83.
Pérez, V. R. (2012). The politicization of the dead: violence as performance, politics as
usual. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of
Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 13–28.
Ringle, W. M., Gallareta, T. N. & Bey, G. (1998). The return of Quetzalcoatl: evidence
for the spread of a world religion during the epiclassic period. Ancient Mesoamer-
ica, 9, 183–232.
Storey, R. (2005). Lifestyles (before and after death) of the rich and famous at Copán.
In:Webster, D. L., Freter, A. C. & Gonlin, N. (eds.) Copán: The Rise and Fall of a
Classic Maya Kingdom. Santa Fe: SAR Press, 315–43.
Sugiyama, S. (2005). Human Sacrifice, Militarism, and Rulership: Materialization of
State Ideology at the Feathered Serpent Pyramid, Teotihuacan. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press.
Tung, T. A. (2012). Violence against women: differential treatment of local and foreign
females in the heartland of the Wari Empire, Peru. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. &
Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Violence. Gainesville: University of
Florida Press, 180–98.
Webster, D. L. (ed.) (1989). The House of the Bacabs, Copán, Honduras. Studies in
Pre-Columbian Art and Archaeology, No. 29, Washington, D.C.: Dumbarton
Oaks.
(1998). Warfare and status rivalry: lowland Maya and Polynesian comparisons. In:
Feinman, G. & Marcus, J. (eds.) Archaic States. Santa Fe: School of American
Research Press, 311–51.
9 Face me like a man! (or, like a woman):
antemortem nasal fractures in
pre-Columbian San Pedro de Atacama
c h r i s t i n a to r r e s - r o u f f an d
l a u r a m. k i n g

9.1 Introduction

Exploring the nature of conflict when confronted only with archaeological data
can be daunting. However, unlike the more circumstantial evidence from
weaponry or defensive settlements, the human body can provide one of the
only direct sources of the acts of violence experienced by an individual
(Walker 2001). From a bioarchaeological perspective, the remains of the
human body can be studied to document the scarring of acts of violence,
which may leave bones broken and permanently altered. These provide us
with an interesting lens through which to consider violence in antiquity that is
more intimate than the scale of analyses employed by other disciplines.
Similarly, while certain events of warfare or imperial conquest may have clear
histories or understandable outcomes, small-scale conflicts or interpersonal
disputes require close readings to explore context and meaning. Tying these
things together, a bioarchaeological perspective can afford a more intimate and
contextualized view into violent injury, allowing a means with which to
analyze small-scale conflict.
This, then, leaves certain episodes of violence open to myriad interpret-
ations. Here, we use this bioarchaeological approach to explore possible
scenarios and conflicts resulting in face-to-face confrontations and, ultim-
ately, bleeding and broken noses for numerous individuals in the Middle
Period (AD 400–1000) Atacameño oases. These particular incidences of
violence pose a number of interesting questions. The oases are home to
long-term occupation and these villages are found near permanent sources
of freshwater (Llagostera 2004). The Middle Period is considered a time of

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

134
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 135

peace, prosperity, increased population, and growing spheres of interregional

interaction, suggesting that resource stress and competition for land were not
overt reasons for conflict. Finally, previous studies have shown that the
Middle Period, despite having rates of violence that vary over contemporary
cemeteries, is a time of considerably less violent injury than the subsequent
Late Intermediate Period (Torres-Rouff 2011; Torres-Rouff and Costa
Junqueira 2006). As such, it provides an interesting context in which to
explore particular manifestations of violence. Additionally, consideration of
patterns of violent injury during times of affluence and peace provides an
intriguing perspective into topics such as gendered practices, ritual violence,
and increasing social inequality. Therefore, this type of study can provide us
with a more nuanced perspective into the different social personae at play in
the Middle Period. As such, the presence of a number of cranial fractures
during the Middle Period in the Atacameño oases that overwhelmingly affect
the nasal bones and maxillae suggest that face-to-face confrontation merits a
closer exploration.

9.2 Background

San Pedro de Atacama (Figure 9.1) comprises a series of small oases at

2450 meters above sea level in northern Chile’s Atacama Desert, and has a long
history of occupation (Hubbe et al. 2011; Llagostera and Costa 1999). By the
Middle Period (AD 400–1000; encompassing the local Quitor, AD 400–700,
and Coyo, AD 700–1000, phases), the time period we focus on here, the oases
included numerous permanent settlements inhabited by camelid pastoralists
who practiced agriculture. At this time, grave wealth began to include many
more goods than seen previously, as well as gold materials and highly decor-
ated and finely crafted objects such as wooden snuff trays (Llagostera 2004).
This time also witnessed a surge in interregional interaction, with the San
Pedro Atacama oases serving as a node in an elaborate mesh of exchange and
interaction (Llagostera 1996). The most prominent player in these exchanges
was the Tiwanaku polity, located in the Bolivian altiplano, whose presence in
the Atacama oases was made visible in portable elite goods, including gold
keros and elaborately carved snuff trays (Berenguer and Dauelsberg 1989;
Llagostera 2004). However, contacts during this time also extended toward
the Chilean coast and over the Andes into areas of northwest Argentina (Bravo
and Llagostera 1986; Conklin and Conklin 2007; Costa Junqueira et al. 2009;
Rivera 2008; Torres and Conklin 1995). Despite the general view that local
populations were prosperous and even affluent during the Middle Period
and that they were enjoying the benefits of the aforementioned increase in
136 Antemortem nasal fractures

Figure 9.1. Map of Chile indicating the location of the San Pedro de Atacama oases.

long-distance interactions, we suggest that this period was not without conflict,
and, moreover, that perhaps that conflict took on a standardized structure.
Human skeletal remains from the length of the occupation of the Atacama
oases have been studied by a number of anthropologists. Bioarchaeological
analyses of skeletal remains from several Middle Period cemeteries, most
notably Solcor 3, suggest that Tiwanaku influence resulted in an increase in
quality of life or standard of living as assessed through bioarchaeological
indicators (Costa Junqueira et al. 2004; Neves and Costa Junqueira 1998).
Interestingly, while there is no indication of investment in military activities
during the period, a fact that supports a peaceable Middle Period, there is
evidence of a slight increase in interpersonal violence from the Late Formative
to the Middle Period and of the differential distribution of violent injury
(Torres-Rouff 2011; Torres-Rouff and Costa Junqueira 2006). Similarly, the
rates of postcranial trauma do not differ significantly before and after the
Middle Period, suggesting that part of the population continued to engage in
potentially high-risk activities (Costa et al. 1998). These data suggest that this
time was not as peaceful as archaeologists have argued.

9.3 Research problem

While the common narrative for the Middle Period describes a time of unpar-
alleled prosperity and peace, this account masks the variability inherent in
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 137

societies where elites are concentrating power. It seems clear from earlier
studies that the abundant prosperity and increasing levels of foreign interaction
of the Middle Period had tangible benefits for Atacameños; however, the
distribution of that benefit, and the concomitant costs for individual wellbeing,
merit further exploration. Archaeological evidence suggests that these individ-
uals lived through a time of peace and affluence; however, this does not imply
that they were immune to violence. While it did not affect everyone, some
portion of this population experienced pain and violent injury while others
thrived. Moreover, we argue that some of the violence was regulated through
social norms or organized dispute resolution, resulting in a shift toward one
particular sort of injury pattern (e.g. Tung 2007; Walker 1997). Through
analyses of traumatic injury likely related to face-to-face confrontation, we
attempt here to explore the nature of interpersonal conflict in a time of a peace.

9.4 Materials and methods

The skeletal remains of 493 individuals from eight cemeteries are considered
in this analysis of the distribution of trauma patterns in Middle Period San
Pedro de Atacama. The extremely arid environment of the Atacama Desert
results in the excellent preservation of skeletal material, allowing for the large
sample size considered here. These skeletal remains are curated at the Instituto
de Investigaciones Arqueológicas y Museo R.P. Gustavo Le Paige in San
Pedro de Atacama. Father Gustavo Le Paige, an amateur archaeologist and
pioneer in the study of Atacameño prehistory, excavated six of these cemeter-
ies in the 1950s and 1960s. As a result of his collection practices there are no
postcranial remains from these cemeteries, although he did meticulously
document the tombs and their contents in his field notes and many of his later
publications (e.g. Le Paige 1964). Archaeologists from the Universidad Cató-
lica del Norte’s Instituto de Investigaciones Arqueológicas y Museo R.P. Le
Paige excavated the final two cemeteries, Solcor 3 and Quitor 6 Tardío, in the
1980s (Bravo and Llagostera 1986; Llagostera et al. 1988; Llagostera and
Costa Junqueira 1990). These remains are complete skeletons. In sum, this
study involved analysis of the cranial remains of 493 individuals.
All the cemeteries date to between AD 400 and 1000, thereby covering the
expanse of the Quitor and Coyo phases that are discussed here. One cemetery,
Solor 3, occupies a transitional time between the Late Formative Period (AD 1–
400) and the Middle Period (Torres-Rouff and Hubbe, 2013). Similarly, three
of the cemeteries analyzed here, Quitor 6 Tardío, Yaye 3, and Yaye 4, occupy
the end of the Middle Period and the beginning of the subsequent Late
Intermediate Period (AD 1000–1450). Finally, it is worth noting that these
138 Antemortem nasal fractures

mostly contemporary cemeteries represent various ayllus in the oases. The ayllu
is the traditional form of Andean kin-based community structure that reflects
lineage and political groupings (ascriptive descent groups; Abercrombie 1998;
Cock 1981). Locally, these also reflect contemporary geographic and popula-
tional separations. The Larache and Solcor ayllus are traditionally associated
with greater wealth (Goldstein and Rivera 2004; Llagostera 1996; Tamblay
2004). Nevertheless, even within particular ayllus, it is likely that certain
groups in the population had more access to resources than other groups, and
this may have resulted in increased conflict between certain individuals.
Human skeletal remains were analyzed using standard bioarchaeological
methods (i.e. Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994a; Buzon et al. 2005). To form part
of this analysis, a cranium needed to be over 75% complete and include the
majority of the facial bones (and, of course, the nasal region). As a result of the
large number of individuals who are represented only by crania, sex was
mainly determined based on sexually dimorphic features of the skull, although
the os coxae were examined when available (n ¼ 143/493). Similarly, rough
age categories (juvenile, 0–18; young adult, 18–30; middle adult, 30–45; old
adult, 45þ) were made based on cranial suture closure and using postcranial
remains when available. Pelvic bones were used to determine sex in 121
individuals, while only crania were available for the remainder of the sample.
While cranial suture closure is notoriously difficult to use to assess age, the
majority of our questions and interpretations do not hinge on age-based
differences. These broad categories were used to assess whether an individ-
ual’s age resulted in biased results, given that trauma is among those biocul-
tural patterns that may have a "cumulative impact" over the course of a life
(Glencross and Sawchuk 2003). In our dataset, age (outside of childhood) did
not seem to impact the distribution of trauma, as there were no significant
differences between adult age categories (χ2 ¼ 2.156, df ¼ 2; P ¼ 0.340).
For this study we recorded not just traumatic injury to the nasal region, but
all instances of cranial trauma. Evidence of healed trauma was documented as
depressions on the vault, facial fractures, and weapon wounds. Convincing
perimortem trauma, injuries that were sustained at or around the time of death,
was also documented. Trauma was recorded in a number of ways. Details used
to document perimortem trauma included radiating fractures, color, and adher-
ing bone fragments (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994b; Lovell 1997; Roberts and
Manchester 2007; Tung 2008). The affected bone of the skull, side, and state
of healing were described, as were the shape and size of the injury and any
evidence of weapon use. Data were also collected as to those individuals with
multiple injuries or injuries to both the nasal region and elsewhere on the skull.
All data were analyzed for patterns based on age and sex and compared among
sites and over time.
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 139

9.5 Results and discussion

The analysis shows that 78 of 493 individuals (15.8%) had antemortem cranial
fractures; the overwhelming majority of these fractures were to the nasal bones
(63/78; 80.8%), suggesting face-to-face confrontations as a dominant form of
violent interaction (Table 9.1; Figures 9.2–4). We documented very few cases
of possible perimortem trauma (all involving the cranial vault) and they are not
discussed here. Surprisingly, individuals with fractures involving the nasal
region showed no evidence of fractures elsewhere on the cranium. There is a
significant difference between the sexes in the presence of traumatic injury
(χ2 ¼ 8.604; df ¼ 1; P ¼ 0.003), with fractures more common among males
(46/199 vs. 23/194). Similarly, there is a significant difference between the
sexes when only injuries to the nasal region are considered (χ2 ¼ 6.854; df ¼ 1;
P ¼ 0.009), with males, again, displaying the great majority of these traumas
(38/199 vs. 19/194). There are no significant differences when all sites are
compared; however, pairwise comparisons yield some statistically significant
differences between sites, suggesting that these could be affected by differences
in social personae, be it through kin relations or sociopolitical roles. For example,
closer examination of cemeteries from the Solcor ayllu, considered socially
distinct based on studies of material culture (Nado et al. 2012; Torres-Rouff
2011), supports this, with 8.6% of individuals from the more elite cemetery of
Solcor 3 injured in contrast to 18.6% from Solcor Plaza, a difference for males
that is statistically significant (χ2 ¼ 7.022; df ¼ 1; P ¼ 0.008). Below we detail
the results of our bioarchaeological analyses and break down the types of
distinctions and similarities that we see in the nature of these violent encounters.

Table 9.1. Presence and distribution of traumatic injury in the sample.

Trauma to the Other cranial

Site Time Absent nasal region trauma Total

Larache MP 22 2 3 27
Quitor 6 T. MP/LIP 44 5 1 50
Solcor Plaza MP 54 13 3 70
Solcor 3 MP 81 9 3 93
Solor 3 LF/MP 45 4 1 50
Tchecar MP 137 20 3 160
Yaye 3 MP/LIP 18 4 1 23
Yaye 4 MP/LIP 14 6 0 20
TOTAL 415 63 15 493

MP, Middle Period; LIP, Late Intermediate Period; LF, Late Formative Period.
140 Antemortem nasal fractures

Figure 9.2. Healed fracture to the nasal region (Tchecar Túmulo Sur, t. 1107).

9.5.1 Presence of nasal fractures

Despite assertions that the Middle Period was peaceful and prosperous, our
evidence suggests that the population still engaged in violent activity, perhaps
even with some frequency. In total, 63 of 442 adults showed evidence of nasal
fractures (14.3%; increasing to 19.1% [38/199] when only adult males are taken
into account). These data argue for a social role for this type of violent injury,
especially considering the low rates of traumatic injury to the rest of the skull (15
of 78 fractures did not involve the nasal bones; however, of these, 10 involved
other bones of the face, continuing to support the idea that the population
engaged in frontal attacks). The confrontational nature of the violent encounters
that produced these fractures is dramatic. In sum, it appears that frontal assaults
played something of an important role in Middle Period Atacameño society.

9.5.2 Age

It is worth noting that one of the clearest results of this study is that interper-
sonal violence that causes serious injury in the form of skeletal trauma appears
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 141

Figure 9.3. Healed fracture to the nasal region (Tchecar Túmulo Sur, t. 854).

Figure 9.4. Healed fracture to the nasal region (Quitor 6 Tardío, t. 32).
142 Antemortem nasal fractures

to be the domain of adults. None of the 51 children nor adolescents from the
eight cemeteries included in this study (no infants or neonates were analyzed)
showed evidence of nasal fractures, or, for that matter, any type of trauma to
the cranium. Although it is possible that the rapid remodeling of children’s
bones affects these data, it would be unexpected if every incidence of trauma
was erased from children (Glencross and Stuart-Macadam 2000). Given the
frequency with which violent injury is seen in the adult portion of the sample,
this suggests that age was a decisive factor in whether one could participate in
these more regularized violent activities.

9.5.3 Sex

At some level, sex also appears to be a determining factor in the pattern of

nasal fractures (χ2 ¼ 6.854; df ¼ 1; P ¼ 0.009), and violent injury more
generally (χ2 ¼ 8.604; df ¼ 1; P ¼ 0.003). Twice as many males (38/199;
19.1%) as females (19/194; 9.8%) showed evidence of nasal fractures. These
patterns hold for the presence of non-nasal trauma as well, although this
difference is not significant (females: 4/194, 23 total injuries; males: 8/199,
46 total injuries; χ2 ¼ 1.939; df ¼ 1; P ¼ 0.165). Despite this majority, it is
clear that individuals of both sexes participated in these violent encounters. In
this sample, we are not looking at a pattern that suggests, for example,
organized warfare involving only young men. While our data do not rule out
the possibility of some form of ritualized confrontation, the structured patterns
seen here suggest that this was an activity that could have involved the entire
adult population. Other scholars (e.g. Arriaza et al. 1994; Lessa and Mendonça
de Souza 2006) have posited some form of ritual activity involving bloodlet-
ting among males. In their analysis of violent injury at Coyo Oriente, another
cemetery in the Atacameño oases that was in use during the Middle Period,
Lessa and Mendonça de Souza (2006: 136) interpret the patterns they docu-
ment (25/226 or 11.1% of the population injured; 18/25 are nasal injuries) as
the product of “ceremonial fights dedicated to the gods.”
This type of activity has been documented in the historic period for the
Andes in the form of the tinku. The tinku is a ritual battle in which individuals
engage in direct confrontation with fists or weapons and where the goal is
injury and not death (e.g. Orlove 1994). For example, Bandelier (1910)
describes regular hostilities on the Island of the Sun in Bolivia’s Lake Titicaca.
During these annual events men engaged in confrontations by throwing sling
stones at men from other social groups. While women were not directly
engaged in these specific fights, they provided men with the stones, which
they kept in their skirts. This could suggest the possibility of injuries across
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 143

both sexes. While we cannot extrapolate the specifics of the tinku to the
Chilean case considered here, this kind of regularized and socially sanctioned
violence may stand as an example of the kind of standardized non-lethal
violence engaged in by a community that could result in the patterns of nasal
and facial fractures we see reflected in our sample. Given that all the injuries in
our sample show evidence of healing, this suggests that lethal violence was not
the focus of these face-to-face conflicts.

9.5.4 Temporal differences over the Middle Period

We have a temporal spread in the sample considered here that not only
includes the heart of the Middle Period, but also smaller samples from the
preceding Late Formative Period (n ¼ 50; Solor 3) as well as the subsequent
Late Intermediate Period (n ¼ 93; Quitor 6 Tardío, Yaye 3, and Yaye 4).
Together these give us the opportunity to assess whether there might be
temporal distinctions in these patterns of nasal trauma and whether they could
be particular to the events of the Middle Period. Nevertheless, there are
no significant differences between the time periods (χ2 ¼ 1.703; df ¼ 2;
P ¼ 0.427) in the presence of traumatic injury, or in trauma to the nasal region
(χ2 ¼ 1.974; df ¼ 2; P ¼ 0.373). Additionally, there appears to be no significant
differences between the sexes over time. All of this information suggests that
the patterns of nasal and facial fractures, and consequently of violent face-to-
face encounters, documented in this collection span the whole of the Middle
Period and may reflect a long-established tradition for conflict resolution.

9.5.5 Sites and status

When the different cemeteries are compared there is no significant difference in

the presence of nasal trauma among them. This also holds for other events of
traumatic injury to the cranium. When the sites are compared in a pairwise chi-
square analysis, only Yaye 4 is distinct from the other sites. It has the highest
presence of nasal fractures (30.0%; 6/20), although the small sample size may
be contributing to the occurrence of a significant difference here. However, it
should be noted that the other cemetery from the same ayllu, Yaye 3, also has
very high rates of nasal trauma (17.4%; 4/23), suggesting consistency among
these two very poor cemeteries from the end of the Middle Period and the early
Late Intermediate Period. It raises the issue that rates of violent injury may have
increased at the end of the Middle Period; however, our third late cemetery,
Quitor 6 Tardío, only has six fractures (five of which are in the nasal region) out
144 Antemortem nasal fractures

of the 50 individuals interred there, a pattern that is consistent with the core
Middle Period sites. The Quitor cemeteries, in contrast to the Yaye ones, have
typically been associated with more material wealth (e.g. Le Paige 1964).
Despite the general lack of significant differences, there is a substantive
range in the presence of nasal fractures, from the aforementioned 30% at Yaye
4 to the very low rates at Solcor 3 (9/93; 9.7%) and Larache (2/27; 7.4%). The
more opulent mortuary assemblages from Solcor 3 and Larache suggest that
these were the burial places for an elite segment of the population during the
Middle Period. As mentioned above, this period saw a substantial increase in
interregional interaction, and the oases were incorporated into the Tiwanaku
sphere of influence. This association with the powerful and influential
foreign state seems to have conveyed elite status to a number of individuals
within the oases (Llagostera 1996). The two cemeteries with the strongest
evidence for Tiwanaku influence, Larache and Solcor 3, also include the
highest number of other high status goods, including gold and foreign objects
from locations outside of Tiwanaku as well as the greatest number of goods in
the mortuary assemblage (Torres-Rouff 2011). Finally, while apparent elite
standing in this time of growing social inequality did not protect the individ-
uals buried in these two cemeteries from the injuries sustained during violent
encounters, it did seem to lessen the impact on or involvement of certain
individuals.

9.6 Conclusions

This exploration of traumatic injury in the Middle Period aimed to shed some
light on the practices that resulted in nasal fractures becoming nearly com-
monplace. However, the consistency with which this activity was engaged in
during the length of the Middle Period suggests that more than acts of
interpersonal violence we may be documenting some form of socially sanc-
tioned activity that involved face-to-face confrontation. Without more detailed
study we are unable to identify what these individuals shared that resulted in
injury. While it seems unlikely that there were “attackers” and “victims” in the
traditional sense, what this may be is evidence of a local means of conflict
resolution involving direct confrontation between adult individuals. Moreover,
it is possible that there was a regularized quality to these contests that produced
standardized injury patterns. Unsurprisingly, it is evident that the peace and
prosperity that characterized the Middle Period was not tied to a complete lack
of hostilities between different social groups and this leaves open the possibil-
ity for a deeper exploration of violence in this time of growing prosperity and
increasing social hierarchization.
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 145

Acknowledgments
We would like to express our gratitude to Dr. Mark Hubbe and the Instituto
de Investigaciones Arqueológicas y Museo R.P. Gustavo Le Paige. NSF BCS-
0721229, Colorado College Jones Fund and Venture Grants, and the Fulbright
Foundation supported this research. Our thanks also go to Blair Daverman for
her assistance during data collection and to Debra Martin and Cheryl Anderson
for the invitation to participate in the original AAPA symposium.

References
Abercrombie, T. A. (1998). Pathways of Memory and Power: Ethnography and History
among an Andean People. Madison: University of Wisconsin.
Arriaza, B. T., Oakland, A., Cassman, V. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (1994). Ritualistic
battles in a Tiwanaku colony [abstract]. Abstracts of the 59th Annual Meeting of
the Society for American Archaeology, Anaheim, CA.
Bandelier, A. F. A. (1910). The Islands of Titicaca and Koati. New York: The Hispanic
Society of America.
Berenguer, J. & Dauelsberg, P. (1989). El norte grande en la órbita de Tiwanaku (400 a
1200 D.C.). In: Hidalgo, J., Schiappacasse, V., Niemeyer, H., Aldunate, C. &
Solimano, I. (eds.) Culturas De Chile: Prehistoria Desde Sus Orígenes Hasta Los
Albores De La Conquista. Santiago de Chile: Andrés Bello, 129–80.
Bravo, L. & Llagostera, A. (1986). Solcor 3: un aporte al conocimiento de la cultura
San Pedro, Período 500 Al 900 D.C. Chungara, 16–17, 323–32.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection from
Human Skeletal Remains. Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum of
Natural History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archeological Survey, Research Series,
No. 44.
Buzon, M. R., Eng, J. T., Lambert, P. M. & Walker, P. L. (2005). Bioarchaeological
methods. In: Maschner, H. A. & Chippendale, C. A. (eds.) Handbook of Archaeo-
logical Methods. Lanham, MD: Altamira Press, 871–918.
Cock, G. (1981). El ayllu en la sociedad Andina: alcances y perspectivas. Etnohistoria y
Antropología Andina, 17, 231–53.
Conklin, W. J. & Conklin, B. M. (2007). An Aguada textile in an Atacamenian context.
Andean Past, 8, 407–48.
Costa, M. A., Neves, W., Barros, A. M. & Bartolomucci, R. (1998). Trauma y estrés en
poblaciones prehistóricas de San Pedro de Atacama, Norte de Chile. Chungara,
30, 65–74.
Costa Junqueira, M. A., Neves, W. A. & Hubbe, M. (2004). Influencia de Tiwanaku en
la calidad de vida biológica de la población prehistórica de San Pedro de Atacama.
Estudios Atacameños, 27, 103–16.
Costa Junqueira, M. A., Matheson, C., Iachetta, L., Llagostera, A. & Appenzeller, O.
(2009). Ancient leishmaniasis in a highland desert of northern Chile. PLoS One, 4,
e6983.
146 Antemortem nasal fractures

Glencross, B. & Sawchuk, L. (2003). The person-years construct: aging and the
prevalence of health related phenomena from skeletal samples. International
Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 13, 369–74.
Glencross, B. & Stuart-Macadam, P. (2000). Childhood trauma in the archaeological
record. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 10, 198–209.
Goldstein, P. & Rivera, M. (2004). Arts of greater Tiwanaku: an expansive culture in
historical context. In: Young-Sánchez, M. (ed.) Tiwanaku: Ancestors of the Inka.
Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 150–85.
Hubbe, M., Oviedo, M. & Torres-Rouff, C. (2011). Estado de conservación y con-
textualización cronológica de la colección osteológica “Gustavo Le Paige.” Estu-
dios Atacameños, 41, 29–44.
Le Paige, G. (1964). Los cementerios de la época agroalfarera en San Pedro de
Atacama. Anales de la Universidad del Norte, 3, 43–93.
Lessa, A. & Mendonça de Souza, S. (2006). Broken noses for the gods: ritual battles in
the Atacama desert during the Tiwanaku period. Memorias del Instituto Oswaldo
Cruz, 101(suppl 2), 133–8.
Llagostera, A. (1996). San Pedro de Atacama: nodo de complementariedad reticular. In:
Revesz, B. (ed.) La Integración Surandina Cinco Siglos Después. Cusco: Centro
de Estudios Regionales Andinos Bartolomé de las Casas, 17–42.
(2004). Los Antiguos Habitantes Del Salar De Atacama: Prehistoria Atacameña.
Santiago: Pehuén Editores.
Llagostera, A. & Costa, M. A. (1999). Patrones de asentamiento en la época agroal-
farera de San Pedro de Atacama (norte de Chile). Estudios Atacameños, 17,
175–206.
Llagostera, A. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (1990). Inventario Solcor 3, San Pedro De
Atacama. Manuscript on File. Archives of the Museo Arqueologico R.P. Gustavo
Le Paige, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.
Llagostera, A., Torres, C. M. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (1988). El complejo psicotró-
pico en Solcor 3 (San Pedro De Atacama). Estudios Atacameños, 9, 61–98.
Lovell, N. C. (1997). Trauma analysis in paleopathology. Yearbook of Physical
Anthropology, 40, 139–70.
Nado, K. L., Marsteller, S. M., King, L. M., Daverman, B. M., Torres Rouff, C. &
Knudson, K. J. (2012). Examining local social identities through patterns of
biological and cultural variation in the Solcor Ayllu, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.
Chungara, 44, 239–55.
Neves, W. A. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (1998). Adult stature and standard of siving in
the prehistoric Atacama Desert. Current Anthropology, 39, 278–81.
Orlove, B. (1994). Sticks and stones: ritual battles and play in the southern Peruvian
Andes. In: Poole, D. (ed.) Unruly Order: Violence, Power, and Cultural Identity in
the High Provinces of Southern Peru. Boulder: Westview Press, 133–64.
Rivera, M. (2008). The archaeology of Northern Chile. In: Silverman, H. & Isbell, W.
(eds.) Handbook of South American Archaeology. New York: Springer, 963–97.
Roberts, C. A. & Manchester, K. (2007). The Archaeology of Disease. Ithaca: Cornell
University Press.
 Christina Torres-Rouff and Laura M. King 147

Tamblay, J. (2004). El cementerio larache, los metales y la estratificación social durante

el horizonte Tiwanaku en San Pedro de Atacama. In: Rivera, M. & Kolata, A.
(eds.) Tiwanaku: Aproximaciones a Sus Contextos Históricos Y Sociales. San-
tiago, Chile: Colección Estudios Regionales, 31–66.
Torres, C. M. & Conklin, W. J. (1995). Exploring the San Pedro de Atacama/Tiwanaku
relationship. In: Dransart, P. (ed.) Andean Art: Visual Expression and Its Relation
to Andean Beliefs and Values. Hampshire: Avebury, 78–108.
Torres-Rouff, C. (2011). Hiding inequality beneath prosperity: patterns of cranial injury
in middle period San Pedro de Atacama, northern Chile. American Journal of
Physical Anthropology, 146, 28–37.
Torres-Rouff, C. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (2006). Interpersonal violence in prehistoric
San Pedro de Atacama, Chile: behavioral implications of environmental stress.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 130, 60–70.
Torres-Rouff, C. & Hubbe, M. (2013). The sequence of human occupation in the
Atacama Oases, Chile: a radiocarbon chronology based on human skeletal
remains. Latin American Antiquity, 24, 330–44.
Torres-Rouff, C., Knudson, K. J. & Stovel, E. M. Ms. Considering power and the
display of exotica: Northern Chile’s Larache Cemetery and Tiwanaku. Journal
of Anthropological Archaeology.
Tung, T. A. (2007). Trauma and violence in the Wari Empire of the Peruvian Andes:
warfare, raids, and ritual fights. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 133,
941–56.
(2008). Violence after imperial collapse: a study of cranial trauma among late
intermediate period burials from the former Huari Capital, Ayacucho, Peru.
Ñawpa Pacha, 29, 101–18.
Walker, P. L. (1997). Wife beating, boxing, and broken noses: skeletal evidence for the
cultural patterning of violence. In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled
Times: Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 145–80.
(2001). A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence. Annual Review of
Anthropology, 30, 573–96.
10 Why some bodies matter: defacement
and narrative in historical
forensics cases
w i l l i a m n . du n c a n a n d ch r i s t o p h e r
m. stojanowski

10.1 Introduction

Since the 1980s, ethnographers have increasingly explored the ways that dead
bodies and body parts may have significant and dynamic afterlives by virtue of
their psychological, social, political, and economic potential. The study of
topics ranging from organ trafficking (Scheper-Hughes 2002) and transplant-
ation (Sharp 1995), to the legacy of immortal stem cell lines (Bharadwaj
2012), to repatriation of border crossers’ bodies in the American Southwest
(Magaña 2011), has demonstrated that dead bodies are highly dynamic loci
through which a host of competing interests, and social and politically oriented
narratives may intersect and emerge. In the past decade, this and related
ethnographic research on the body has sufficiently permeated the broader
anthropological sciences such that a “body focus” has emerged as a principal
research theme throughout the social and biological subfields of anthropology
(Borić and Robb 2008; Csordas 1990; 1999; Joyce 2005; Lorentz 2008;
Rebay-Salisbury et al. 2010; Scheper-Hughes and Lock 1987; Sharp 2000;
Shilling 1993). This orientation has largely stemmed from feminist and
gender-focused research (Haraway 1991; Strathern 1988).
Bioarchaeologists have long been aware of the fact that differential funerary
treatments of human bodies reflect a range of psychological, sociopolitical,
and cosmological concerns (Brown 1971; Hertz 1960 [1907]; Shanks and
Tilley 1982), and that the narratives surrounding dead bodies can unfold long
after an individual dies. As such, bioarchaeologists are uniquely situated to
engage efforts to understand how and why some dead bodies are incorporated
into historical narratives and thus become potent social, political, or economic

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

148
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 149

symbols while others are not. Sarah Tarlow’s (2008) micronarrative of Oliver
Cromwell’s head and Annia Cherryson’s (2010) discussion of the commodifi-
cation of bodies for dissection and medical training through time are two
examples of such research.
In the wake of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act
(NAGPRA; Fine-Dare 2002; 2005; 2009; Kakaliouras 2008; 2012), bioarch-
aeologists and forensic anthropologists have also become acutely aware of the
fact that anthropologists play active roles in shaping the historical narratives
surrounding certain bodies (collectively and individually). The debates about
NAGPRA unfortunately pitted scientists against Native Americans in a discus-
sion about who ultimately decided the fate of human remains and what consti-
tuted reasonable or legitimate cultural affinity between the living and the dead
(Brooks and Rumsey 2007; Watkins 2004). However, anthropologists play
active roles in driving discourse in criminal and war contexts as well. In many
criminal contexts, the discourse surrounding dead bodies occurs between the
survivors, the state, and the anthropologist. Anthropologists frequently think of
themselves as speaking for the deceased, which is undoubtedly true; however,
in many circumstances the discourse surrounding dead bodies is anything but
straightforward. Rocío Magaña (2011) has shown, for example, that border
crossers’ bodies in the American Southwest are symbols of the Mexican state’s
lack of ability to provide for its citizens. However, he also argues that border
crossers’ bodies are a medium by which the state establishes control over its
citizenry through an unnecessarily complex bureaucracy. The location, identi-
fication, and repatriation of the bodies of the deceased are among the principal
interests of the surviving loved ones in Mexico as a part of mourning and an
attempt to achieve closure. However, the bureaucratic hurdles that are set up
(on both sides of the border) present a significant delay, of up to a year, even
after bodies are located and potential family members are identified. The
Mexican government requires that all DNA testing occur at Baylor University
and then data and samples must be processed in the Foreign Ministry Center in
Mexico City, for example (Magaña 2011). Thus, Magaña (2011: 170) has
argued that “through strategic management . . . the dead bodies that could be
indexical of the state’s failures at its borders are turned into political resources
that help strengthen its claims to authority over people and territory.”
Outside of discussions about NAGPRA, forensic anthropologists and
bioarchaeologists have spent relatively little time reflecting upon our roles in
the narratives that surround the bodies we study. To this end, we ask what
makes some bodies more likely to receive attention from forensic anthropolo-
gists and bioarchaeologists than others? Why do some interest groups pursue
anthropological consultation on certain bodies and, furthermore, why do
anthropologists agree to collaborate? What causes some bodies to receive
150 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

merely an inventory and description in a report and others to be identified as

worthy of greater investment of time, money, technical expertise, and, ultim-
ately, publication? To put it even more bluntly, why do some bodies collect
dust in museums while others become part of larger historical narratives,
sociopolitical symbols, or enduring case studies that help define emerging
research foci within the academy? One area in which these questions are
particularly salient is historical forensic research or biohistory (Komar and
Buikstra 2008). We consider historical forensics to overlap with, but be
distinct in spirit from, both contemporary forensic anthropology and bioarch-
aeology. These are not discrete disciplines. We argue that it is worth consider-
ing historical forensics as a separate, or at least a specific, area of inquiry
because doing so can shed light on anthropologists’ roles in the processes that
determine whether some bodies become part of a larger historical narrative and
thus accrue or receive particular social or political meaning. The narrative and
discourse surrounding bodies in some historical forensic cases is obvious
because the individuals are well known or are immediately connected to a
well-known historical context. Examples of such cases include the study of
Dr. Carl Austin Weiss, who killed Huey Long (Ubelaker 1996) and the
identification of the Romanovs (Coble et al. 2009). Less famous cases include
the study of remains associated with a mutiny on a Dutch ship in the 1600s
(Franklin 2012) and the study and display of Esther, a mummy from Colorado,
in Mesa Verde National Park (Fine-Dare and Durkee 2011).
We suggest that reflecting on anthropologists’ roles in less famous historical
forensic cases can inform on the dynamics that characterize and (to some
degree) drive forensics and bioarchaeology in general. Here we explore the
role of anthropologists in defining and extending the social lives of past bodies
in a historical forensic case study of a partial human “skull,” or calvaria. The
calvaria was found at the site of Fort King George (Darien, Georgia) and was
thought to be that of a sixteenth-century Spanish priest martyred in defense of
the Sacrament of Marriage. We outline the history of the Spanish priest, the
skull, and our involvement in its analysis. We argue that the concept of deface-
ment, originally described by Michael Taussig (1999), is a useful way to
theorize biopolitics in this case. Taussig argues that violence often functions
to sacralize objects by unleashing their latent sacred potential through their
destruction. This is not only true for bodies and objects, but can also occur when
closely held beliefs and myths are unmasked. We argue that defacement was a
driving force in the historical narrative surrounding the Fort King George
“skull” and triggered interest in its study from the standpoint of the Catholic
Church, the local historical and archaeological community, and ourselves.
Acknowledging and exploring how forensic anthropologists can trigger deface-
ment highlights our role in the unfolding narratives that surround dead bodies.
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 151

10.2 The Fort King George “skull,” the Georgia Martyrs,

and the Juanillo Revolt of 1597

As the title of this section indicates, we are dealing with multiple histories –
of historical figures, of an historical landscape, of an archaeological explor-
ation of that landscape, and of an object, a person, a partial human skull – that
combined in an intersection of local knowledge, archaeological discovery,
and forensic anthropological intrigue. Before understanding the manner in
which these histories have come to intersect, however, we must first tease
them apart.

10.2.1 Spanish Florida and the Juanillo Revolt of 1597

Outside of the southeastern USA, the history of seventeenth-century Spanish

occupation of La Florida (generally most of the southeastern USA but in
practice northern Florida and coastal Georgia) is little known (Figure 10.1).
This fact was made apparent to us during lectures when members of the
public relate that they had no idea the Spanish built missions in Florida and
Georgia at such an early date. Indeed, there is little of the religious archi-
tecture visible above ground today, and, despite the mission system lasting
for over 100 years (from 1573 to 1706), this is a history filled with
challenges and missteps. After Pedro Menéndez de Avilés secured La
Florida for Spain he established the city of St. Augustine in 1565 (Barcia
1951 [1723]). The city has remained occupied ever since. Franciscan mis-
sionaries arrived in 1573 as part of the conquista de almas and began
building mission outposts in the area of St. Augustine and along the Florida
and Georgia coast. Described by one noted scholar as a “makeshift period”
(Geiger 1937: 69), what progress the missionaries had made at bringing
Christianity to the New World was dramatically ended in 1597 when a
widespread uprising erupted in the province of Guale – a coastal chiefdom
(or series of chiefdoms) located between the Altamaha and Ogeechee rivers
(Jones 1978; Saunders 2009; Worth 2004b). During the course of several
weeks of unrest (occurring in September and October of that year), five
Franciscans were killed (Pedro de Corpa at Tolomato, Blas de Rodríguez
and Miguel de Auñón on the island of Guale, Antonio de Bádajoz at
Tupiqui, and Francisco de Veráscola at Asao) and a sixth (Francisco de
Avila) was captured and tormented, although he eventually escaped and
provided testimony (Barcia 1951 [1723]; Geiger 1937; Gómez-González
2007; Habig 1944; Harkins 1990, n.d.; Johnson 1923; Lanning 1935; López
1931; Omaechevarría 1955; de Oré 1936; Pou y Martí 1927; Wyse, 1982;
152 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Figure 10.1. Map of the southeastern US states showing the location of Fort King
George (asterisk) located along the southern coast of Georgia.

1985). Most missions were razed. The principal instigator of the rebellion
was a young Guale named Juanillo (but see Francis and Kole 2011), heir to
the local paramount chiefdom, who was publicly reprimanded and stripped
of his claim to title for practicing polygyny. This occurred at the village of
Tolomato and the rebuke came at the hands of the resident friar Pedro de
Corpa.
Although tensions had likely been broiling below the surface for some time,
it was this one event that historians of the time (Barcia 1951 [1723]; Gómez-
González 2007; Torquemada 1944) and through the mid twentieth century (de
Oré 1936; Geiger 1937; Habig 1944; Lanning 1935) say ignited the short but
intense period of violence. The suddenness and ferocity of the violence was
shocking to the colonial administrators, who launched a full investigation
leading to the capture, interrogation, torture (by water boarding) and, in at
least one case, execution of the few witnesses (almost all teenagers) they could
capture. During the Spanish military’s investigation into the events, the bodies
of three of the friars were identified. The remains of Pedro de Corpa and
Francisco de Veráscola were never recovered, with de Corpa reportedly
beheaded and his body hidden so that it would never be discovered. Although
recent scholarship has called into question many of the details and motivations
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 153

of the Juanillo Revolt (Francis and Kole 2011), the story just outlined is well
known to most local historians and students of Florida and Georgia archae-
ology, a fact that itself reflects the power of defacement for defining regional
histories. The story also forms the basis for the claim of martyrdom and is part
of the active postulation for canonization (Harkins 1990; n.d.; Wyse 1982,
1985).

10.2.2 The Darien Bluff and the Fort King George “skull”

The calvaria in question was found in the 1950s during excavation of British
and Spanish period archaeological deposits along the Darien Bluff, a promon-
tory of land bordering the Altamaha River near present-day Darien, Georgia
(Figure 10.1). As a dry bluff overlooking a major river it is no surprise that the
history of human occupation of the area spans several millennia, as recon-
structed through numerous archaeological investigations of the site (Baker
1970; Caldwell 1943, 1952, 1953, 1954, 1970, n.d.-a, n.d.-b, n.d.-c; Johnson
1983; Joseph et al. 2004; Kelso 1968; Steinen 1985; Watkins 1970). The bluff
witnessed the construction of two Spanish period missions for the local Guale
population during the late sixteenth and early-to-mid seventeenth centuries
(Caldwell 1953; 1954; Lewis 1953), was abandoned in 1661 at the initiation of
slave raids along the coast (Worth 1995), and was re-settled by Yamasee
Indians in 1715 (Barnwell 1926), followed by the building of an English fort
at the site (Fort King George), in existence from 1721 until 1727 (Cook 1990;
Ivers 1996; Lewis 1967).
During these 6 short years dozens of aged and infirmed English soldiers
died and were buried in the nearby cemetery, which visitors to the Fort King
George museum today can still see (Figure 10.2; see also Hulse n.d. for a
discussion of these remains). The fort also temporarily housed Swiss deserters
from French Louisiana as well as African slaves (Barnwell 1926). The area
was re-settled by Scottish Highlanders in 1736, who established the modern
town of Darien (Lewis 2002). By 1820 sawmilling operations were established
on the bluff, the site served a defensive purpose during the Civil War (the mills
and the town were destroyed by Sherman); by 1878 a second sawmilling
operation began at the site. Interspersed among these major foundation events
were various Creeks, New Englanders, Carolinians, Irish and English expats,
and free and escaped slaves.
Initial excavations at the Fort King George site uncovered evidence of the
prehistoric occupation of the area (Caldwell 1943). Subsequent work identi-
fied elements of the Spanish period mission (likely the later one built) as well
as the English cemetery associated with the fort (the fort, to our knowledge,
154 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Figure 10.2. Commemorative grave stones at the Fort King George site marking the
location of the British period cemetery.

has not actually been found; Caldwell 1952; 1953; 1954; n.d.-a; n.d.-b).
Details about the Spanish missions are most relevant here. Although at the
time of excavation the mission was thought to be Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe,
associated with the important Guale village of Tolomato where Pedro de
Corpa served and was killed (Jones 1978), subsequent historiographic work
(Francis and Kole 2011; Worth 2004a) suggests that the sixteenth-century
mission was actually Santo Domingo de Talaje, associated with the Guale
village of Asao where Francisco de Veráscola lived and was killed. Regard-
less of which attribution is correct, a Spanish priest was killed at the site and it
is this documented history that intersected with the discovery of the Fort King
George “skull” and led us to this point in the calvaria’s history.
The calvaria in question has limited provenance and is not mentioned in
any of the excavator’s reports about the site (Caldwell 1952; 1953; 1954;
n.d.-a; n.d.-b). Given the clarity and specificity of these reports in other details,
we find this curious and wonder if Caldwell herself thought the skull belonged
to Pedro de Corpa (we suspect not, since she apparently assigned the mission
to Talaje or Espogache, not Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe – Caldwell 1970;
n.d.-c). The formal museum accession record indicates it was donated by
Caldwell between 1952 and 1954, that it was found “on the bank of the river
in what had been the Guale Indians’ trash pile,” and that, because of this
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 155

location and the Mediterranean type (a reference to old racial typology) of the
skull, it “is believed to be that of the Franciscan priest, Father Corpa [who] was
beheaded by the Indians. . .[h]is head placed on a stake in the trash pile and
[the] rest of his body was feed (sic) to the dogs. (Fort King George accession
record for FKG.52–54.1.121/FK2001.1.1.).” The calvaria was on display in
the Fort King George museum but the only references to the attribution are by
David Hurst Thomas (1993) in an unpublished report on the archaeology of
the region and by Alexander Wyse (1985), which provides the only
known image of the calvaria on display at the museum. However, given the
occupational history of the site, the calvaria could have been that of any
number of individuals that lived along the Georgia coast during the post-contact
period.

10.2.3 Anthropological involvement

Because Pedro de Corpa and the other Georgia Martyrs are the subject of an
ongoing canonization case, the Franciscan Order needed expert opinion on the
calvaria’s potential identification as one of the friars. Our involvement began
with the receipt of a letter addressed to one of the authors (CMS) dated
September 23, 2003. Having completed a dissertation on the bioarchaeology
of the Florida missions, CMS was familiar with the story of the Georgia
Martyrs and naturally found the project of interest, useful in its applied focus,
and a relatively simple matter to resolve. That CMS was 1 month into his first
tenure track job may have helped matters along as well. However, the initial
examination of the calvaria asked more questions than it answered; falsifica-
tion was not possible. As the literature review for the various components
expanded, CMS enlisted the aid of the senior author (WND, his then research
assistant) to evaluate specific leads and survey specific literatures. We returned
to Georgia in tandem to examine the calvaria jointly. Then, with more ques-
tions remaining, the specimen was loaned to CMS at Arizona State University
for a third consideration. As of this writing, a fourth visit is likely as we have
yet to exhaust all possibilities.
The actual results of the analysis are not the most germane elements to be
presented here and have been published elsewhere (Stojanowski and Duncan
2008; 2009). Briefly, the calvaria displays a morphological profile consistent
with a male (Figure 10.3a, b). The age of the individual, as could be
determined best using only cranial vault sutures (and considering the patho-
logical condition of some of them – see below), is consistent with an adult of
the approximate age of the Georgia Martyrs (about 30–40 years). The calvaria
is not pristine – breakage is apparent in that the facial skeleton is missing, as
156 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Figure 10.3. The Fort King George calvaria, thought to be that of Pedro de Corpa.
(a) Right lateral view; (b) inferior view. Note the damage to the cranial base.
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 157

is a portion of the cranial base (Figure 10.3b). In fact, a complete skull would
have been inconsistent with the reported brutality with which the friars were
dispatched.
Rather than simply using FORDISC to assess ancestral affiliation, we
instead followed the advice of Brues (1992) and used populations known to
have resided in the area during the post-contact period to generate appropriate
comparative samples for discriminant function analysis of cranial vault vari-
ation. In total, over 5000 individuals were data-mined from published sources
(primarily Biometrika and the Archives of the National Museum of Natural
History), representing three centuries and multiple ancestral groups (Stoja-
nowski and Duncan 2009; 2010). An Iberian/Basque affiliation was not only
possible given the range of craniometric variation – it appeared to be the most
likely option (Stojanowski and Duncan 2009; 2010). Extraction of DNA was,
of course, attempted but was ultimately unsuccessful. Radiocarbon assay was
also unable to falsify the attribution. Oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, and strontium
isotopic analyses are ongoing.
Considerable effort was also expended exploring a relatively rare patho-
logical condition – partial frontal and squamosal unilateral craniosynostosis
(Duncan and Stojanowski 2008). Ironically, such a condition would be suffi-
cient for positive identification in a modern forensic context but did little for
positive identification in this case (not for lack of trying to link noted changes
in facial asymmetry to historical descriptions of the friars). We spent consid-
erable time documenting the calvaria’s various taphonomic signatures –
cortical exfoliation, sun bleaching, microfractures, post-excavation damage,
and the pattern of breakage (Stojanowski and Duncan 2008). We considered
whether the lack of a face is consistent with a LeFort III fracture or whether
it is the result of the natural taphonomic process of skull fragmentation. We
mined the various historical sources for information on what weapons may
have been used, which led us down the wormhole of non-specific, non-English
terms for weaponry in the Americas. We asked whether the damage to the cranial
base was consistent with impalement, whether impalement could also cause the
face to detach from the vault, and whether any experimental work had been done
documenting the effect of impalement on the cranial base. We considered the
lack of evidence of scalping in light of ethnohistoric reports of what the
natives of Georgia actually used for such practices, specifically whether or
not reeds would have left evidence on the frontal bone. Soil samples were
extracted from the inner ear to assess whether the soil type was local and
whether it could be matched to specific archaeological reports of the strati-
graphic profile of the Georgia Bluff where the calvaria was found. The bodies
of head lice were also found within the ear and considered for potential DNA
extraction if blood was preserved in their stomachs. We worked very hard to
158 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

falsify the attribution to one of the Georgia Martyrs and equally as hard to
establish some means, a hint even, of positive identification. As falsification
becomes less and less likely, our attention has turned to trying to identify,
with as much evidence as possible, who this is likely to be, if not one of the
Georgia Martyrs.

10.3 Discussion

Throughout this chapter we have documented the lengths we went to to falsify

the association between the Fort King George “skull” and Pedro de Corpa.
Ultimately we were unsuccessful, but, at the same time, neither were we able
to find any reason why anyone ever thought the calvaria was specifically his.
This outcome raises questions about how narratives emerge about dead bodies,
why some bodies realize or are imbued with greater meaning than others, and
the role that anthropologists play in the construction of those narratives and
their meaning. We will consider why the body was important from the
perspective of the church, the museum, the anthropologists, and also Native
Americans, but first we suggest that a useful tool for understanding this
unfolding in the case of Pedro de Corpa is the concept of defacement. Deface-
ment was originally described by Michael Taussig (1999) to account for the
fact that destruction of a thing can sacralize it. Although the potential for
violence to make something sacred is well-trod ground in ritual discussions
(Hubert and Mauss 1964), for Taussig the defacement need not be in a
ritualized context. The history of the World Trade Center in New York
presents a straightforward example. On September 10, 2001, the twin towers
were a center for commerce. They were symbolically important on that date, of
course, both within the United States and abroad, which is why they (along
with the Pentagon and other structures of obvious national importance) were
ultimately targeted for violence. However, their destruction the following day
unleashed their latent sacrality and created an enduring symbol of the USA as
being under attack from outsiders. The violence unleashed the towers’ sacred
potential.

10.3.1 Unmasking secrets: revelation and explanation

Taussig (1999) explores another facet of defacement that is relevant to

anthropology, and particularly to historical forensics and bioarchaeology:
the unmasking of a public secret in initiation rites on the Isla Grande of
Tierra del Fuego during the early 1900s. He describes both the Selk’nam and
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 159

Yamana cultures, but we focus only on the former here. During initiation to
men’s groups, men dressed like spirits by painting their naked bodies and
wearing masks. The initiates encountered the spirits in the Big Hut, during
which the spirit approached the young men, fondled their genitals, and
wrestled with them. After this, the initiates were forced to unmask the spirit
and the men began laughing as the secret (the trick) was revealed: the men are
the spirits and only the men may know it. Part of being a man in Selk’nam
society was knowing and keeping this secret, and the rite in the Big Hut
consisted of unmasking that secret. Ultimately, the women knew the secret as
well as the men, and the men knew that the women knew. However, the
identities of the spirits were openly acknowledged only in the ceremony;
destroying the secret served to make it (more) sacred (Taussig 1999). As
Taussig (1999: 162; italics removed) notes, “all along revelation was part of
the secret’s secret.”
Unmasking the secret made it sacred but there is another facet to the
Selk’nam example concerning the framing of the unmasking, one that high-
lights the anthropologist’s relationship to defacement in this case. Martin
Gusinde was a German Austrian priest–anthropologist who lived with the
Selk’nam in the early 1900s and Taussig (1999) analyzes his relationship to
the ritual and the unmasking in the Big Hut. Gusinde was clearly interested in
understanding the entire ritual process and paid the Selk’nam to re-create it for
him (Taussig 1999: 128). More than that, though, Gusinde wanted to docu-
ment the ritual so badly that he was willing to risk offending the Selk’nam and
thus jeopardize his work there. Although he was permitted to take photographs
of the men, he was expressly forbidden from doing so until they were
completely dressed as the spirits, lest the photographs provide proof to the
women that the spirits were only men in disguise. Gusinde proceeded to take
pictures of the half-dressed men and immediately found a hand around his
throat demanding an explanation for the violation, which he managed to
provide only with a "dramatic act of submission" (Gusinde, cited in Taussig
1999: 120). Given the state of photographic technology in the early 1900s,
Gusinde must have known taking a picture clandestinely was impossible. Yet
he so wanted to unmask the secret in his own way that he ignited a magnesium
flash to photograph his subjects in precisely the state (half-costumed) that he
had promised not to photograph.
Taussig (1999) explored how Gusinde’s potential unmasking through
photography differed from the Selk’nam unmasking in the Big Hut. He
argues that, for Gusinde, attraction was not just to the secret itself, but to the
need to unmask it on his own terms, which in this case was to explain it
away. Gusinde wanted to account for the ritual (unsuccessfully in the end)
in terms of its function, history, or origin to explain why such an elaborate
160 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

rite and secret existed. He tried to reduce the ritual to a product of a specific
cause or process. This is problematic, in part, because reductionism failed
to account for the mystery, intensity, elaborate preparation, and potential
sanctions that came with violating the unspoken rules. It did not explain
why the men were obsessed with the women not finding out or why the rite
lasted more than a year (Taussig 1999).
Gusinde’s focus on understanding the rite was not only incomplete – it
changed his relationship to the secret. The Selk’nam unmasking in the Big
Hut maintained the potency of the mystery surrounding the secret even as it
was revealed. The mystery for Gusinde, on the other hand, was what
function the rite and secret served to begin with. When Gusinde engaged
the secret, he tried to demystify it in a way that would have just reduced it to
a hoax resulting from some larger historical or functional process. His
unmasking did not increase the mystery and sacrality of the original secret;
it detracted from it. Moreover, Gusinde’s approach, in Taussig’s view,
would have added to the mystery and sacrality of the search for function
or origin, reinforcing the value of scientific inquiry and enlightenment
reductionism. This is why the epigraph for Taussig’s (1999) book is a quote
from Walter Benjamin: “Truth is not a matter of exposure which destroys
the secret, but a revelation which does justice to it.” Gusinde engaged the
secret from a functionalist (scientific) point of view. Rather than use
the sacrality that emerges from its destruction to add mystery to the ritual,
he appropriated and redirected the sacrality to his own goals, and relegated
the experience of the ritual to details that did not fit his explanation, which
in itself was an act of violence.

10.3.2 Defacement: parallelism and divergence

With this in mind, we can consider the case of Pedro de Corpa from the
perspective of the relevant interlocutors (the church, the museum, the
anthropologists, and the Native Americans). Highlighting parallels and
divergences between the Pedro de Corpa and the Selk’nam cases sheds light
on the case’s relevance to larger issues in bioarchaeology. The Franciscan
Order’s initial interest in the calvaria was to gain insight into the historical
narrative of the Georgia Martyrs as a contribution to their possible canon-
ization. Martyrdom is historically a common route to canonization. The
willingness to suffer and die for the faith is, of course, a powerful symbol
(and tool) for the Catholic Church. The violence suffered by the priests
unleashed the potential sacrality that could be used as a symbol by the
Church. However, confirming that the priests suffered both bodily harm
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 161

and desecration after death was important for the Church’s case for canon-
ization. In other words, the church solicited and required anthropological
involvement to confirm that such violence had occurred and, ultimately, the
establishment of truth or falsification in this case was handed over to
outsiders (the anthropologists). This highlights two principal differences
between the Pedro de Corpa and Selk’nam cases. In the former, anthropo-
logical involvement was sought as an arbiter in an actual case; in the latter
the anthropologist sought out and paid for a re-creation of an indigenous
ritual. Thus the role and contribution of the anthropologist to the respective
cases is inherently different (see below).
The museum’s perspective mimicked that of Gusinde, the anthropologist in
Tierra del Fuego, to a greater degree. The narrative surrounding the Georgia
Martyrs was sufficiently magnetic that the museum displayed the calvaria for
years advertised as Pedro de Corpa even though we were unable to find
reason to connect the skull to Pedro de Corpa, biologically or historically.
You can understand why; museums’ goals include attracting, informing, and
entertaining (edu-taining?) the public. This display and its surrounding narra-
tive would have engaged the public in a specific narrative about local history,
and in turn educated them on some of the dynamics that characterized the
colonial period.
The anthropological interest, which is to say our own, was driven by
factors ranging from professional obsessiveness to the need to publish, but
defacement drove our interest for the same reason as the museum. The
narrative was magnetic, and it presented an opportunity to serve the public,
and to have some greater relevance outside of the narrow audience of
academia. Frankly, as bioarchaeologists working in the NAGPRA era, we
were thrilled to have someone want anthropological input. This is where our
involvement in the case differed from that of Gusinde in Tierra del Fuego.
In this case, anthropological input was solicited and had the potential to
offer clarity about the skull, but it never detracted from the mystery
surrounding it. In fact, anthropological involvement added to its mystery,
and it would have done so whether or not we had determined with certainty
that the skull was one of the Georgia Martyrs. In this sense anthropological
engagement occurred on the terms of the people who asked us to study it.
Our involvement occurred, so to speak, in the Big Hut, and accordingly did
justice to the mystery rather than explaining it away, in Walter Benjamin’s
terms (see above). This is not to say that we did not consider purely
anthropological issues in this case. We published a case study on a path-
ology exhibited by the skull as well as a craniometric analysis, but, initially
and ultimately, our involvement was on the terms of the Church and the
museum. Our involvement and unmasking of the fact that there was no
162 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

reason to have thought the calvaria was specifically Pedro de Corpa in no

way undermined their (or the public’s) enchantment with it.
The final interlocutors in the discourse surrounding the Fort King George
“skull” are the Native Americans. Even asking the question of whether or not
the priests were martyrs frames the role of Native Americans as the perpetu-
ators of violence. It is worth re-stating the fact that the uprising in which the
priests were killed stemmed from their prohibition of indigenous marriage
practices. Thus, ultimately even though Native Americans were not actively
engaged in this discourse, they were and are part of the larger political context
of the case by virtue of their (passive) portrayal. In this regard the church, the
museum, and the anthropologists were engaged in re-creating a narrative of
contact and conquest.
If you juxtapose this case to the circumstances surrounding NAGPRA, you
see a different relationship between the anthropologists and Native Ameri-
cans. The initial steps that eventually led to NAGPRA began with a road
project in Iowa when a cemetery that contained both Native American and
European remains was uncovered. The European remains were taken for
reburial and the Native American remains were taken to a museum. The
Native Americans saw the movement of their ancestors to the museum and
subsequent study as an act of violence. In this way, the differential treatment
served as a form of violence and unleashed their symbolic and political
potential. In retrospect, this seems like an obvious violation, but the differen-
tial treatment and questions of reverence ignore the other facet of defacement –
that of demystification and appropriation of sacred potential. In terms of
defacement, viewing remains as a medium to inform on past lifeways turned
the remains into datapoints and appropriated their potential sacrality to serve
(and valorize) scientific goals. Scientists hope to explain nature in terms of
function, origin, and process, and the value of those goals is self-explanatory.
We are part of this science and in no way question its value. However, as
anthropologists, we should be aware of the fact that, like Gusinde in Tierra del
Fuego, our mysteries about the lifeways of the past (origins, diet, disease,
demography, cultural affinity, migration, ritual, etc.) are not necessarily the
mysteries of other groups, and that we are just one of many groups that may
intersect through a particular body.
This brings us back to the initial question for this chapter – why do some
bodies receive more detailed forensic analysis than others? Engaging the
concept of defacement permits us to identify two reasons. The first is the
direct result of violence. The destruction of a body, as much as with other
media, can unleash a latent sacred potential. In the case of the Fort King
George “skull,” it was acknowledged and used for religious, economic, edu-
cational, and professional purposes by the Catholic Church, the museum, and
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 163

ourselves. The second reason, though, is that in this case the information that
anthropological investigation brought to bear served to enhance the mystery of
the initial narrative, rather than explaining it away, and in doing so imbued the
calvaria with greater social and religious meaning and value than it had prior to
our involvement. The nature of inquiry that characterized anthropological
involvement was entirely consistent within the framework of the relevant
soliciting groups that intersected through the Fort King George “skull” and,
as a result, this particular body received more detailed investigation than it
might have otherwise.

Acknowledgments
We have enjoyed working on this project tremendously, not least because it
has given us an opportunity to contribute to a fascinating historical question.
It has also brought us in contact with a number of people who have been
happy to help since we began in 2005. We would like to thank Father
Conrad Harkins for contacting us and inviting us to begin the project, and
for his continued support through the past couple of years. We are also
grateful to the staff of Panola Mountain State Park for accommodating our
visits to their facilities. We are particularly indebted to Linda Bitley and
Debbie Wallsmith, who helped arrange for the temporary loan of the Fort
King George specimen to our lab for more detailed analysis. Josephine
Caldwell has and continues to provide important historical information about
her parent’s work along the Darien Bluff. Clark Spencer Larsen also facili-
tated data collection for some of the comparative samples used in this
analysis. We would like to thank Dr. Debra Martin and Cheryl Anderson
for soliciting our participation in this volume, and Dr. Kathy Fine-Dare for
her constructive review. Funding for this project was provided by a St. John
Fisher Faculty Development Grant.

References
Baker, S. G. (1970). Fort King George archaeology, spring 1970. Unpublished manu-
script. Onfile at the Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
Barcia, A. (1951) [1723]. Ensayo Cronologico Para La Historia General De La
Florida (in English). Gainesville: University of Florida Press.
Barnwell, J. W. (1926). Journal of Col. John Barnwell (Tuscarora) in the construction of
the Fort on the Altamaha in 1721. The South Carolina Historical and Genea-
logical Magazine, 27, 189–203.
Bharadwaj, A. (2012). Enculturating cells: the anthropology, substance, and science of
stem cells. Annual Review of Anthropology, 41, 303–17.
164 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Borić, D. & Robb, J. (2008). Past Bodies. Body-Centred Research in Archaeology.

Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Brooks, M. & Rumsey, C. (2007). The Body in the Museum. Human Remains: Guide
for Museums and Academic Institutions. New York: Altamira Press, 261–89.
Brown, J. A. (1971). The dimensions of status in the burials at Spiro. Approaches to the
Social Dimensions of Mortuary Practices. Society for American Archaeology
Memoir, 25, 92–112.
Brues, A. M. (1992). Forensic diagnosis of race – general race vs. specific populations.
Social Science and Medicine, 34, 125–8.
Caldwell, J. (1943). Cultural relations of four Indian sites on the Georgia coast.
University of Chicago: Unpublished MA thesis.
Caldwell, S. K. (1952). Field notes 1952 season. Unpublished records. On file at the
Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
(1953). Excavations at a Spanish Mission site in Georgia. Southeastern Archaeo-
logical Conference Newsletter, 31–2.
(1954). A Spanish mission site near Darien. Early Georgia, 1, 13–17.
(1970). Editor’s note. Artifacts from the Sites of Three Nineteenth Century Houses
and Ditches at Darien Bluff. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Laboratory of
Archaeology Series Report Number 9.
(n.d.-a). Fort King George archaeological catalog, Caldwell 1952–1954. Unpub-
lished records. On file at the Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
(n.d.-b). Preliminary report on Fort King George. Unpublished manuscript. On file at
the Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
(n.d.-c). Tentative conclusions regarding Spanish mission and village on Darien
Bluff. Unpublished manuscript. On file at the Fort King George Museum.
Darien, GA.
Cherryson, A. (2010). In the pursuit of knowledge: dissection, post-mortem surgery and
the retention of body parts in 18th- and 19th-century Britain. In: Rebay-Salisbury,
K., Stig Sørensen, M. L. & Hughes, J. (eds.) Body Parts and Bodies Whole.
Oxford: Oxbow Books, 135–48.
Coble, M. D., Loreille, O. M., Wadhams, M. J., Edson, S. M., Maynard, K., Meyer,
C. E., Niederstätter, H., Berger, C., Berger, B., Falsetti, A. B., Gill, P., Parson, W.
& Finelli, L. N. (2009). Mystery solved: the identification of the two missing
Romanov children using DNA analysis. PLoS One, 4, e4838.
Cook, J. (1990). Fort King George. Step One to Statehood. Darien, GA: Darien News.
Csordas, T. (1990). Embodiment as a paradigm for anthropology. Ethos, 18, 5–47.
(1999). The body’s career in anthropology. In: Moore, H. (ed.) Anthropological
Theory Today. Cambridge: Polity, 172–205.
de Oré, L. G. (1936). The Martyrs of Florida (1513–1616). New York: Joseph
F. Wagner, Inc.
Duncan, W. N. & Stojanowski, C. M. (2008). A case of squamosal craniosynostosis
from the 16th century southeastern United States. International Journal of
Osteoarchaeology, 18, 407–20.
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 165

Fine-Dare, K. S. (2002). Grave Injustices: The American Indian Repatriation Move-

ment and NAGPRA. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.
(2005). Anthropological suspicion, public interest and NAGPRA. Journal of Social
Archaeology, 5, 171–92.
(2009). Bodies unburied, mummies displayed: mourning, museums, and identity
politics in the Americas. In: Fine-Dare, K. S. & Rubenstein, S. L. (eds.) Border
Crossings: Transnational Americanist Anthropology. Lincoln: University of Neb-
raska Press, 67–118.
Fine-Dare, K. S. & Durkee, B. N. (2011). Interpreting an absence: Esther’s legacy at
Mesa Verde National Park. Journal of the West, 50, 43–50.
Francis, J. M. & Kole, K. M. (2011). Murder and Martyrdom in Spanish Florida. Don
Juan and the Guale Uprising of 1597. New York: American Museum of Natural
History, Anthropological Papers, Number 95.
Franklin, D. (2012). Human skeletal remains from a multiple burial associated with the
mutiny of the Voc Retourschip Batavia, 1629. International Journal of Osteoarch-
aeology, 22, 740–8.
Geiger, M. (1937). The Franciscan conquest of Florida (1573–1618). Catholic
University of America: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Gómez-González, J. (2007). La Florida: Fray Alonso Gregorio de Escobedo, (Manu-
scrito del Siglo XVI, Conservado en la Biblioteca Nacional de España). http://
archivo.bitacoramedica.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/04/LaFlorida.pdf.
[Accessed September 25, 2013.]
Habig, M. A. (1944). The Franciscan provinces of Spanish North America. The Amer-
icas, 1, 88–96.
Haraway, D. (1991). Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New
York: Routledge.
Harkins, C. (1990). On Franciscans, archaeology, and old missions. In: Thomas, D. H.
(ed.) Columbian Consequences Volume 2. Archaeological and Historical Perspec-
tives on the Spanish Borderlands East. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution
Press, 459–74.
(n.d.) The Five Franciscan Martyrs of Georgia, Postulator of the Cause. 1235
University Boulevard, Franciscan University of Steubenville. Manuscript on file
with authors.
Hertz, R. (1960) [1907]. Death and the Right Hand. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press.
Hubert, H. & Mauss, M. (1964). Sacrifice: Its Nature and Function. London: Cohen &
West.
Hulse, F. S. (n.d.) Certain Caucasian skeletal remains from the site at Ft. King George.
Unpublished manuscript. On file at the Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
Ivers, L. E. (1996). British occupation of the Altamaha. Drums Along the Altamaha,
A Historic Symposium Held at Fort King George State Historic Site. November
10, 1996.
Johnson, J. G. (1923). The Yamasee revolt of 1597 and the destruction of the Georgia
missions. Georgia Historical Quarterly, 7, 44–53.
166 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Johnson, R. E. (1983). An archaeological reconnaissance survey of the proposed Saw-

grass Cove apartment complex, Darien Lower Bluff, Mcintosh County, Georgia.
Unpublished report. On file at the Fort King George Museum. Darien, GA.
Jones, G. D. (1978). The ethnohistory of the Guale coast through 1684. In: Thomas,
D. H., Jones, G. D., Durham, R. S. & Larsen, C. S. (eds.) The Anthropology of St.
Catherines Island. 1. Natural and Cultural History. Anthropological Papers 55,
pt 2. New York: American Museum of Natural History, 178–210.
Joseph, J. W., Hamby, T. M. & Long, C. S. (2004). Historical Archaeology in Georgia.
Athens, GA: University of Georgia Laboratory of Archaeology Series Report
Number 39.
Joyce, R. A. (2005). Archaeology of the body. Annual Review of Anthropology, 34,
139–58.
Kakaliouras, A. M. (2008). Leaving few bones unturned: recent work on repatriation by
osteologists. American Anthropologist, 110, 44–52.
(2012). An anthropology of repatriation: contemporary physical anthropological and
Native American ontologies of practice. Current Anthropology, 53, S210–21.
Kelso, W. M. (1968). Excavations at the Fort King George Historical Site, Darien,
Georgia. The 1967 Survey. Atlanta, GA: Georgia Historical Commission Arch-
aeological Research Series Number 1.
Komar, D. A. & Buikstra, J. E. (2008). Forensic Anthropology: Contemporary Theory
and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Lanning, J. T. (1935). The Spanish Missions of Georgia. Chapel Hill: University of
North Carolina Press.
Lewis, B. (1953). Comments on the Spanish Mission Site. Southeastern Archaeological
Conference Newsletter, 3, 32–3.
(1967). Fort King George. Georgia Magazine, October/November, 22–4.
(2002). They Called Their Town Darien. Privately published by the Lower Altamaha
Historical Society.
López, A. (1931). Relación Histórica de la Florida Escrita en el Siglo XVII. Volume 1.
Madrid.
Lorentz, K. O. (2008). From bodies to bones and back: theory and human bioarchaeol-
ogy. In: Schutkowski, H. (ed.) Between Biology and Culture. Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 273–303.
Magaña, R. (2011). Dead bodies. The deadly display of Mexican border politics. In:
Masci-Alees, F. E. (ed.) A Companion to the Anthropology of the Body and
Embodiment. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, Ltd., 157–71.
Omaechevarría, I. (1955). Martires franciscanos de Georgia: informes y relaciones
sobre su muerte. Missionalia hispánica, XII. Madrid: Instituto Santo Toribio de
Mogrovejo, 12–35, 291–370.
Pou y Martí, J. M. (1927). Estado de la orden Franciscana y de sus misiones en América
y extreme Oriente en el año de 1635 [Part 2]. Archivo Ibero-Americano, 28,
43–92.
Rebay-Salisbury, K., Stig Sørensen, M. L. & Hughes, J. (2010). Body Parts and Bodies
Whole. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
 William N. Duncan and Christopher M. Stojanowski 167

Saunders, R. (2009). Stability and ubiquity: Irene, Altamaha, and San Marcos pottery in
time and space. In: Deagan, K. & Thomas, D. H. (eds.) From Santa Elena to St.
Augustine: Indigenous Ceramic Variability (A.D. 1400–1700): Proceedings of the
Second Caldwell Conference. Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of
Natural History Number 90. New York: American Museum of Natural History,
83–111.
Scheper-Hughes, N. (2002). Commodity fetishism in organs trafficking. In: Scheper-
Hughes, N. & Wacquant, L. (eds.) Commodifying Bodies. Los Angeles: Sage,
31–62.
Scheper-Hughes, N. & Lock, M. M. (1987). The mindful body: a prolegomenon to
future work in medical anthropology. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, New
Series, 1, 6–41.
Shanks, C. & Tilley, M. (1982). Ideology, symbolic power, and ritual communication:
a reinterpretation of neolithic mortuary practices. In: Hodder, I. (ed.)
Symbolic and Structural Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
129–54.
Sharp, L. (1995). Organ transplantation as a transformative experience: anthropological
insights into the restructuring of the self. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, 9,
357–89.
(2000). The commodification of the body and its parts. Annual Review of Anthropol-
ogy, 29, 287–328.
Shilling, C. (1993). The Body and Social Theory. London: Sage Publications.
Steinen, K. T. (1985). Excavations at Fort King George 1984. Manuscript on file, Fort
King George Museum.
Stojanowski, C. M. & Duncan, W. N. (2008). Anthropological Contributions to the
Cause of the Georgia Martyrs. Occasional Papers of the Georgia Southern
Museum, number 3. Georgia Southern Museum.
(2009). Historiography and forensic analysis of the Fort King George “skull”:
craniometric assessment using the specific population approach. American Journal
of Physical Anthropology, 140, 275–89.
(2010). Heredity and cranial morphology: a forensic case study from Spanish
colonial Georgia. In: Bonogofsky, M. (ed.) The Bioarchaeology of the Human
Head: Decapitation, Deformation, and Decoration. Gainesville: University Press
of Florida, 179–201.
Strathern, M. (1988). The Gender of the Gift: Problems with Women and Problems with
Society in Melanesia. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Tarlow, S. (2008). The extraordinary history of Oliver Cromwell’s head. In: Borić, D. &
Robb, J. (eds.) Past Bodies: Body-Centered Research in Archaeology. Oxford:
Oxbow books, 69–78.
Taussig, M. (1999). Defacement: Public Secrecy and the Labor of the Negative.
Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Thomas, D. H. (1993). Historic Indian Period Archaeology of the Georgia Coastal
Zone. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Laboratory of Archaeology Series
Report No 13.
168 Defacement and narrative in historical forensics cases

Torquemada, J. (1944). Los Veinte y un Libros Rituales y Monarquia Indiana. Tomo III.
Facsimilar reprint edition, Salvador Chavez Hayhoe.
Ubelaker, D. H. (1996). The remains of Dr. Carl Austin Weiss: anthropological
analysis. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 41, 60–79.
Watkins, C. M. (1970). Artifacts from the Sites of Three Nineteenth Century Houses
and Ditches at Darien Bluff, Georgia. Athens, GA: University of Georgia
Laboratory of Archaeology Series Report No. 9.
Watkins, J. (2004). Becoming American or becoming Indian? NAGPRA, Kennewick
and cultural affiliation. Journal of Social Archaeology, 4, 60–80.
Worth, J. E. (1995). The Struggle for the Georgia Coast: An Eighteenth-Century
Spanish Retrospective on Guale and Mocama. New York: American Museum of
Natural History, Anthropological Papers, Number 75.
(2004a). Evidence for the Locations of Guale Missions in 1597 (with Notes on
Possible Locations for Physical Remains of the Martyrs). Report submitted to
Father Conrad Harkins, Vice Postulator for the Cause of the Georgia Martyrs.
Manuscript in possession of the authors.
(2004b). Guale. Handbook of North American Indians. Volume. 14, Southeast.
Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 238–44.
Wyse, A. (1982). The martyrs of Georgia: Fr. Pedro De Corpa, O.F.M. and his
companions. In: Tylenda, J. N. (ed.) Portraits in American Sanctity. Chicago:
Franciscan Herald Press, 76–88.
(1985). The five Franciscan martyrs of Georgia. Provincial Annals, 34, 30–7.
 Part IV
Violence and identity
11 Violence in life, violence in death,
resiliency through repatriation:
bioarchaeological analysis and
heritage value of Yaqui skeletal
remains from Sonora, Mexico
h e i d i j . ba u e r - c l a p p a n d
v e n t u r a r. p é rez

11.1 Introduction

Increasingly, bioarchaeological studies – particularly those focusing on violence

or conflict – include discussions of political, social, and/or economic factors
(Larsen 1999; see, for example, Agarwal and Glencross 2011; Goodman and
Leatherman 1998; Martin and Frayer 1997; Martin et al. 2012a; Steckel and
Rose 2002). Bioarchaeological research investigates the past as experienced by
individuals and populations (Tung 2012); we collect skeletal data from individ-
uals and, when possible, identify and analyze broader population-level patterns
within those data. When correlated with additional lines of evidence (e.g. material
culture, primary documents, oral histories), our findings can support, contradict,
or expand upon previous accounts of how political, social, or economic factors
affected individuals and/or populations. Further, our methods and findings can
facilitate connections between the dead and the living when our projects address
questions and concerns of descendant populations (Martin et al. 2012b).
In this chapter we outline data regarding stress and physical and structural
violence experienced by the Yaqui in Mexico in the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries. Our research focuses on the skeletal remains of 13 indi-
viduals collected from Sonora, Mexico, by Aleš Hrdlička in 1902. Twelve of
these individuals were among at least 124 Yaqui fatalities in an encounter
between the Mexican army and the Yaqui. We aim to investigate how political,

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

171
172 Heritage value of skeletal remains

Sonora

Hermosillo
Sierra de Mazatan

Gulf of California

N
0 5 10 20 30 40
Miles

Figure 11.1. Map of relevant locations in northwestern Mexico.

social, and economic circumstances impacted the Yaqui, including analysis of

the circumstances surrounding the violent deaths at Sierra de Mazatán. Finally,
we discuss how the results of our bioarchaeological analysis, combined with
the repatriation of these remains in 2009, make the past a dynamic part of
the present for descendant populations.

11.2 Historical context

The Yaqui are an indigenous people of what is now the state of Sonora in northern
Mexico (Figure 11.1). In the late nineteenth century the Yaquis also occasionally
migrated or were deported to the southwestern United States and developed
permanent settlements in Arizona. In 1939 the Yaqui of Mexico were granted
official recognition by the Mexican government and gained title to a small portion
of the land in Sonora that they considered their home territory. The Pascua Yaqui
Tribe of Arizona became a federally recognized Indian Tribe in 1978. Yaqui
identity in the modern world in both Mexico and the USA centers on maintaining
cultural autonomy and control over their land, an ongoing struggle since the time
of European contact in 1533 (Molina 2000; Sandoval 2009).

11.2.1 Early contact period

At the time of Spanish contact in the early sixteenth century the Yaquis lived
as hunters and farmers in rancherías primarily assembled on the Yaqui River in
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 173

Sonora, Mexico. With an estimated population of 30 000, the Yaquis were

the largest indigenous group in northwest Mexico at the time (Hu-DeHart
1974). Areas of Yaqui settlement were generally rich farmland in the otherwise
arid region.
The first major violent conflict between the Yaqui and the Spanish occurred
when the forces of Diego de Guzmán dispersed some Yaqui settlements
on the Yaqui River soon after the Spanish arrived in the region in 1533.
The Yaquis “resisted armed intrusion in their territory from the first” (Spicer
1962: 46), but for the most part tolerated the presence of the Jesuit missionaries,
many of whom consciously refrained from bearing arms.
In spite of the continuous expansion of Spanish outposts in the region
through the remainder of the sixteenth century, the Yaqui managed to remain
independent. By the early 1600s some 20 000 Indigenous peoples in north-
western Mexico were under Spanish control, with the exception of the Yaqui,
the Mayo, and a few smaller Indigenous populations (Spicer 1962). During the
first two centuries of Spanish conquest, the Mayo retained their autonomy
through friendly relations with the Spanish while the Yaqui, often supported
and protected by the Jesuits, consistently rebelled against efforts to bring
them under Spanish control (Hu-DeHart 1974).
By 1623 nearly all Yaquis had been baptized by the Jesuits, who also
established eight missions along the Yaqui River (Spicer 1980). As 80þ
scattered small communities were consolidated into these eight mission
communities, the “Yaquis’ incipient consciousness of being a nation” was
heightened (Hu-DeHart 1984: 4). The Jesuit missionaries actually reshaped
Yaqui military, political, and cultural practices in a manner that intensified
the Yaquis’ autonomous identity and offered a degree of protection from
Spanish control (Hu-DeHart 1984; Spicer 1980). The Jesuits taught the
Yaquis to become surplus producers yet encouraged them to retain their
egalitarian social organization and communal control of their land. As a
result, the Yaqui developed a flexible, resilient culture that was still centered
on control of their homeland.

11.2.2 Yaqui revolt and cultural revision

By 1740 relations between the Mayo and the Spanish had broken down, and
the Yaqui and the Mayo joined together to rebel against Spanish oppression.
While the Spanish were ultimately victorious, the conflict drove all missionar-
ies in the region out; fatalities numbered over 1000 for the Spanish and over
5000 for the indigenous allies (Spicer 1962). The Jesuits eventually returned
and resumed their work in the region (Spicer 1962). The Jesuits encouraged
the Yaqui to produce surpluses on their farmlands as a means of economic
174 Heritage value of skeletal remains

protection but, when the Jesuits were permanently expelled in 1767, the Yaqui
no longer saw a need to maintain this practice. By this point they were able to
participate as wage laborers in mines opened in the region, which offered
greater economic benefits (Hu-DeHart 1984). For a period the Yaqui were able
to utilize the autonomy that the Jesuits encouraged, supplemented economic-
ally by their surpluses or work as wage laborers, to resist Spanish domination
and retain control of their homeland. They maintained this separation during
the War for Independence, during which the Yaqui and Mayo were essentially
passive observers and refrained from taking sides (Spicer 1962).

11.2.3 Formation of haciendas and oppression of the Yaqui

After Mexico gained independence, the Yaqui, along with all other indigenous
groups, were made citizens of the new nation and were therefore required
to pay taxes to and live under the authority of the Mexican government.
The Yaqui resisted these requirements and in 1825 Mexican troops were
sent to Sonora to collect taxes, protect non-Yaqui settlers, and force the Yaqui
to submit to the control of the Mexican government. This marked the begin-
ning of an extended period of oppression by the Mexican government and
continued resistance by the Yaqui, who organized revolts in 1825, 1827,
1857–62, and 1899. Each of the Yaqui rebellions in the nineteenth century
was met with efforts by the Mexican government to maintain “peace by force”
(Spicer 1962: 66), including several massacres of Yaquis and the persecution
and occasional execution of Yaqui leaders. The Yaqui continuously responded
by reorganizing their leadership and intensifying their resistance efforts,
including continued collaboration with the Mayo. A new state constitution
was enacted in Sonora in 1873, which decreed that Yaquis and Mayos be
denied citizenship if they “maintain the anomalous organization that they
have in their towns and rancherías, but allowing the enjoyment [of those
rights] to individuals of the same tribes who reside in the organized pueblos
of the state” (quoted in Spicer 1962: 67).
Political changes imposed by the Mexican government were compounded
by economic changes fueled by an influx of foreign capital. President Porfirio
Díaz prioritized national economic development during his rule (1876–1911, a
period in Mexican history known as the Porfiriato). Díaz, with the cooperation
of Luis Torres, the governor of Sonora, established a development program
in Sonora that called for “colonization and fruitful exploitation of the rich
river lands of the Yaqui and Mayo” (Hu-DeHart 1984: 99).
In particular, the construction of the Sonoran Railroad intensified the
oppression of the Yaqui. The Yaqui revolts and general hostility towards the
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 175

Mexican government, as covered by the US press, were identified as a hazard

to development projects and travel in Sonora. The Yaqui were thus seen as a
problem that needed to be controlled, which “justified a violent institutional
response” (Guidotti-Hernández 2011: 181). Torres saw a double benefit in
colonization efforts – once Yaqui were removed from their land they could
provide the necessary labor for the railroad and other capital projects and could
be paid less than other Mexican workers given their increasingly limited
options for economic sustainability (Hu-DeHart 1984).
It is estimated that by 1890 “less than one-quarter of the entire Yaqui
population still lived in their home communities,” with many Yaqui left
“marginalized and landless” (Erickson 2008: 42). This landless existence
resulted in food shortages (Forbes 1957), and several waves of communicable
diseases such as yellow fever added further biological stress. In response
to food shortages and continued hostility from Mexican troops, some Yaqui
began to migrate across the US border to Arizona in 1882 (Spicer 1967).
For several decades at the end of the nineteenth century, individual Yaquis
were generally either rebels or exploited laborers.
Postcolonial struggles in Sonora mirrored postcolonial political and eco-
nomic changes around Mexico. These changes were aimed at accelerating
assimilation of autonomous groups under the Mexican government. Commu-
nal land holdings were dissolved and debt peonage laws were strengthened,
both of which facilitated the expansion of haciendas (Meyers et al. 2008).
Haciendas were predominantly owned by European-descended individuals or
families, who employed or enslaved indigenous peoples to produce surpluses
for export (Meyers and Carlson 2002; Meyers et al. 2008). Haciendas were
most common in the Yucatán and primarily employed/enslaved Mayans.
However, the Yaqui, along with other indigenous people, were subject to the
same treatment in Sonora or sent from Sonora to haciendas in the Yucatán
or elsewhere.
By 1902 all Yaquis were required to carry passports as identification;
any individual caught without a passport was either subject to arrest and
deportation to haciendas in the Yucatán, executed immediately, or sent to
labor camps or haciendas in Sonora. More than 2000 adults were deported
under these policies; children of those who were deported were sent to live as
servants with local families or left to die (Hu-DeHart 1974). Historian Evelyn
Hu-DeHart (1974: 83) observes: “One tragic consequence of these procedures
was the splitting up of the families, all the more devastating in a society in
which the family had been such a strong cultural institution.”
Specific practices at the haciendas in Sonora and the Yucatán further
amplified the atmosphere of fear and intimidation. A Yaqui man describes
in his memoirs the weekly scene at the haciendas: “Out in the middle of the
176 Heritage value of skeletal remains

cuartel, Yaqui men were sorted into three lines. Men in one line were to be
killed; men in the second line were to be deported; men in the third line were
released to work another week” (Moisés et al. 1971: 25). The forced labor,
deportations, and splitting up of families characteristic of this time resulted
in several rescue-style raids on haciendas in Sonora by Yaqui warriors.
On May 31, 1902, the New York Times (1902c) ran the following story:
YAQUI INDIANS ON WARPATH
Kill the Governor of a Ranch and Make Several Raids

TUCSON, Arizona, May 30.-The Yaqui Indians are again on the warpath. On
Tuesday a band of Yaquis visited La Carmen, a hacienda near Hermosillo, and
killed the governor of the ranch and a servant, besides carrying off the provisions
and taking away the best stock on the place. Another band visited the ranch of Don
Juan Maytorena, near Guaymas, and raided it. The occupants escaped when they
saw the Indians approaching. Several other haciendas were visited and robbed. The
situation is serious.

11.2.4 1902 Massacre

Our bioarchaeological research focuses on the skeletal remains of 12 Yaqui

individuals involved in one of these rescue-style raids (the New York Times
story quoted above does not appear to be connected to this rescue raid but does
give a sense of the tone utilized in media coverage of Yaqui activities). This
rescue raid was followed by a violent encounter between the Yaqui and
the Mexican army. Hrdlička (1904: 65–6) provides a brief but detailed account
of the events:
In June, 1902, a force of 200 to 300 free and armed Yaquis descended one evening
on four haciendas near Hermosillo and, without doing any damage, took away,
partly by force, over 600 Yaqui there employed. The whole party proceeded in
the direction of Ures, with the intention of reaching the safe upper Yaqui country.
A little southwest of Ures the party had a skirmish with soldiers, whom they
defeated. Shortly afterward the Yaquis reached the isolated, rough, but not very
high mountain called Sierra de Mazatán, nearly south of Ures. Here they waited
for the soldiers. The armed party separated from the rest and took up a strong
position on a rugged ridge facing westward. The men, women, and children from
the haciendas, with a guard of about a score of armed men, made camp on sloping
ground, thickly overgrown with visaches, etc., separated from the ridge by a rough
though not very deep barranca. It was in this camp that some of the men commenced
to make bows and arrows, rude spears consisting of pointed sticks, and clubs. On the
night of June 15th [Note: the correct date is June 8th] a force of about 900 Mexican
soldiers, under General Luis Torres, instead of attacking the armed Yaquis from the
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 177

front, as the latter expected, rounded the mountain and in the morning surprised the
camp of Indians from the haciendas. At the first volley the entire party, except those
who were wounded or killed on the spot, ran down the mountain, most of the
women and the armed guard directing their flight through the barranca. The soldiers
following killed many here and took the rest prisoner. In one part of the gulch
resistance was offered by the armed guard. The main armed body of the Yaquis was
too far away to actively participate, and when the panic began, that part, with some
of the men from the haciendas, escaped over the mountain.

General Luis Torres’s official account of this encounter records the Yaqui
fatalities: 78 men, 26 women, and 20 children. He records 234 Yaqui taken
as prisoners – but does not include in that number male children under the age
of 10 – and one injury and no fatalities among the Mexican troops (Troncoso
1977).

11.2.5 Hrdlička in Mexico

The US papers of the time began reporting on the Yaqui fighting around Sierra
de Mazatán on June 5, 1902. The New York Times (1902b) ran a story entitled
“Yaqui Indian Uprising,” which mentions the Yaqui fighting in the Mazatán
Mountains specifically. The article also states that it was estimated that there
were 1000 well-armed Yaqui assembled in the foothills and that the Mexican
soldiers were outnumbered and short of both arms and ammunition. On June 8,
the same day as the massacre at Sierra de Mazatán, the New York Times
(1902a) ran another article entitled “No War with Yaqui Indians,” in which
General Torres denounced the reports of war between the Yaqui and the
Mexican troops in Sonora. Torres insisted that the only war that existed was
in the mind of the correspondents along the border and that all that was going
on was minor skirmishes. As stated above, both President Diáz and General
Torres had a vested interest in maintaining regional stability (or at least the
image of stability) to keep the influx of foreign capital flowing into Sonora.
All of this might have remained simply a footnote in history had it not
been for the actions of Aleš Hrdlička. Hrdlička, an American physical anthro-
pologist, was traveling in Mexico at the time, conducting research for the
American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) under the auspices of the
Hyde expedition. Three weeks after the Sierra de Mazatán event, Hrdlička,
escorted by rurales, traveled to the site and found the bodies of the Yaqui lying
where they had fallen. In one area the bodies of 12 women and a little girl
were heaped together; he also found two areas in which rows of men had been
executed and a cradle-board with the body of a dead infant still secured to it.
Hrdlička (1904: 66) stated: “My object in visiting the place was to obtain
178 Heritage value of skeletal remains

skeletal material, in which I was successful; but most of the skulls, whether
from a peculiar effect of the Mauser cartridges or from the closeness of the
range, were so shattered as to be of no use.” He collected skeletal remains
from 12 individuals, packed them in a zinc-lined box filled with sawdust and
shipped them to AMNH (Hrdlička n.d.: 452). He also collected weapons,
articles of clothing and jewelry, and the cradle-board (Hrdlička 1904).
On his way to Sierra de Mazatán, Hrdlička passed the body of a Yaqui man,
who had been executed the day before, hanging from a tree. He photographed
the man from three different angles, taking the time to pose the body
(he removes the man’s hat for one photograph and then places it back on the
man’s head in another photograph). Days later he collected the man’s cranium
after the man’s body had been cut down and partially burned.
In 1904 Hrdlička reported on his trip to Sonora in the American Anthropolo-
gist article “Notes on the Indians of Sonora, Mexico.” He referenced his trip
to Sierra de Mazatán and the battle that had taken place prior to his arrival
(quoted earlier in this chapter). He showcased the artifacts collected and made
reference to the 12 skulls in a table highlighting cranial measurements
designed to identify “tribal differences in the various body dimensions”;
he argued that “when these [differences] can be eliminated or explained, there
is good prospect of reducing all the numerous ethnic divisions” of Sonora
(Hrdlička 1904: 86).

11.3 Research methods and findings

As stated in the Introduction to this volume, one way to gain a deeper

understanding of the motivations and consequences of violence for different
categories of participants (e.g. victims, aggressors, captives, warriors) is to
examine the different roles that individual agents and groups play and how
they interact in a specific location. In our research, we found it critical to
analyze our data in context with additional lines of evidence to understand
how to categorize the participation of various groups and individuals in the
June 8, 1902, event at Sierra de Mazatán. However, we were also mindful of
the need to explore bioarchaeological evidence of antemortem stress and
trauma to counter the tendency to categorize the entire life history of these
individuals based on their roles (e.g. victim, perpetrator) during the June 8,
1902 event. Keeping in mind Klaus’s (2012: 37) warning to avoid categorizing
victims of structural violence as “passive,” we utilized multiple lines of
evidence, relying heavily on bioarchaeological data and the historical context
outlined earlier in this chapter, to understand the lives of these 13 individuals,
not just the circumstances surrounding their deaths.
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 179

The violence experienced by the Yaqui was an attempt to reconfigure their

social environment. This type of structural violence1 must never be viewed
as a transitory punctuated event that leaves only a memory with no lasting
effects. This sort of violence becomes a determining factor that shapes future
realities for both individuals and cultures through the imposition of social,
political, and economic structures imposed by the dominant (in this case,
colonial) powers. Thus we must examine the cultural realities of the Yaqui
during this period by their daily practice and not as some static historical event.
Our bioarchaeological analysis focused on cranial remains from 12 individ-
uals and postcranial remains from one individual collected in Sonora by
Hrdlička (Table 11.1). The remains (as well as the other material Hrdlička
collected) were curated at AMNH from 1902 until their repatriation in 2009.
Individual #99–3972 is the executed man; #99–3982 is a set of postcranial
remains from Sierra de Mazatán; the remainder are cranial remains from Sierra
de Mazatán. Eleven of the twelve crania include at least a partial mandible.
(AMNH located a twelfth mandible after these skeletal remains had been
repatriated; as of the time of preparation of this chapter the authors have not
had a chance to examine this mandible.) The set of postcranial remains
includes all long bones from the right side, the left scapula and clavicle, a
cervical vertebra, the fifth lumbar vertebra, the sacrum, and a partial hand
and foot. Other than noting that many of the skulls were “so shattered as to
be of no use” Hrdlička (1904: 66) did not record how he selected which
bones to send to AMNH. However, in the case of the postcranial remains,
the inclusion of all the limbs from the right side of the body suggests use as
comparative specimens.
Sex was estimated using standard variation in features of the cranium and
sacrum (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994); all 13 individuals were identified as
male. Age at death could be estimated for two individuals: #99–3979 was
estimated to be less than 17 years based on the fact that the third molars had
not yet erupted (Ubelaker 1999) and the spheno-occipital synchondrosis was
unfused (Scheuer and Black 2000); #99–3982 was estimated to be 30–39 years
based on features of the auricular surface and pubic symphysis (Ubelaker
1999). The remainder of the cranial remains lacked intact cranial sutures due
to damage from trauma or missing skeletal elements which, combined with the
lack of postcranial remains, left no diagnostic features from which to estimate
age. Therefore age for the remaining 10 individuals could only be roughly
categorized based on degree of dental wear (e.g. younger adult, older adult).

1
Here we are constructing the idea of structural violence around Bourgois’ (2003) idea of “social
suffering,” Farmer’s (2004 and 2006 et al.) concept of “structural violence,” and Scheper-
Hughes’s (1992) ideas of “everyday violence.”
180 Heritage value of skeletal remains

Table 11.1. Trauma and pathology analysis of cranial remains from 12

individuals and postcranial remains from one individual collected at Sierra de
Mazatán by Hrdlička in 1902.

Accession
number Trauma Pathologies

99–3972 Charred cranium Healed porotic hyperostosis

99–3973 Projectile trauma R parietal boss Healed porotic hyperostosis
99–3974 Projectile trauma L mastoid; blunt Healing cribra orbitalia; 18 LEH on 11
force trauma L side of occipital teeth
99–3975 Healed broken nose; healed fracture Healed porotic hyperostosis
on frontal
99–3976 Healed broken nose Possible periostitis on mandible; two
LEH on two teeth
99–3977 Possible healed depression fracture Possible healed porotic hyperostosis; nine
on sagittal suture LEH on five teeth
99–3978 Multiple sites of sharp force trauma/ One LEH on one tooth
cut marks
99–3979 Blunt force trauma R side of occipital Healing porotic hyperostosis; three LEH
and R temporal on three teeth
99–3980 Blunt force trauma on occipital Healed porotic hyperostosis; three LEH
on three teeth
99–3981 No trauma exhibited No pathologies exhibited
99–3982 No trauma exhibited Lipping on fifth lumbar vertebrae and
body of sacrum
99–3983 No trauma exhibited Healing porotic hyperostosis and cribra
orbitalia; two LEH on one tooth
99–3984 Multiple cut marks Healed porotic hyperostosis; 12 LEH on
eight teeth

LEH, Linear enamel hypoplasia.

All skeletal remains were examined for evidence of pathologies and ante-
mortem and perimortem trauma. Again, the small number of skeletal elements
present limited the data that could be collected. Our data do allow us to explore
individual-level evidence of stress and trauma, and, indeed, every one of the
13 individuals displays evidence of biological stress and/or trauma. Of the
individuals represented by a cranium, two-thirds (8 of 12) exhibited at least
one linear enamel hypoplasia (LEH) and two-thirds (8 of 12) exhibited healed
or healing porotic hyperostosis or cribra orbitalia; 42% (5 of 12) exhibited
both. Our ability to contextualize these indicators of stress (Goodman and Rose
1991; Walker et al. 2009) is limited, but historical accounts indicate that
oppression of the Yaqui continuously intensified after the 1825 Yaqui revolt,
the time period that would have encompassed the lifetimes of these 13
individuals. Forbes (1957) estimates that over 75% of the Yaqui population
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 181

of Sonora was landless by 1890 and those not settled on Yaqui homeland
experienced food shortages. In addition, the pattern of LEH distribution
suggests multiple stressful episodes within an individual’s lifetime: four
individuals display more than one LEH on the same tooth. Evidence of
antemortem trauma includes two individuals with healed broken noses; one
of these individuals also exhibits a healed cranial fracture. The postcranial
remains exhibit lipping on L5 and the base of the sacrum.
These data provide individual-level glimpses of stress, yet limitations of
the skeletal sample (e.g. small size, limited range of skeletal elements present,
exclusively male) restrict our ability to identify population-level patterns
regarding trauma and health. In addition, there are no skeletal datasets avail-
able with which to make specific comparisons about the biological health
of the Yaqui pre- and post-contact or during different periods after the time
of European contact. Interpretation of these data is further complicated by the
fact that porotic hyperostosis and enamel hypoplasias are prevalent in other
populations from the broader geographic region dating from both pre- and
post-contact periods (see, for example, Martin et al. 1985; Palkovich 1987;
Stodder 1994; Stodder et al. 2002) and reflect a variety of etiologies. Thus
biological markers of stress as evident on the skeletal remains that we exam-
ined are not on their own sufficient evidence to theorize structural and direct
violence as experienced by the Yaqui. In summary, our biological data
allow us to suggest that the individuals we observed were subject to stressful
episodes, while our historical research suggests that much of this stress experi-
enced by the Yaqui was related to cultural marginalization. The complexities
of the biological and historical data underscore the value of considering these
forms of evidence holistically.

11.3.1 Bioarchaeological understandings of the 1902 massacre

In our analysis of perimortem trauma related to the 1902 encounter, we

excluded data from #99–3972, as this individual was the executed man and
was thus not involved in the event. Of the remaining 12 individuals, five
exhibit clear evidence of perimortem trauma. Two individuals exhibit project-
ile trauma consistent with a gunshot wound. One individual (#99–3973) was
likely shot while kneeling or lying on the ground, based on the location and
angle of the entrance wound. The bullet entered the right side of the skull
and exited the left side just behind the ear (Figure 11.2). The extensive
trauma produced around the entrance wound is consistent with a high-velocity
contact wound to the head. In the second individual (#99–3974), the bullet
entered the left side of the skull just behind the ear and exited near the right
182 Heritage value of skeletal remains

Figure 11.2. Exit wound for 99–3974 (left); entrance wound of 99–3973 (right).

eye (Figure 11.2). The entrance wound is consistent with a high-velocity round
entering the skull with minimal deformation because of rapid penetration and
absorption of the kinetic energy by the primary fracture or entrance wound.
Two individuals exhibit evidence of blunt force trauma. One individual
(99–3980) exhibits two fractures: one on the occipital near lambda and one
radiating fracture extending up and around the right parietal nearly to the
coronal suture. The shape and dimensions of the fracture (Figure 11.3) are
consistent with the butt of a Mauser rifle (as measured by the authors from an
example in the National Firearms Collection at the Smithsonian Museum of
American History), which was standard issue for the Mexican army at this
time. Individual 99–3979 exhibits evidence of blunt force trauma on the right
occipital and temporal. This individual also exhibits at least three radiating
fractures and additional fractures on the opposite side of the cranium. The
severity of the fractures on both of these skulls suggests the assailant was
striking the victim with a heavy weapon propelled with great force.
Three individuals exhibit evidence of sharp force trauma with a total of
23 cut marks identified. For each incidence of sharp force trauma we recorded
the location, position, length, width, depth, shape, and direction. After data
were collected, a vinyl polysiloxane impression was made of the cut marks.
Positive casts were then produced, creating an exact replica of the cut
marks. These in turn were thin-sectioned and examined microscopically.
Microscopic analysis allowed us to identify the geometry of the cut marks as
well as to verify the maximum depth and width. These measurements allowed
the determination of the amount of soft tissue present on the remains during the
time of processing.
Of the three individuals displaying sharp force trauma we identified one
incident of perimortem sharp force trauma likely related to the massacre event.
In this individual the cut marks are clustered around the right side of the
cranium near the external auditory meatus. Two of these cut marks were
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 183

Figure 11.3. Blunt force trauma on individual 99–3980.

produced by a slicing motion; the cut mark pattern and location suggest that
the ear was cut off around the time of death. The two other individuals exhibit
cut marks that appear to be associated with Hrdlička’s actions when collecting
the skeletal remains. One individual exhibits a chop mark located on the left
lateral aspect of the posterior portion of the ascending ramus. This was likely
produced as Hrdlička was removing the cranium from the body. Additional
cut marks on these two individuals appear to be related to Hrdlička’s efforts
to deflesh his specimens after his return to AMNH.
These skeletal data were analyzed in context with four additional lines
of evidence to categorize the participation of various groups and individuals
in the June 8, 1902, event at Sierra de Mazatán. These were: (1) material culture
collected from Sierra de Mazatán by Hrdlička; (2) historical documents;
184 Heritage value of skeletal remains

(3) Hrdlička’s journal and photographs; and (4) existing literature on the Yaqui
of Sonora. These multiple lines of evidence suggest that this encounter between
Mexican troops and the Yaqui should be classified as a massacre rather than a
battle. The Yaqui were overpowered by the Mexican army and had significantly
fewer and less sophisticated weapons than the soldiers. Approximately
900 Mexican troops attacked a group of Yaqui that likely included a greater
number of people, but it is important to remember that the number of Yaqui
included men, women, children, and elderly individuals. Recall also that at
the time of the encounter the Yaqui were split into two groups – the group that
eventually faced the Mexican army included only 20 armed men.
Perhaps more significant than the number of individuals involved is the
weaponry each side had at its disposal. Historical accounts, including Hrdlička’s
journal and his 1904 article, indicate that only the 20 Yaqui guards were
armed with guns and ammunition. The rest were armed with bows and arrows,
spears, and a macana (a type of knob-headed club) collected by Hrdlička.
Hrdlička’s written accounts and photographs detail the aftermath of
an extremely violent event – he labels one photograph of victims as the
“Slaughter Den.” However, without the context of unequal resources – both
people-power and weapons – these sources of evidence could be viewed as the
remnants of a hard-fought battle resulting in casualties for both sides. As stated
earlier, there were no fatalities reported among the Mexican troops, yet the
army reported 124 Yaqui fatalities. In addition, it is interesting to note that
Hrdlička describes the massacre in no uncertain terms in his journal: “It was a
massacre here and more than one of the rocks was still bespattered with dried
blood or brains of the victims. But the most pathetic sight was th[e] heap of
bodies of killed women among the rocks to one side of the gulch.” (n.d.: 451).
Yet in his 1904 publication for American Anthropologist Hrdlička does not
use the term massacre and in fact refers to the site at Sierra de Mazatán as a
battlefield. Our historical research suggests that the Yaqui were outnumbered
by an army with vastly superior firepower, thus the level of trauma evident in
Hrdlička’s records, the material culture, and the skeletal remains become
further evidence for a massacre of the Yaqui by the Mexican army rather than
a battle fought with relatively equal resources on both sides.

11.4 Repatriation

After completing our analysis of the human remains we brought this infor-
mation to the attention of Robert Valencia (Vice Chairman of the Yaqui tribe),
and he in turn brought it to the Pascua Yaqui tribal council. This started
the repatriation process. Complex negotiations were required to establish how
various Yaqui tribal groups in the USA and Mexico would be involved
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 185

before a formal request was made to AMNH for repatriation of the Yaqui
skeletal remains and objects of material culture. AMNH agreed that they would
return the human remains and material culture to the Yaqui if the National
Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) in Mexico would permit it.
After several long negotiations with the regional INAH office in Sonora
and the national office in Mexico City it was decided that AMNH would
turn the material over to INAH and they would then return the material to the
Yaqui. It was also decided that this transfer of power would take place during
a formal signing ceremony in New York at AMNH during the fall of 2009.
After the ceremony the Yaqui delegation brought the Yaqui remains back to
their homeland. The delegation was met by ceremonial dancers and the Yoeme
American legion post color guard who then processed with the remains to
the church so the community could pay homage to their relatives. Vice
Chairman Valencia observed that even though we (the bioarchaeologists)
could not provide specific identifications for any of these individuals, the
community felt that they deserved the full honors generally reserved for elders
in high standing (Figure 11.4).
The repatriation of the guerreros (“warriors”) Yaqui had tremendous impact
beyond the descendant community via coverage and discussion in countless

Figure 11.4. On November 16, 2009, the remains of the Yaqui were baptized and
ceremonially interred in Viacam, Mexico.
186 Heritage value of skeletal remains

blogs, websites, and news articles. This is because the cooperation and speed of
this international repatriation was unprecedented. However, it was not precedent-
setting. It is important to remember that one of the principal reasons this repatri-
ation was allowed to go forward is that the collection was not considered
archaeological material by AMNH or INAH but rather it was seen as a historic
massacre site and thus a human rights issue. Thus AMNH did not give material
collected in Mexico to a culturally affiliated US federally recognized tribe as part
of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), and
INAH did not return archaeological material to a Mexican tribe.
For the Yaqui people this repatriation had a profound impact on the
community and reopened old wounds and traumatic memories. The social
reality of the Yaqui people was affected by the lives, deaths, and prolonged
burial and grieving process for los guerreros. Their repatriation and their
stories stirred memories of violence that had a profound impact on generations
of people who had not directly experienced the violence but whose mothers,
fathers, and grandparents had.

11.5 Body as heritage

We often ask ourselves what would have happened if our ancestors had not fought to
conserve our territory for the generations of today? A great uncertainty comes over
us, and we deeply value the bravery of our ancestors who gave their lives to inherit a
wide area of land that, to us, clearly denotes the “Yaqui territory”. These stories are
the ones that sustain us on a daily basis. All Yaquis, from a very tender age, listen to
tales that speak not only of the struggle and resistance of our distant ancestors but
also of our living old folk. (Molina 2000: 99)

This quote demonstrates the tremendous value that the Yaqui place on know-
ing and understanding their heritage. Heritage values and activities make the
past a dynamic part of the present and future. In the case of the Yaqui skeletal
remains, the bioarchaeological analysis provided a framework under which the
bodies of the dead become a site of heritage. Human remains are themselves
“objects” of material culture, as they can bear artifacts of cultural, political,
social, and historical experiences (Douglas 1966; Foucault 1973; Pérez 2012;
Scheper-Hughes and Lock 1987; Sofaer 2006; Verdery 1999). This includes
tangible proof of violent pasts that can attest to various forms of suffering
(Moore 2009; Moshenska 2009) and serve as a form of “truth-telling” when
violent pasts are ignored or denied (Williams 2007).
During ceremonies and activities associated with the repatriation of the
Yaqui remains, one of the authors of this chapter (VRP) was asked, along
with a colleague, Dr. J. Andrew Darling, to give a series of presentations to the
tribe. We were given the great honor of sharing the story of los guerreros with
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 187

Figure 11.5. As part of ceremonies and activities associated with the repatriation
Ventura Pérez was asked to show the children the skeletal remains and explain the
evidence of violence so that the children could understand the sacrifice of the earlier
generation.

the children of the Rio Yaqui at the pueblo of Vicam, including showing them
how we (bioarchaeologists) learn about their ancestors by studying the skeletal
remains (Figure 11.5).
Meanings and knowledge associated with the bodies of the dead are recog-
nized and shared to convey particular messages – in the case of the Yaqui, the
body becomes a vehicle for telling the story of past violence because the body
itself reflects evidence of that violence. Because “the skeleton represents
human life at its most universal, stripped of the apparent differences that can
divide the living” (Alberti et al. 2009: 135) there is perhaps no more powerful
political statement than to use the bodies of victims of violence as a means for
others to reflect on the meanings and impacts of violence.

11.6 Conclusion

Considering political, social, and economic factors has allowed us to expand

our bioarchaeological analysis of the skeletal remains of 13 Yaqui individuals
from Sonora, Mexico. Based on various lines of evidence we concluded that
evidence of biological stress and trauma in these individuals demonstrates
the persistent and pervasive nature of structural and direct violence
188 Heritage value of skeletal remains

experienced by the Yaqui in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In

addition, while we are mindful of the need to refrain from characterizing these
individuals’ lives based on the circumstances of their deaths, we concluded
that the 12 individuals collected from Sierra de Mazatán in 1902 were victims
of a violent massacre perpetrated by Mexican troops.
Oppression and persecution of the Yaqui continued through the Mexican
revolution and beyond. The last armed conflict between Yaquis in the
USA and US troops occurred in 1918; in 1927 the Yaquis of Sonora
engaged in their last major battle with Mexican troops and lost. While
Yaqui tribes on both sides of the border have been granted recognition
by their respective governments, the Yaquis characterize their history as
a “long history of struggle” (Molina 2000: 98). Our bioarchaeological
analysis and the 2009 repatriation activities brought this heritage of Yaqui
resistance and resilience to younger generations, making the past a dynamic
part of the present.

Acknowledgments
We thank Dr. Debra Martin and Cheryl Anderson for inviting us to participate
in the special poster session at the 81st Annual Meeting of the American
Association of Physical Anthropologists and contribute to this volume. We
are grateful to the leadership of the Pascua Yaqui and traditional Yaqui in
Mexico, particularly Vice Chairman Robert Valencia, for their guidance and
collaboration on this project and allowing us to use photographs of the skeletal
remains and reburial of their ancestors. This research benefited significantly
from the efforts of our colleague Dr. J. Andrew Darling. We would also like
to thank Dr. Randall McGuire and María Elisa Villalpando Canchola. Finally,
we are grateful for the helpful comments offered by one anonymous reviewer.
Any errors or omissions remain our responsibility.

References
Agarwal, S. C. & Glencross, B. A. (2011). Building a social bioarchaeology. In:
Agarwal, S. C. & Glencross, B. A. (eds.) Social Bioarchaeology. Malden: Wiley-
Blackwell, 1–11.
Alberti, S. J. M. M., Bienkowski, P. & Chapman, M. J. (2009). Should we display the
dead? Museum and Society, 7, 133–49.
Bourgois, P. (2003). Crack and the political economy of social suffering. Addiction
Research and Theory, 11, 31–7.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection from
Human Skeletal Remains. Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum of
Natural History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archaeological Survey, Research Series,
No. 44.
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 189

Douglas, M. (1966). Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and
Taboo. London: Routledge and Keegan Paul.
Erickson, K. C. (2008). Yaqui Homeland and Homeplace: The Everyday Production of
Ethnic Identity. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Farmer, P. (2004). An anthropology of structural violence. Current Anthropology, 45,
305–25.
Farmer, P., Nizeye, B., Stulac, S. & Ksehavjee, S. (2006). Structural violence and
clinical medicine. PLoS Medicine, 3, 1686–91.
Forbes, J. D. (1957). Historical survey of the Indians of Sonora, 1821–1910. Ethnohis-
tory, 4, 335–68.
Foucault, M. (1973). The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception.
New York: Pantheon Books.
Goodman, A. H. & Leatherman, T. L. (eds.) (1998). Building a New Biocultural
Synthesis: Political-Economic Perspectives on Human Biology. Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press.
Goodman, A. H. & Rose, J. C. (1991). Dental enamel hypoplasias as indicators of
nutritional status. In: Kelley, M. A. & Larsen, C. S. (eds.) Advances in Dental
Anthropology. New York: Wiley-Liss, 279–93.
Guidotti-Hernández, N. M. (2011). Unspeakable Violence: Remapping U.S. and
Mexican National Imaginaries. Durham: Duke University Press.
Hrdlička, A. (1904). Notes on the Indians of Sonora, Mexico. American Anthropologist,
6, 51–89.
(n.d.). Personal Journal. Unpublished.
Hu-DeHart, E. (1974). Development and rural rebellion: pacification of the
Yaquis in the late Porfiriato. The Hispanic American Historical Review, 54,
72–93.
(1984). Yaqui Resistance and Survival: The Struggle for Land and Autonomy 1821–
1910. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.
Klaus, H. D. (2012). The bioarchaeology of structural violence: a theoretical model and
a case study. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarch-
aeology of Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 29–62.
Larsen, C. S. (1999). Bioarchaeology: Interpreting Behavior from the Human Skeleton.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) (1997). Troubled Times: Violence and Warfare in
the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach.
Martin, D. L., Goodman, A. H. & Armelagos, G. J. (1985). Skeletal pathologies as
indicators of quality and quantity of diet. In: Gilbert, R. I. & Mielke, J. H. (eds.)
The Analysis of Prehistoric Diets. Orlando: Academic Press, 227–79.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) (2012a). The Bioarchaeology of
Violence. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (2012b). Introduction: bioarchaeology
and the study of violence. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R.
(eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida
Press, 1–10.
190 Heritage value of skeletal remains

Meyers, A. D. & Carlson, D. L. (2002). Peonage, power relations, and the built
environment at Hacienda Tabi, Yucatán, Mexico. International Journal of Histor-
ical Archaeology, 6, 225–52.
Meyers, A. D., Harvey, A. S. & Levithol, S. A. (2008). Houselot refuse disposal and
geochemistry at a late 19th century hacienda village in Yucatán, Mexico. Journal
of Field Archaeology, 33, 371–88.
Moisés, R., Kelley, J. H. & Holden, W. C. (1971). A Yaqui Life: The Personal
Chronicle of a Yaqui Indian. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.
Molina, H. (2000). Historic autonomies: Yaqui autonomy. In: Mayor, A. B. C. Y. (ed.)
Indigenous Autonomy in Mexico. Copenhagen: International Work Group for
Indigenous Affairs, 98–116.
Moore, L. M. (2009). (Re)Covering the past, remembering trauma: the politics of
commemoration at sites of atrocity. Journal of Public and International Affairs,
20, 47–64.
Moshenska, G. (2009). Resonant materiality and violent remembering: archaeology,
memory and bombing. International Journal of Heritage Studies, 15, 44–56.
New York Times. (1902a). No War with Yaqui Indians, June 8.
(1902b). Yaqui Indian Uprising, June 5.
(1902c). Yaqui Indians on the Warpath, May 31.
Palkovich, A. M. (1987). Endemic disease patterns in paleopathology: porotic hyper-
ostosis. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 74, 527–37.
Pérez, V. R. (2012). The politicization of the dead: violence as performance, politics as
usual. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of
Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 13–28.
Sandoval, E. Q. (2009). Yaqui history. Available: www.pascuayaqui-nsn.gov.
[Accessed November 10, 2012.]
Scheper-Hughes, N. (1992). Death without Weeping: The Violence of Everday Life in
Brazil. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Scheper-Hughes, N. & Lock, M. M. (1987). The mindful body: a prolegomenon to future
work in medical anthropology. Medical Anthropology Quarterly, New Series, 1, 6–41.
Scheuer, L. & Black, S. M. (2000). Developmental Juvenile Osteology. San Diego:
Elsevier Academic Press.
Sofaer, J. R. (2006). The Body as Material Culture: A Theoretical Osteoarchaeology.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Spicer, E. H. (1962). Cycles of Conquest: The Impact of Spain, Mexico, and the United
States on the Indians of the Southwest, 1533–1960. Tucson: University of Arizona
Press.
(1967). Pasqua: A Yaqui Village in Arizona. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
(1980). The Yaquis: A Cultural History. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Steckel, R. H. & Rose, J. C. (eds.) (2002). The Backbone of History: Health and
Nutrition in the Western Hemisphere. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Stodder, A. L. W. (1994). Bioarchaeological investigations of protohistoric Pueblo
health and demography. In: Larsen, C. S. & Milner, G. R. (eds.) In the Wake of
Contact: Biological Responses to Conquest. New York: Wiley-Liss, 97–107.
 Heidi J. Bauer-Clapp and Ventura R. Pérez 191

Stodder, A. L. W., Martin, D. L., Goodman, A. H. & Reff, D. T. (2002). Cultural

longevity in the face of biological stress: the Anasazi of the American Southwest.
In: Steckel, R. H. & Rose, J. C. (eds.) The Backbone of History: Health and
Nutrition in the Western Hemisphere. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
481–505.
Troncoso, F. D. (1977). Las Guerros Con Las Tribus Yaqui Y Mayo, Tomo Ii. Mexico:
Instituto Nacional Indigenista.
Tung, T. A. (2012). Violence against women: differential treatment of local and foreign
females in the heartland of the Wari Empire, Peru. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod,
R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The Bioarchaeology of Violence. Gainesville: Univer-
sity of Florida Press, 180–98.
Ubelaker, D. H. (1999). Human Skeletal Remains: Excavation, Analysis, Interpretation,
3rd edn. New Brunswick, Aldine Transaction.
Verdery, K. (1999). The Political Lives of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist
Change. New York: Columbia University Press.
Walker, P. L., Bathurst, R. R., Richman, R., Gjerdrum, T. & Andrushko, V. A. (2009).
The causes of porotic hyperostosis and cribra orbitalia: a reappraisal of the
iron-deficiency-anemia hypothesis. American Journal of Physical Anthropology,
139, 109–25.
Williams, P. (2007). Memorial Museums: The Global Rush to Commemorate Atrocities.
Oxford: Berg.
12 Interpreting skeletal trauma and
violence at Grasshopper Pueblo
(AD 1275–1400)
kathryn m. b austian

12.1 Introduction: bioarchaeology and violence

Within archaeological contexts, evidence of warfare and interpersonal violence

is most frequently observed in weaponry, defensive site layout and architec-
ture, and catastrophic site abandonment and/or destruction (Kuckelman et al.
2002; LeBlanc 1999; LeBlanc and Rice 2001; Tuggle and Reid 2001).
Bioarchaeological evidence of violence is most easily observed in perimortem
lethal trauma to the skeleton (i.e. projectiles embedded in bone, scalping, etc.)
and mortuary treatments that suggest social differentiation of subjugated
members of a community. Analysis of human skeletal remains can contribute
additional information for reconstructions of human response to environmental
change, population aggregation, and changing social relationships. Increases
in violence in the American Southwest during the late prehistoric period
have been attributed to degrading environments and greater competition
over scarce resources, particularly food (LeBlanc 1999; 2006; LeBlanc and
Register 2003).
This chapter examines the impact of rapid cultural change at the prehistoric
settlement of Grasshopper Pueblo in the American Southwest. This commu-
nity provides an excellent opportunity to interpret the role and meaning of
violence because of the culmination of multiethnic encounters, environmental
marginality, agricultural intensification, and climatic stress due to droughts
during its occupation that could have led to conflict and warfare. Violence at
Grasshopper has previously been downplayed or dismissed as researchers
carried out analyses that considered only single or a few factors as evidence
(Allen et al. 1985; Birkby 1982; Reid and Whittlesey 1999; Tuggle and Reid

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

192
 Kathryn M. Baustian 193

2001; Whittlesey 1978). Collective consideration of factors is necessary in

violence studies, and the addition of bioarchaeological data can greatly
enhance interpretation and reconstructions of the past. The ability to bring
together a great deal of archaeological contextual information and biological
data from human skeletal remains at Grasshopper Pueblo provides an oppor-
tunity to better understand the role of violence in this community.
Using bioarchaeological data, including osteological indicators of trauma
and stress, this systematic analysis explores the use of lethal and non-lethal
violence within the multiethnic population at the pueblo. It uses a biocultural
model to integrate osteological data with cultural and environmental variables
to increase understanding of the community. Analysis of the human remains
from Grasshopper Pueblo has been undertaken by many previous researchers.
Aspects of child health (Berry 1985; Hinkes 1983; Schultz et al. 2007), adult
diet (Ezzo 1994), and musculoskeletal indicators (Perry 2004) have shown the
population to be under stress during occupation of the community. Isotope data
and biodistance data (Birkby 1982; McClelland 2003) have been useful to
demonstrate migration in the region and to distinguish local from non-local
individuals. The results of this analysis are complementary to these prior
investigations of Grasshopper Pueblo and build on the interpretation of the
social dynamics of the community in particular and the greater region as well.

12.2 Background

This case study examines evidence for shifts in social structure among moun-
tain Mogollon Pueblo populations during the fourteenth century AD. The
specific region of study is the Grasshopper Plateau, located in the mountains
of east-central Arizona. Populations occupying this region engaged in a
hunting and gathering subsistence early in their chronology and shifted toward
a reliance on agriculture later on. The mountainous landscape has been
described as poorly suited for intense agriculture (Reid and Whittlesey
1999), therefore adaptation was likely a key factor for successful life in the
region. Unsuccessful adaptation to such a lifestyle may have ultimately led to
depopulation of the area by AD 1400, however.
The Grasshopper community experienced major growth during the late
thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries AD. Three major room blocks (1, 2,
and 3) and several smaller room blocks were constructed and expanded as
migration in the region led to aggregation of a large population (Figure 12.1).
Movement of both Ancestral Puebloan and Mogollon populations during this
time resulted in several multiethnic communities, Grasshopper Pueblo being
the largest (Riggs 2001). Archaeological excavation of a large portion of the
194 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

Figure 12.1. Main room blocks at Grasshopper Pueblo (from Baustian et al. 2012).

community revealed materials (e.g. ceramics) and architectural features (e.g.

wall openings) of both Mogollon and Ancestral Puebloan culture groups.
Room Block 2 was home to local and nearby regional people while more
migrants from the Mogollon Rim, Chevelon Valley, and more distant Grass-
hopper regions mostly occupied Room Blocks 1 and 3 (Ezzo and Price 2002).
Although Grasshopper Pueblo experienced a large influx of outsiders, the
community appears to have remained relatively egalitarian (Reid 1989;
Whittlesey and Reid 2001). Mortuary patterns do not suggest strict social
hierarchies with subordinate subgroups in the population (Whittlesey 1978).
Whittlesey (1978) found mortuary patterns to be mostly homogenous among
Grasshopper burials. Studies (Clark 1967; Griffin 1969; Whittlesey 1978) have
debated the presence of higher status groups; however, only a few burials
(such as Burial 140) with numerous grave goods indicate differential social
status in the community. Alternatively, inference of social ranking through
number of grave items may be inaccurate as Whittlesey’s ethnographic review
of Puebloan mortuary rites suggested that items in a burial can be more
reflective of those performing the mortuary rites than the individual buried.
Based upon grave location, those buried in the Great Kiva may have been
 Kathryn M. Baustian 195

members of a distinct group, possibly characterized by ceremonial or social

importance (Whittlesey 1978). Isotope data from Ezzo (1991; 1992; Ezzo and
Price 2002) demonstrate that both local and non-local people were buried in
the Great Kiva. Considering information from both Ezzo and Whittlesey, those
in the Great Kiva may have been members of the same kin group and that
afforded them a particular social significance in the community (Whittlesey
1978). This would have been especially important if non-local females were
marrying local males through intermarriage practices (Ezzo and Price 2002;
Whittlesey 2002).
Other forms of data have not yet indicated hierarchical subgroups (based on
social ranking, ethnic group, or other criteria) at Grasshopper Pueblo. Only
Ezzo’s (1991; 1993) data indicate that differential access to foods occurred
between early period males and females at Grasshopper Pueblo. This finding
does not prove higher status among males, however, and both sexes had
similar diets later on in the occupation.
The data from this analysis present another measure of social interaction and
organization of the population at Grasshopper Pueblo. By examining evidence
of trauma and health and comparing results with archaeological contextual
data and other biological indicators, this analysis further explores the presence
of separate groups in the community. An understanding of the social dynamics
of Grasshopper Pueblo will allow better interpretation of patterns of violence.

12.3 Analysis

The skeletal assemblage from Grasshopper Pueblo was analyzed at the Arizona
State Museum in Tucson, Arizona. Of the 674 burials in the assemblage,
individuals of approximately 15 years and older were analyzed. Poor preserva-
tion and extensive fragmentation prevented inclusion of some individuals and
ultimately a sample of 187 adult skeletons was included in the analysis.
Individuals in the sample had been excavated from numerous areas of the
settlement, including room blocks, plazas, extramural areas, and the Great Kiva.
These individuals represent both early and late period Grasshopper burials.
A biological profile was established for each individual using standard
osteological techniques outlined by Buikstra and Ubelaker (1994). Patho-
logical processes such as infectious disease and evidence of physical stress
were documented, and additional analyses were completed to document trau-
matic injuries of the cranium and postcranial skeleton. Both lethal (unhealed)
and non-lethal (healed) injuries can offer information about interpersonal
conflict and the use of violence among past populations (Brink et al. 1998;
Scott and Buckley 2010; Walker 1989, 1997, 2001). For communities such as
196 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

that at Grasshopper Pueblo, documenting patterns of injuries has the potential

to trace behavioral patterns of individuals as well as groups (e.g. different
sexes or subgroups) and the community as a whole. Non-lethal trauma, in
particular, is especially informative for assessing the scale and duration of
violence within a time period and/or region.
Non-lethal cranial trauma was categorized as facial fractures (e.g. nasal,
zygomatic, mandibular) or cranial depression fractures (CDFs). CDFs occur in
fairly predictable ways when a blunt object strikes the cranial vault. When the
injury does not kill the victim, the bone slowly heals and the CDF remains as a
permanent marker of the injury (Merbs 1989; Walker 1989). All CDFs were
assessed for size and severity as well as location and state of healing. Injuries
were measured with digital calipers for length, width, and depth. Healing was
scored on an ordinal scale of 0 to 4 to indicate no healing up to completely
healed. The larger and deeper the injury, the more likely it was to be qualified
as severe. Severe CDFs were quantified by depths greater than 0.7 mm and
having a total area of 150.0 mm2 or greater (although most had areas much
larger). Lastly, the location of each injury was noted with respect to the bone(s)
affected and the specific area of trauma.
Postcranial fractures were categorized using standards described by Lovell
(1997; 2008) and Galloway (1999). Of most interest was the location and state
of healing of each injury. Documentation of trauma to the postcranial skeleton
was important for interpretation of behavior of the individual, particularly if
the cranium also had non-lethal trauma – research has shown that these injuries
can have neurological effects that predispose the individual to recurring injury
which may not be violent in nature (Blackmer and Marshall 1999; Caufeild
et al. 2004; Hedges et al. 1995). Lastly, if any information regarding the
sequence of injuries could be obtained, it was noted.
Finally, select musculoskeletal stress markers (MSMs) were assessed for
level of development so that evidence of activity patterns might be inferred for
the individuals at Grasshopper Pueblo. MSMs were analyzed through a ranked
scoring of development (Mariotti et al. 2007) and identification of presence or
absence of specific changes in bone morphology (Capasso et al. 1999).
Development of MSMs on the major long bones of the arms and legs (e.g.
pectoralis major, deltoideus, brachioradialis, gluteus maximus, iliopsoas) was
documented to tease out patterns in activities varying by sex and social status.

12.4 Results

Results of the analysis of the Grasshopper Pueblo sample have previously been
reported by Baustian and colleagues (2012), but are summarized here again.
 Kathryn M. Baustian 197

Table 12.1. Distribution of CDFs by sex and age groups.

Sex Young adult Middle adult Old adult Adult Total

Male 40% (8/20) 30% (12/40) 31% (5/16) 50% (1/2) 33% (26/78)
Female 41% (17/41) 17% (6/36) 33% (7/21) 80% (4/5) 33% (34/103)
Indeterminate sex 67% (2/3) 0% (0/1) 50% (1/2) 0% (0/0) 50% (3/6)
Total 42% (27/64) 23% (18/77) 33% (13/39) 71% (5/7) 34% (63/187)

The relationship of CDFs and distribution among subgroups of the population

is of most importance for interpreting behaviors and relationships. The occur-
rence of CDFs for both sexes and all age groups is presented in Table 12.1.
The distribution of CDFs among the sample of 187 individuals was fairly
equal for both sexes. Approximately one-third (34%; n ¼ 63) of crania
exhibited at least one CDF. This included 34 females (33% of 103 females),
26 males (33% of 78 males), and three individuals of unknown sex (50% of six
individuals). No statistical difference was found for presence of CDFs among
either sex (Fisher’s exact two-tailed test; P ¼ 0.8739). For the 63 individuals
exhibiting CDFs, 38% (n ¼ 24) had multiple injuries while the rest had only
one. Both males and females had similar occurrences of single or multiple
cranial injuries. The majority of CDFs were not severe; only five CDFs were
larger in size and deep enough to be qualified as severe.
Analysis of cranial trauma by age at death showed that young adults (15–34
years of age) frequently incurred injuries (42%; n ¼ 27/64). Those who died as
middle (35–49 years of age) and old (over 50 years of age) adults also had CDFs
but at lower frequencies (23% and 33%, respectively). It cannot be determined
when in the lives of these older age groups each CDF occurred as almost all were
completely healed. Only one old male and four young females had cranial injuries
that could be categorized as perimortem, or occurring around the time of death. It
is possible that these five CDFs contributed to the deaths of the individuals.
All but three individuals in the dataset could be linked with Ezzo’s (1991)
isotope data for temporal occupation (Early or Late), and 53 individuals
could be linked to isotope data for geographic origin (Table 12.2). Once
again, there was approximately equal distribution of individuals with CDFs
from the Early period (33%; n ¼ 43/130) and from the Late period (36%;
n ¼ 19/53). For the 53 individuals in the sample that were determined to be
local (n ¼ 21) and non-local (n ¼ 32), rates of CDF trauma were somewhat
different between groups. Although the sex ratio was approximately equal for
both groups, 48% (n ¼ 10/21) of individuals with local geographic origin had
CDFs, while 28% (n ¼ 9/32) of non-locals had CDFs. These results do not
suggest that non-locals were targeted for violent attack.
Table 12.2. Grasshopper Pueblo burial dataset.

Burial Age: lower Age: upper Age CDFs Burial Occupation Average
number Sex estimate estimate category present Origin location period depth of CDFs

1 Probable female 20 29 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural? Early N/A

2 Male 15 24 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 1.20 mm
3 Female 30 35 Young adult 2 N/A Extramural Early 1.39 mm
5 Female 25 29 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
6 Female 40 49 Middle adult 3 N/A Extramural Late 0.54 mm
7 Male 60 100 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
8 Female 30 34 Middle adult 3 N/A Extramural Early 0.46 mm
10 Male 25 35 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
14 Female Indeterminate Indeterminate Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 0.78 mm
15 Female 30 35 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
17 Female 18 25 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 0.70 mm
20 Female 45 49 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
26 Probable male 44 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
30 Female 28 39 Middle adult 1 N/A Room Block 1 Early 0.80 mm
35 Probable female 50 59 Old adult 2 N/A Extramural Early 0.83 mm
36 Male Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 2 N/A Extramural Early N/A
38 Female 25 30 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 0.57 mm
39 Probable male 50 100 Old adult 4 N/A Extramural Early 0.72 mm
40 Probable male 45 49 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
41 Female 25 29 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
42 Probable male 25 34 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
43 Probable female 30 34 Middle adult 1 N/A Extramural Late 0.39 mm
51A Probable female Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 2 N/A Room Block 2 Early 0.62 mm
52 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
56 Female 18 22 Young adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
57 Female 30 39 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Early N/A
62 Male 40 49 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
63 Female 25 29 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
64 Female 35 39 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
65 Probable male Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
68 Female Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 2 Local Great Kiva Early 0.54 mm
76 Male 50 100 Old adult 1 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
80 Female 25 29 Young adult 1 N/A Plaza 1 Late 1.04 mm
81 Female 18 21 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
82 Male 20 25 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
83 Indeterminate 20 25 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
84 Female 25 30 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
88 Female 20 25 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
89 Probable male 50 60 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
91 Probable female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
93A Indeterminate 44 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
112 Female 35 45 Middle adult 3 Non-local Great Kiva Early 0.58 mm
115 Female 20 25 Young adult 1 Non-local Room Block 2 Early 2.06 mm
116 Female 45 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
129 Male 22 28 Young adult 0 Local Great Kiva Early N/A
133 Indeterminate 30 35 Young adult 1 N/A Room Block 2 Early 0.79 mm
140 Male 40 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
141 Male 20 24 Young adult 1 N/A Room Block 2 Early 0.78 mm
142 Probable female 30 34 Young adult 1 Local Great Kiva Early 0.53 mm
143 Female 18 21 Young adult 1 Local Great Kiva Early 3.38 mm
144 Probable female 40 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
150 Female 25 30 Young adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
152 Female 15 18 Young adult 1 Local Great Kiva Early 0.78 mm
158 Male 25 30 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 2 Early N/A
163 Probable male 45 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
164 Female 16 20 Young adult 0 Non-local Great Kiva Early N/A
166 Male 35 39 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
Table 12.2. (cont.)

Burial Age: lower Age: upper Age CDFs Burial Occupation Average
number Sex estimate estimate category present Origin location period depth of CDFs

168 Male 45 49 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A

171 Indeterminate 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
174 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
175 Female 45 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
178 Female 23 30 Young adult 0 Non-local Great Kiva Early N/A
184 Female 35 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
187 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 Non-local Great Kiva Early N/A
188 Female 22 30 Young adult 0 Local Great Kiva Early N/A
190 Male 30 39 Middle adult 0 Local Great Kiva Early N/A
194 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
195 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Great Kiva Early N/A
196 Male 35 40 Middle adult 1 N/A Great Kiva Early 0.32 mm
198 Female 40 50 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
199 Male 23 30 Young adult 2 N/A Extramural Late 1.09 mm
200 Male 45 100 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
201 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
203 Female 19 23 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
206 Female 30 40 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
208 Male 35 45 Middle adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
209 Male 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
210 Female 45 60 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
211 Male 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
216 Female 45 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
217 Probable female 50 59 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
222 Indeterminate 45 60 Old adult 1 N/A Room Block 2 Early 2.11 mm
225A Probable female 30 39 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 2 Early N/A
226 Male 35 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
231 Male 25 30 Young adult 3 Local Great Kiva Early 0.97 mm
232 Female 20 25 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
233 Female 25 35 Young adult 1 Local Room Block 2 Early 3.98 mm
236 Female 18 25 Young adult 3 N/A Room Block 2 Early 1.55 mm
246 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
253 Male 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
255 Female 50 100 Old adult 1 N/A Room Block 2 Early 0.76 mm
257 Female 18 21 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 0.76 mm
258 Probable female 40 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
260 Probable female Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
262 Female 35 49 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
263 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
264A Male 40 45 Middle adult 3 N/A Extramural Early 0.40 mm
267 Male 18 24 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 0.99 mm
269 Male 50 100 Old adult 1 N/A Extramural Early 1.07 mm
270 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
271 Male 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
272 Female 18 22 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
274 Male 40 50 Middle adult 1 N/A N/A N/A 0.53 mm
279 Probable male 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
298 Male 30 40 Middle adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
299 Female 50 100 Old adult 1 N/A Room Block 2 Early 0.19 mm
307 Female 18 24 Young adult 2 N/A Room Block 1 Late 0.64 mm
312 Female 35 45 Middle adult 1 N/A Room Block 1 Early 0.60 mm
314 Male 35 40 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
317 Female 15 20 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
318 Female 25 35 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 5 Early N/A
323 Male 45 100 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
324 Female 45 100 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
325 Female 18 24 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
Table 12.2. (cont.)

Burial Age: lower Age: upper Age CDFs Burial Occupation Average
number Sex estimate estimate category present Origin location period depth of CDFs

326 Male 50 59 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A

327 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 5 Early N/A
328 Male 50 100 Old adult 2 N/A Room Block 1 Late 1.50 mm
331 Male 35 40 Middle adult 1 N/A Extramural Late 0.15 mm
335 Probable male 45 100 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
344 Female 25 35 Young adult 1 N/A Room Block 1 Early 0.54 mm
352 Male 16 21 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
353 Male 30 40 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
354 Probable male 45 60 Old adult 0 N/A N/A N/A N/A
357 Probable female 35 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
358 Indeterminate 18 22 Young adult 1 N/A Extramural Late 0.80 mm
359 Probable male 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Extramural Early N/A
363 Male 15 20 Young adult 0 N/A Extramural Late N/A
367 Male 25 30 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Early N/A
372 Male 30 39 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
373 Male 40 60 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Late N/A
374 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
375 Male 30 40 Middle adult 1 N/A Room Block 1 Late 0.40 mm
380 Female 27 35 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
381 Male 50 55 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
382 Probable male 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Late N/A
383 Female 45 100 Old adult 3 N/A Room Block 1 Late 0.58 mm
386 Female 25 35 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Late N/A
391 Male 35 45 Middle adult 1 Local Room Block 1 Late 0.64 mm
392 Male 25 30 Young adult 1 N/A Room Block 1 Late 0.89 mm
399A Probable female 35 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
400 Female 35 45 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Early N/A
405 Male 40 50 Middle adult 2 N/A Room Block 3 Late 0.38 mm
412 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Early N/A
417 Probable male 45 100 Old adult 1 N/A Room Block 3 Late 0.29 mm
450 Male 40 50 Middle adult 1 Local Room Block 3 Late 0.87 mm
453 Female 25 35 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 1 Early N/A
458 Male 35 40 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 3 Late N/A
460 Female 35 45 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 3 Late N/A
468 Male 30 40 Middle adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
473 Probable female 40 50 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
477 Male 40 55 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 2 Early N/A
528 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 Non-local Room Block 2 Early N/A
536 Male 30 40 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 3 Early N/A
540 Female 25 30 Young adult 0 Local Room Block 2 Early N/A
543 Male 30 40 Middle adult 0 Local Room Block 7 Late N/A
545 Probable female 35 60 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 11 Late N/A
547 Female Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 1 N/A Room Block 12 Late 0.53 mm
560 Female 40 50 Middle adult 0 Non-local Room Block 9 Late N/A
561 Male 25 30 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 9 Late N/A
564 Female Indeterminate Indeterminate Adult 1 Local Room Block 2 Early 0.76 mm
568 Probable female 50 60 Old adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
569 Male 35 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Room Block 1 Early N/A
572 Female 50 100 Old adult 3 N/A Room Block 1 Early 0.87 mm
575 Female 30 35 Young adult 3 Non-local Plaza 2 Early 0.29 mm
576 Male 30 40 Middle adult 2 Non-local Plaza 2 Early 0.75 mm
579 Female 20 24 Young adult 1 Non-local Plaza 2 Early 0.39 mm
580 Male 30 40 Middle adult 1 Non-local Room Block 3 Late 0.65 mm
581 Female 50 100 Old adult 0 N/A Plaza 2 Early N/A
582 Female 50 60 Old adult 0 N/A Plaza 2 Early N/A
583 Female 50 100 Old adult 1 N/A Plaza 2 Early 0.37 mm
584 Male 40 60 Middle adult 0 N/A Plaza 2 Late N/A
Table 12.2. (cont.)

Burial Age: lower Age: upper Age CDFs Burial Occupation Average
number Sex estimate estimate category present Origin location period depth of CDFs

589 Probable female 50 60 Old adult 2 N/A Plaza 1 Late 0.42 mm

597 Probable male 35 45 Middle adult 0 N/A Plaza 1 Late N/A
601A Female 35 50 Middle adult 0 Non-local Plaza 1 Late N/A
608 Female 18 21 Young adult 1 Local Plaza 2 Late 0.55 mm
611 Female 14 18 Young adult 0 N/A Plaza 2? N/A N/A
612 Female 35 40 Middle adult 0 N/A Plaza 2 Late N/A
614 Male 40 50 Middle adult 2 Non local Room Block 3 Early 0.51 mm
617 Male 18 21 Young adult 1 Non-local Room Block 3 Early 1.33 mm
635 Probable male 27 35 Young adult 0 Non-local Room Block 3 Early N/A
637 Female 35 40 Middle adult 0 Non-local Plaza 2? Early N/A
639 Male 40 50 Middle adult 3 N/A Room Block 3 Early 0.62 mm
641 Male 50 100 Old adult 0 Non-local Plaza 1 Early N/A
647 Female 30 35 Young adult 0 Non-local Plaza 1 Late N/A
650 Probable male 30 35 Young adult 0 N/A Room Block 3 Early N/A
664 Probable male 19 21 Young adult 2 Non-local Room Block 1 Early 0.77 mm

N/A ¼ Not available. Origin and occupation period data from Ezzo (1991; 1992; 1993) and Ezzo and Price (2002).
 Kathryn M. Baustian 205

Figure 12.2. Distribution of CDFs on crania from males, females, and individuals of
indeterminate sex (Baustian et al. 2012).

CDFs were not incurred in any particular patterns among the crania of either
males or females. Most CDFs were located on the front and sides of the head,
affecting the frontal and left and right parietal bones (see Figure 12.2 for a
composite distribution of all CDFs). There was approximately the same
number of injuries to each bone for males and females; however, the left
parietal was an exception, with twice as many (n ¼ 16) CDFs among women
than among males (n ¼ 8).
MSMs were assessed to determine patterns in physicality among the assem-
blage. No major patterns were observed and differences in development
between the sexes and age groups were as expected (Milella et al. 2011);
males exhibited slightly higher rugosity levels than females and older adults
had slightly higher rugosity levels than younger adults. Comparing MSM
development with presence or absence of CDFs, results did not indicate
frequent co-occurrence. These data do not show any patterns among the
Grasshopper Pueblo assemblage and the MSM data in particular, and are
generally consistent with findings by Perry (2008).
206 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

Table 12.3. Burials demonstrating scalping.

Number Time
Burial Sex Age of CDFs period Origin Comments

10 M Young adult 0 Early N/A Grave goods present

38 F Young adult 1 Early N/A Grave goods present
236 F Young adult 3 Early N/A Possible antemortem scalping;
1 CDF is perimortem; grave
goods present
543 M Middle adult 0 Late Local
611 F Young adult 0 N/A N/A 14–18 years of age

Postcranial injuries were minimal among the Grasshopper Pueblo assem-

blage. Healed broken long bones of the arms and legs were observed among
7% of the sample, which included eight females and five males. The majority
of the injuries were not severe but some healing occurred in all postcranial
trauma. Violent injuries are not suspected for all but one individual (Burial
201, an older female), who had a healed parry fracture of the right forearm,
which is sometimes associated with defensive maneuvers (Galloway 1999).
Each of the postcranial injuries observed could have resulted from accidents.
Only four individuals had both cranial and postcranial injuries. Research has
shown that behavioral effects such as poor balance can result from non-lethal
cranial trauma (Martin et al. 2008), which could potentially lead to subsequent
accidental injuries of both the cranium and postcranial body.
Like postcranial trauma, sharp force trauma was not frequently observed.
Three males and three females had sharp force trauma. For five of these
individuals, this presented as scalping cut marks on the frontal, parietal, and
temporal bones (the sixth individual with sharp force trauma had a possible
chop mark on the occipital bone). Those potentially scalped were mostly young
adults who lived in the community during the early period (Table 12.3). One
young adult female (Burial 236) possibly survived scalping earlier in life.
The co-occurrence of cranial trauma and scalping affected this same young
female and another young adult female (see Table 12.3). The results of this
analysis corroborate those of Allen and colleagues (1985), who also docu-
mented likely scalping. The significance of scalped individuals among the
Grasshopper population will be explored further in the following section.

12.5 Discussion

The data presented are useful in consideration of theories regarding the role of
violence at Grasshopper Pueblo. Trauma observed among the human skeletal
 Kathryn M. Baustian 207

remains indicates that many people (approximately one-third of the males and
females) experienced direct interpersonal violence at some point in their lives.
The following discussion addresses possible contexts in which cranial injuries
occurred.

12.5.1 Warfare

Warfare in the Grasshopper Plateau region has not been identified as easily as
that in other regions farther north (i.e. San Juan region) (LeBlanc 1999).
During the Pueblo IV period, conflict increased throughout the northern
Southwest as the environment deteriorated and tension rose among popula-
tions. Tuggle and Reid (2001) agree that this increasing conflict played a role
in population migration and aggregation of pueblos on the Grasshopper
Plateau. These authors describe the location of sites and architectural design
as evidence of defensive intent. They do not, however, believe that internal
violence and external aggression were present at Grasshopper Pueblo during
its occupation or throughout abandonment of the community. Acts of large-
scale warfare have not been identified at Grasshopper Pueblo (Reid and
Whittlesey 1999; Tuggle and Reid 2001). The trauma data in this analysis
include only a few occurrences of perimortem or lethal injuries (e.g. scalp
marks, unhealed cranial fractures) commonly observed in warfare contexts.

12.5.2 Hostility between locals and non-locals

Using several isotope signatures among the human remains at Grasshopper

Pueblo, Ezzo (1991; 1992; 1993) and Price (Ezzo and Price 2002) have
demonstrated when individuals lived in the community and if they originated
locally. Early period (AD 1275–1330) individuals (n ¼ 164) outnumber late
period (AD 1330–1400) individuals (n ¼ 67) (Ezzo 1992). A subsample
(n ¼ 53) of burials from the assemblage resulted in 21 locals and 32 non-
locals, of which most were from the early period (Ezzo 1992; Ezzo and Price
2002). Considering the distribution of CDFs among the whole sample and the
subsample, there was again a similar frequency of affected individuals for both
time periods and local/non-local status. There was also a similar distribution of
CDFs among each sex. The results therefore suggest that violence between
locals and non-locals was equally experienced.
Stone (2003) used multiple types of data to make similar conclusions that
multiethnic groups at Grasshopper Pueblo coexisted well throughout their
occupation without stark delineation of respective cultural practices. Evidence
at Point of Pines suggests that aggregated ethnic groups did not always
208 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

maintain peaceful relationships (Haury 1958; Reid 1989), but evidence at

Grasshopper Pueblo indicates better interaction. Integration is indicated by
several types of data but most relevant to this study is the biological evidence
of local and non-local people living together in the same room blocks (Ezzo
1993; Ezzo and Price 2002; McClelland 2003). Both Ezzo and Price (2002)
and McClelland (2003) documented burials of both groups in all areas of the
community, although a concentration of locals was found in Room Block 2
and the Great Kiva. These findings suggest that non-locals were being inte-
grated into the community and had similar experiences as those originating
locally.
Cohesion of ethnic groups in the Grasshopper community appears likely;
however, the high rates of trauma contradict this. Determining exactly how
people became integrated into the community could be difficult and potentially
impossible, but perhaps violence played a role. Violence related to integration
practices could explain how all factions of the adult community demonstrate
high rates of non-lethal trauma. Injuries might be incurred through ritual acts
or other practices that aim to subdue an individual rather than kill him/her
(Walker 1989). While analyzing Chumash skeletal remains from the Channel
Island region of California, Walker (1989) proposed ritualized fighting to
resolve disputes and maintain order among the population during times of
limited resources. Data from that study showed high rates of non-lethal trauma
to the cranium and low rates of postcranial injuries. This is consistent with the
findings at Grasshopper, therefore injury through ritual activity should be
considered.

12.5.3 Raided captives and refugees of war

The taking of captives, intentionally or as a corollary to warfare, is described

throughout prehistory among pre-state societies (Cameron 2011; Keeley
1996). Although the high number of females and children among the Grass-
hopper burials is consistent with models of captives (Cameron 2011; Harrod
and Martin in press; Martin and Cameron 2012), raided captives can likely be
excluded as an explanation for this dataset. Several forms of data support this
assessment. Most importantly, skeletal evidence of poor health can indicate the
presence of captives in a population. Captives are often treated poorly by
captors and exhibit higher rates of health problems and injuries (Harrod and
Martin in press; Keeley 1996; Martin and Cameron 2012; Martin et al. 2008,
2010). The results of this study demonstrate similar rates of cranial and
postcranial injuries, disease, and musculoskeletal development among all
factions of the population. Co-occurrence of these maladies and skeletal
 Kathryn M. Baustian 209

features was not common either. This most likely suggests that captives were
not present at Grasshopper, but other studies have documented similar patterns
in which captives became fully integrated or adopted into the society of their
captors (Wilkinson 1997). Even when physical abuse was part of that process,
captives often were treated as all others in the community for many activities,
including burial practices. At Grasshopper Pueblo, burial styles among indi-
viduals do not deviate from typical patterns (see also Allen et al. 1985).
Collectively, this evidence does not indicate subgroups in the sample that
might represent captives but it cannot exclude them either if they were
assimilated into the larger community.
The differential sex and age representation among the burial population and
other data have also suggested the possibility of warfare refugees at Grasshop-
per Pueblo (Lowell 2007). The presence of non-local women and children has
been confirmed by isotope data by Ezzo (1991; 1993); however, he asserts that
intermarriage with non-local women can explain many of the migrants present
(Ezzo and Price 2002). This study demonstrates the presence of conflict in the
region which can lend support to theories of war refugees at Grasshopper
Pueblo. If, as Lowell (2007) suggests, males were engaged in warfare farther
away from the community, the observed sex and age distribution in the sample
may be a result. Ultimately, however, refugees of war cannot be excluded as
members of the community and the data from this study cannot refute their
presence because healed cranial injuries among non-locals could have
occurred at any point during their lifetime.

12.5.4 Scalping as evidence of violence between groups

Evidence of scalping among the Grasshopper skeletal sample is potentially

indicative of aggressive violence between groups in the region. As discussed
by Allen and colleagues (1985), the presence of scalping victims suggests
minimally that small-scale raiding took place in the nearby area. Conflict over
limited resources could have taken the form of opportunistic raids in which
members of the Grasshopper community became involved. It is possible that
they were aggressors at some times and victims at others. Populations engaged
in raiding, even at low levels, participate in a cycle of attacking as aggressors,
retreating, and defending against raids by others (Maschner and Reedy-
Maschner 1998). For those who were scalped at Grasshopper, burial patterns
indicate that the individuals were community members and isotope data from
Ezzo and Price (2002) demonstrate that at least one person was a local. These
findings imply victimization by outsiders, but who these aggressors were is
undetermined. It is unlikely that members of their own community were
210 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

engaged in scalping of their own neighbors. Furthermore, four of the five

scalped individuals lived at Grasshopper during the early period (AD 1275–
1330). Human suffering (via worse dietary breadth, greater infectious disease,
and poor sanitation) increased throughout the occupation of the community
(Ezzo 1993), therefore the presence of scalping prior to serious problems
indicates that violence was already a factor in daily life.

12.6 Conclusions

The rate of cranial injuries among the Grasshopper population is high, and this
cannot be ignored. Compared to rates of non-lethal cranial trauma among other
western North American populations, Grasshopper is the highest, at approxi-
mately 34%. A survey by Walker (1989) noted high rates of 18% for the
northern Channel Islands and 30% for the Baja California region, but only
1–9% for all other western North American populations. It is surprising that
the numerous analyses of Grasshopper human skeletal remains have not noted
the extent of cranial trauma documented in this study (see also Baustian et al.
2012). Whittlesey (1978) noted a lack of violent deaths as indicated by skeletal
markers such as scalping cut marks or unhealed fractures. One study of 163
crania (Birkby 1982) even went so far as to discuss the lack of violently
induced trauma as evidence of peaceful and cooperative alliances between
populations in the region during this time of environmental degradation. Even
if warfare was not a frequent occurrence, data from this analysis indicate that
violence was common in daily affairs.
Because all factions of adults in the community experienced cranial trauma
equally, it is difficult to contextualize these results and form definitive explan-
ations for the violence that is indicated. Ubiquitous interpersonal conflict likely
explains much of the non-lethal trauma among the Grasshopper Pueblo popula-
tion. Studies of health suggest worsening health throughout occupation of the
region (Berry 1985; Hinkes 1983), and larger population size could have
precipitated greater infectious disease, poor sanitation (Ezzo 1993), and
increased competition for resources. These factors collectively indicate an envir-
onment of heightened stress that could have promoted opportunistic raiding.
The fact that little perimortem trauma was observed indicates that it either
did not occur frequently or injuries were intended to subdue rather than kill an
individual. It does not seem that lethal violence was prominent in this commu-
nity; however, scalping data suggest otherwise. It is important to note that
trauma to the body may only affect the skeleton up to 40% of the time, with the
majority of injuries affecting soft tissue only; therefore skeletal analysis likely
underestimates physical impairment in the past (Judd 2002; Walker 2001).
 Kathryn M. Baustian 211

Fatalities, particularly those associated with violence, are thus underesti-

mated by the bioarchaeological record and this may be the case at Grasshopper
as well.
Interpreting the motivations and social context within which CDFs and
scalping took place is very difficult, as revealed by this study. Contrary to
the popular adage that the bones speak for themselves, in this case they do not.
There are several alternative hypotheses which must be kept in the mix of
potential explanatory models, including small-scale warfare and raiding, the
possibility of internal interpersonal violence based on ethnicity, immigrant
status, or kinship, as well as the possibility for class divisions that kept non-
lethal violence at a fairly steady pace throughout the occupation.
Violence at some level is apparent at Grasshopper Pueblo. Even if underesti-
mated because of lack of skeletal evidence, the population experienced conflict
at high rates. The data in this analysis demonstrate that internal conflict was
possible but certainly not the root of all traumatic injury. External conflict was
most likely a factor in the lives of at least some in the community, particularly
those who were scalped. This conclusion directly challenges previous notions
of peace for this and other nearby communities. Determining who might have
been the enemy is difficult given the level of cohesion and integration indicated
by archaeological and biological data for this and other sites in the region. The
Grasshopper Plateau and neighboring areas were very much in flux during the
late prehistoric period and stress would have been ubiquitous for all commu-
nities. That high-level violence has not been well documented for this immedi-
ate region and time period is perhaps more surprising than the high rates
observed by this and the previous study (Baustian et al. 2012). Future analysis
of other skeletal assemblages from nearby sites will be necessary to reach a
better understanding of the extent and role of violence for this region.

References
Allen, W., Merbs, C. F. & Birkby, W. H. (1985). Evidence for prehistoric scalping at
Nuvakwewtaqa (Chavez Pass) and Grasshopper Ruin, Arizona. In: Merbs, C. F. &
Miller, R. J. (eds.) Health and Disease in the Prehistoric Southwest. Tempe:
Arizona State University, 23–42.
Baustian, K. M., Harrod, R. P., Osterholtz, A. J. & Martin, D. L. (2012). Battered and
abused: analysis of trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo (AD 1275–1400). International
Journal of Paleopathology, 2, 102–11.
Berry, D. R. (1985). Dental pathology of Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona. In: Merbs, C. F. &
Miller, R. J. (eds.) Health and Disease in the Prehistoric Southwest. Tempe: Arizona
State University, 253–74.
Birkby, W. H. (1982). Biosocial interpretations from cranial non-metric traits of
Grasshopper Pueblo skeletal remains. In: Longacre, W. A., Holbrook, S. J. &
212 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

Graves, M. W. (eds.) Multidisciplinary Research at Grasshopper Pueblo Arizona.

Tucson: Anthropological Papers of the University of Arizona, No. 40, University
of Arizona Press, 36–41.
Blackmer, J. & Marshall, S. C. (1999). A comparison of traumatic brain injury in the
Saskatchewan native North American and non-native North American popula-
tions. Brain Injury, 13, 627–35.
Brink, O., Vesterby, A. & Jensen, J. (1998). Patterns of injuries due to interper-
sonal violence. Injury: International Journal of the Care of the Injured, 29,
705–9.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (1994). Standards for Data Collection from Human
Skeletal Remains: Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum of Natural
History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archeological Survey.
Cameron, C. M. (2011). Captives and culture change: implications for archaeology.
Current Anthropology, 52, 169–209.
Capasso, L., Kennedy, K. A. R. & Wilczak, C. A. (1999). Atlas of Occupational
Markers on Human Remains. Teramo: Edigrafital S.P.A.
Caufeild, J., Singhal, A., Moulton, R., Brenneman, F., Redelmeier, D. & Baker, A. J.
(2004). Trauma recidivism in a large urban Canadian population. The Journal of
Trauma: Injury, Infection, and Critical Care, 57, 872–6.
Clark, G. A. (1967). A preliminary analysis of burial clusters at the Grasshopper Site,
East-Central Arizona. University of Arizona: Unpublished MA thesis.
Ezzo, J. A. (1992). Dietary change and variability at Grasshopper Pueblo. Journal of
Anthropological Archaeology, 11, 219–89.
Ezzo, J. A., Jr. (1991). Dietary change at Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona: the evidence
from bone chemistry analysis. University of Wisconsin: Unpublished PhD
dissertation.
(1993). Human Adaptation at Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona: Social and Ecological
Perspecives. Ann Arbor: Archaeological Series, No. 4, International Monographs
in Prehistory.
(1994). Paleonutrition at Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona. In: Sobolik, K. D. (ed.)
The Diet and Health of Prehistoric Americans. Carbondale: Occasional Papers,
No. 22, Center for Archaeological Investigations, Southern Illinois University,
265–79.
Ezzo, J. A., Jr. & Price, T. D. (2002). Migration, regional reorganization, and spatial
group composition at Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona. Journal of Archaeological
Science, 29, 499–520.
Galloway, A. (1999). Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force Trauma.
Springfield: Charles C. Thomas.
Griffin, P. B. (1969). Late Mogollon readaptation in East-Central Arizona. University of
Arizona: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Harrod, R. P. & Martin, D. L. (in press). Bioarchaeological case studies of slavery,
captivity, and other forms of exploitation. In: Marshall, L. W. (ed.) The Archae-
ology of Slavery: A Comparative Approach to Captivity and Coercion. Carbon-
dale: Southern Illinois University Press.
 Kathryn M. Baustian 213

Haury, E. W. (1958). Evidence at Point of Pines for a prehistoric migration from

Northern Arizona. In: Thompson, R. H. (ed.) Migrations in New World Culture
History. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1–8.
Hedges, B. E., Dimsdale, J. E., Hoyt, D. B., Berry, C. & Leitz, K. (1995). Characteris-
tics of repeat trauma patients, San Diego County. American Journal of Public
Health, 85, 1008–10.
Hinkes, M. J. (1983). Skeletal evidence of Stress in subadults: trying to come of age at
Grasshopper Pueblo. Tucson: University of Arizona: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Judd, M. A. (2002). Ancient injury recidivism: an example from the Kerma Period of
Ancient Nubia. International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 12, 89–106.
Keeley, L. H. (1996). War before Civilization. New York: Oxford University Press.
Kuckelman, K. A., Lightfoot, R. R. & Martin, D. L. (2002). The bioarchaeology and
taphonomy of violence at Castle Rock and Sand Canyon Pueblos, Southwestern
Colorado. American Antiquity, 67, 486–513.
LeBlanc, S. A. (1999). Prehistoric Warfare in the American Southwest. Salt Lake City:
The University of Utah Press.
(2006). Who made the Mimbres bowls? Implications of recognizing individual artists
for craft specialization and social networks. In: Powell-Marti, V. S. & Gilman,
P. A. (eds) Mimbres Society. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 109–50.
LeBlanc, S. A. & Register, K. E. (2003). Constant Battles: The Myth of the Peaceful,
Noble Savage. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
LeBlanc, S. A. & Rice, G. E. (2001). Southwestern warfare: the value of case studies.
In: Leblanc, S. A. & Rice, G. E. (eds.) Deadly Landscapes: Case Studies in
Prehistoric Southwestern Warfare. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1–18.
Lovell, N. C. (1997). Trauma analysis in paleopathology. Yearbook of Physical Anthro-
pology, 40, 139–70.
(2008). Analysis and interpretation of skeletal trauma. In: Katzenberg, M. A. &
Saunders, S. R. (eds.) Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, 2nd edn.
Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 341–86.
Lowell, J. C. (2007). Women and men in warfare and migration: implications of
gender imbalance in the Grasshopper Region of Arizona. American Antiquity,
72, 95–123.
Mariotti, V., Facchini, F. & Belcastro, M. G. (2007). The study of entheses: proposal
of a standardised scoring method for twenty-three entheses of the postcranial
skeleton. Collegium Antropologicum, 31, 291–313.
Martin, D. L. & Cameron, C. M. (2012). Archaeological and bioarchaeological perspec-
tives on captivity and slavery. Anthropology News, 53, 4–5.
Martin, D. L., Akins, N. J., Crenshaw, B. J. & Stone, P. K. (2008). Inscribed on the
body, written in the bones: the consequences of social violence at La Plata. In:
Nichols, D. L. & Crown, P. L. (eds.) Social Violence in the Prehispanic American
Southwest. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 98–122.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Fields, M. (2010). Beaten down and worked to the bone:
bioarchaeological investigations of women and violence in the Ancient Southwest.
Landscapes of Violence, 1, Article 3.
214 Skeletal trauma at Grasshopper Pueblo

Maschner, H. D. & Reedy-Maschner, K. L. (1998). Raid, retreat, defend (repeat): the

archaeology and ethnohistory of warfare on the North Pacific Rim. Journal of
Anthropological Archaeology, 17, 19–51.
McClelland, J. A. (2003). Refining the resolution of biological distance studies based
on the analysis of dental morphology: detecting subpopulations at Grasshopper
Pueblo. University of Arizona: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Merbs, C. F. (1989). Trauma. In: Iscan, M. Y. & Kennedy, K. A. R. (eds.) Reconstruc-
tion of Life from the Skeleton. New York: Alan R. Liss, 161–99.
Milella, M., Mariotti, V. & Belcastro, M. (2011). You Can’t Tell a Book by Its Cover:
The Effects of Age, Sex and Physical Activity on Theseal Changes in an Italian
Contemporary Skeletal Collection. 80th Annual Meeting of the American Associ-
ation of Physical Anthropologists. Minneapolis, MN.
Perry, E. M. (2004). Bioarchaeology of labor and gender in the prehispanic American
Southwest. University of Arizona: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
(2008). Gender, labor, and inequality at Grasshopper Pueblo. In: Stodder, A. L. W.
(ed.) Reanalysis and Reinterpretation in Southwestern Bioarchaeology. Tempe:
Arizona State University, Anthropological Research Papers, 151–66.
Reid, J. J. (1989). A Grasshopper perspective on the Mogollon of the Arizona
Mountains. In: Cordell, L. S. & Gumerman, G. J. (eds.) Dynamics of Southwest
Prehistory. Santa Fe: School of American Research, 65–97.
Reid, J. J. & Whittlesey, S. (1999). Grasshopper Pueblo: A Story of Archaeology and
Ancient Life. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Riggs, C. R. (2001). The Architecture of Grasshopper Pueblo: Dynamics of Form,
Function, and Use of Space in a Prehistoric Community. Salt Lake City: The
University of Utah Press.
Schultz, M., Timme, U. & Schmidt-Schultz, T. H. (2007). Infancy and childhood in the
pre-Columbian North American Southwest–first results of the palaeopathological
investigation of the skeletons from the Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona. International
Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 17, 369–79.
Scott, R. M. & Buckley, H. R. (2010). Biocultural interpretations of trauma in two
prehistoric Pacific Island populations from Papua New Guinea and the Solomon
Islands. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 142, 509–18.
Stone, T. (2003). Social identity and ethnic interaction in the Western Pueblos of
the American Southwest. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory, 10,
31–67.
Tuggle, H. D. & Reid, J. J. (2001). Conflict and defense in the Grasshopper region of
East-Central Arizona. In: Leblanc, S. A. & Rice, G. E. (eds.) Deadly Landscapes:
Case Studies in Prehistoric Southwestern Warfare. Salt Lake City: University of
Utah Press, 85–107.
Walker, P. L. (1989). Cranial injuries as evidence of violence in prehistoric Southern
California. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 80, 313–23.
(1997). Wife beating, boxing, and broken noses: skeletal evidence for the cultural
patterning of violence. In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled Times:
Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 145–80.
 Kathryn M. Baustian 215

(2001). A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence. Annual Review

of Anthropology, 30, 573–96.
Whittlesey, S. M. (1978). Status and death at Grasshopper Pueblo: experiments toward
an archaeological theory of correlates. University of Arizona: Unpublished PhD
dissertation.
(2002). The cradle of death. In: Kamp, K. A. (ed.) Children in the Prehistoric
Puebloan Southwest. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press, 152–68.
Whittlesey, S. M. & Reid, J. J. (2001). Mortuary ritual and organizational inferences at
Grasshopper Pueblo, Arizona. In: Mitchell, D. R. & Brunson-Hadley, J. L. (eds.)
Ancient Burial Practices in the American Southwest: Archaeology, Physical
Anthropology, and Native American Perspectives. Albuquerque: University of
New Mexico Press, 68–96.
Wilkinson, R. G. (1997). Violence against women: raiding and abduction in prehistoric
Michigan. In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled Times: Violence and
Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 21–44.
13 The contribution of forensic
anthropology to national identity
in Chile: a case study from
Patio 29
e l i z a b e t h m . de v i s s e r ,
k r i s t a e . l a t h a m , an d
marisol intriago l eiva

13.1 Introduction

On September 11, 1973 the military coup overthrowing socialist president

Salvador Allende transformed Chilean identity forever. Little did the Chilean
people realize at that point in time how drastically their lives would change.
Officially, the military claimed to be restoring peace and order to a chaotic
nation after the disastrous consequences of Allende’s government tore the
country apart. However, the reality is that the military dictatorship
suppressed the opposition by utilizing extreme extermination efforts such
as detainment, torture, and murder. Pinochet showed so little regard for his
victims that he ordered many of them thrown in clandestine graves, rivers,
the sea, and cemeteries, to be effectively removed from the historical record
and collective memory. One such site, Patio 29, stands as a symbol of the
systematic extermination of Chilean citizens.
The bodies and memories of his victims remained silent during his 17-year
tenure, engendering a sense of fear and mistrust in the government. Recent
efforts altered the landscape, allowing the victims’ voices to be heard, recog-
nized, and acknowledged. One of the most important endeavors involved the
formation of a special branch of the Department of Justice assigned to identify
all missing persons from the Pinochet dictatorship. The efforts of a multi-
disciplinary forensic team at the Servicio Medico Legal (SML) have helped
rebuild the identity of a fractured nation by identifying a large number of the

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

216
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 217

victims and returning them to their families. The history of Patio 29 and the
forensic team at the SML are inextricably linked.
Fundamental changes in national identity resulted as a direct outcome of the
Patio 29 identification efforts. The SML underwent an extraordinary trans-
formation in 2006, all because of the devastating consequences of misidentifi-
cations of Patio 29 victims. The SML emerged more informed and dedicated to
employing comprehensive contemporary scientific protocols to human identi-
fication in Chile.
National identity requires membership in the collective memories of the nation.
Fear and aggression break the bonds of national identity. Systematic extermin-
ation destroys it. The forensic team, including anthropologists at the SML provide
a necessary function to restoring membership by giving a name to the victims.

13.2 On national identity

National identity is dynamic and cannot be defined by a clear set of definitive

traits. Neither can it simply be substituted with personal identity. National
identity is a symbolic construction beginning when the nation was first formed.
Anderson (1991) describes national identity as an “imagined community”
where a sense of fraternity is prompted by the collective memory of heroic
deeds and landscapes, but also shared suffering and common memories of
brutality and trauma. When a large body of the nation, the Chilean military,
seeks out and demonizes a subset of citizens (supporters of Allende, commun-
ists, socialists) within the community, the sense of fraternity is negated. The
“others,” who were once members of the community, are vilified, disrespected,
and ignored (Larraín 2006). The military regime eliminated the corporeal body
from existence, effectively removing individuals and families from the collect-
ive memory of society. Overcoming the effects of a fractured national identity
requires justice, reparation, and reconciliation by influential members of the
community to strengthen the identity of the whole community (Barsalou 2005).
Every dimension of identity, from the individual to the global level, affects
national identity. Self-identity is influenced by perceptions of the body and
definitions of the self, such as familial relationships, socioeconomic class,
religious beliefs, ethnic affiliations, and gender roles (Brison 2002; Larraín
2006). A person’s physical body provides the vital ingredient of sentient
self-actualization. Self-identity allows humans to define an “us” versus “them”
mentality. Group identity requires membership within the group that carries
with it an emotional attachment significant to one’s self (Anderson 1991).
Group identity thus can be construed as a core construct because it carries with
it great significance to the individual (Bell 2003). Shared kinship, education,
218 Forensic anthropology and national identity

geographic location, and religions catalyze the formation of communities,

allowing “them” to become “us.” This sharing of common values and designing
rituals constitutes a collective memory. Collective memory represents a power-
ful construct of national identity as historical circumstances can alter the
substance of national identity. Shared ideas, values, and interpretations of
traumatic events signify a shared history made resonant through symbols and
rituals (Reimers 1999). When the “them” becomes “us” on a national level, it
serves to unify humans as a nation. A nation (and by extension national identity)
can then be defined as “a named human population sharing an historic territory,
common myths and historical memories, a mass, public culture, a common
economy and common legal rights and duties for all members” (Smith 1991).
Traumatic events such as genocide, ethnic cleaning, or mass extermination
profoundly influence national identity. Trauma disrupts the status quo, gener-
ating feelings of fear, vulnerability, and resentment (Hutchison and Bleiker
2008). Trauma shatters the sense of belonging and fear undermines a commu-
nity. When the body (or self) is threatened, naturally a person feels vulnerable.
When the body of a group member is threatened in such a systematic way as
mass extermination by a ruling government, not only is the personal identity of
the individual negated, but the collective identity is threatened as well (Bell
2003). Obliterating the memory and bodies of the victims from the historical
record was corrosive to the Chilean national identity (Larraín 2006).
A traumatized society emerged, devastated by the blatant and systematic
violations of human rights and the attempts to silence the collective memories
of those who were eliminated (Mendeloff 2009).
In post-conflict Chile, the government applied transitional justice mechan-
isms such as truth commissions, institutional changes, and memorials to
rebuild their society. Those who were persecuted cannot feel as though they
are members of the community until justice has been done. Justice may take
the form of reparations to the victims and their families, but also acknowledg-
ment by those directly responsible for the atrocities (Black 2002; Mendeloff
2009). Recognition of injustice by the government reincorporates the victims’
families, allowing them to once more re-enter the community and become part
of the shared national collective memory (Barsalou 2005). Preservation of a
national identity occurs by creating rituals (such as anniversaries, monuments,
art, and ceremonies) meant to build a national memory. Chile is rife with
symbols reflecting the shared memory of trauma caused by the Pinochet
regime (Larraín 2006). As a result, President Allende is glorified in memory
through art, his mausoleum in the General Cemetery, in books, and in conver-
sation. The power of these rituals rests in their ability to elicit emotions, and
their capacity to symbolize shared communal memories that can be relived,
translated, and, often, contested.
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 219

An important contribution to the process of transitional justice regards

identification of the victims of mass atrocities. Chile was already torn apart
from years of repression and censorship, and the physical elimination of
thousands of people rendered national identity damaged. However, identity
is dynamic, and changes in the relationships between victims’ families and the
government have contributed to a restored unity in Chilean national identity.
Forensic experts have restored a feeling of peace and justice to families by
reinstating the identity of the disappeared back into the Chilean collective
memory. The case study from Patio 29 later in this chapter exemplifies these
complex relationships between families and forensic experts, and the evolution
of a dynamic national identity.

13.3 Historical context

Unidad Popular (UP), Allende’s coalition of leftist political parties, became

highly distrusted during its short 3-year tenure as a direct consequence of poor
economic strategies which alienated a broad base of the populace. The Allende
government made impressive improvements in areas such as health and
unemployment, but these were overshadowed by the outstanding disregard
the government showed for the consequences of their policies as Allende
strived to socialize Chile (Rector 2003).
The nationalization of major revenue-producing institutions, such as copper
mining and agriculture, would provide Chile with much needed profits. Bene-
fits included an increase in workers’ wages, a growing economy, and a drop in
unemployment, which were looked on favorably (Loveman 1986; Rector
2003). However, unintended consequences quickly hampered the path to
Chilean socialism. For the middle class, nationalization increased jobs, which
eased financial burdens. However, factions with diametrically opposed values
developed within the middle class. For example, an important influencing
factor for urban middle class citizens was rent control, whereas the rural middle
class favored an agenda that increased property values. The UP immediately put
rural real estate (farms) and industrial investments under governmental control,
which frustrated the landowners. While worker benefits increased and provided
support and reassurance to a large proportion of the Chilean population, the
country’s wealthiest landowners felt betrayed by the new agenda and began
transferring funds out of Chile. Moving money overseas reduced the amount of
taxes the government could impose on the landowners. To gain much needed
revenue for his nationalization program, Allende sought funding from
foreign countries, primarily the USA (Collier and Sater 2004; Loveman 1986;
Rector 2003).
220 Forensic anthropology and national identity

The UP mistakenly intensified the pace of socialism since public opinion

looked upon the agenda favorably. However, accelerating its socialist agenda
resulted in unexpected consequences that would prove fatal for many Chilean
citizens. The UP increased agrarian reform, which disrupted agriculture. While
the government was expropriating land, campesinos (farmers/peasants) began
taking up arms and expropriating property for themselves without government
oversight. While the campesinos stood with arms at the gates of elite homes,
the Mapuche (the native community of Chile) took back lands taken from them
earlier. Landowners armed themselves against the campesinos and the
Mapuche, further escalating the conflict. Allende did not involve the govern-
ment in these disputes. Alienating rural workers was anathema since they were
the recipients of his socialist policies. Expropriations resulted in a supply
decrease and black markets arose because of agricultural scarcity. Allende
could never allay the fear that the scarcity would end. By 1972 Chile was an
unstable country as struggles between the elite and the lower classes increased.
Businesses were concerned over increased property seizures by the UP, and
the middle and lower classes were afraid of the scarcity of agricultural supplies
(Rector 2003).
Two monumental uprisings further decreased the faith in Allende’s policies.
The first national strike occurred in 1972. Businesses closed their doors due to
the scarcity imposed by conflicts in the rural and industrial regions. Truckers
went on strike first, followed by merchants and industrial workers, and, finally,
professionals. Allende invited the military into his cabinet in an effort to end
the strike and increase confidence in his government. Augusto Pinochet was
appointed as Defense Minister in 1973. The next major strike occurred when
miners wanted increased wages. The UP denied a wage increase and ultimately
spent $80 000 000 (US) to end the strike 77 days later, but the damage to the
Chilean economy was already done (Rector 2003).
Allende’s policies destabilized the national economy. Gross domestic prod-
uct decreased because of massive strikes and a scarcity of raw materials.
Wages decreased after only 2 years while, conversely, prices and scarcity
increased. The UP was so fractured ideologically that they could not agree
on a common policy (Collier and Sater 2004; Rector 2003). By then the
financial situation in Chile was already out of control. Believing that Allende
and the UP could no longer effectively govern the nation, the military was
urged by many political factions to overthrow the government.

13.4 Military coup and the Pinochet regime

On September 11, 1973 Chilean democracy was replaced by a fascist regime

that used coercion, torture, and violence to assume control. A junta, with
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 221

representatives from each branch of the military, served as the executive and
legislative branches of the nation. Immediately following the coup, between
2000 and 10 000 civilian casualties resulted from junta violence (Kornbluh
2004), though they admitted to only 244 fatalities. The military junta detained
over 13 000 people and specifically targeted individuals who were officials of
the Allende government, politicians who did not support the coup, activists,
union members, and factory employees (Loveman 1986; Wyndham and Read
2010). Over 1100 detention camps were constructed across the Chilean
landscape. Prisoners were also housed at the National Stadium (Estadio Nacio-
nal) and Chile Stadium (Estadio Chile), where they were interrogated and
tortured (Kornbluh 2004; Rector 2003; Zalaquett 1985). In many circumstances
detention resulted in execution, with the bodies of the deceased dumped in the
street, left in the Mapocho River, thrown into the ocean, or buried in secret in
mass graves (Wyndham and Read 2010). Over 3215 (according to the Valech
Report, 2011 version) people disappeared during the militarized government,
most of them between 1973 and 1978 (Grandin 2005; Reconciliación and
Berryman 1993). The Chilean secret police, the Directorate of National Intelli-
gence (DINA) and later the National Center for Information (CNI), covered up
the crimes, stating that the magnitude of human rights violations was a natural
consequence of being at war. According to the “official” record, the military
coup saved Chile from socialism and communism while bringing Chile back
from the brink of chaos. Defeating Communism and the “Marxist cancer” that
had invaded Chile became the regime’s primary goal, and enemies of the state
were effectively removed from existence (Loveman 1986; Spooner 2011).
Pinochet controlled the populace through mass media interventions, firmly
establishing a fear campaign designed to eliminate any supporters of socialism.
Censorship became the regime’s tool to calm the public and keep their
clandestine activities secret (Loveman 1986). Many prominent authors,
writers, journalists, and musicians, most notably Victor Jara, were murdered.
Anything that “endangered morality, public order, national security or the
private life of citizenry” (Montaner 1988) was silenced. The military junta
was successful in keeping this tight control over subversives and succeeded in
silencing the voices of the opposition for 17 years.
The factual history of the atrocities caused by Pinochet’s regime did not
officially surface until after Pinochet relinquished power in 1989. When Presi-
dent Patricio Aylwin was inaugurated in 1990, he assumed power of a nation that
had experienced tremendous changes and pressures over the past 17 years. The
economy was growing, yet 40% of the population fell below the poverty line
(Rector 2003). President Aylwin also had to confront the most difficult challenge
created by Pinochet’s regime – the fate of over 3000 Chileans was still unknown.
The 1990s marked Chile’s transition back to a democracy, but numerous
obstacles conspired against the new administrations and prevented them from
222 Forensic anthropology and national identity

reconciling the demands of the families with quick resolution. Either because
of sly judgment, or perhaps anticipating future accountability, Pinochet
decreed in 1978 that the state agents who committed crimes between Septem-
ber 11, 1973 and March 10, 1978 be given amnesty under the constitution
(Brody 2008; Collier and Sater 2004; Kornbluh 2004; Rector 2003). The
Supreme Court upheld the decree but declared that the government could
investigate instances of human rights abuses. President Aylwin, with an
emphasis on “truth and justice as far as possible,” appointed an investigative
congressional committee, the National Truth and Reconciliation Commission
(NTRC), which had investigative power but lacked prosecutorial authority
(Ensalaco 1994; Zalaquett 1993). Jose Zalaquett, a leader of the commission,
notes that the commission “was the cornerstone of a transitional policy aimed
at the moral (and political) reconstruction of our society after a period of tragic
breakdown. . .” (Grandin 2005; Reconciliación and Berryman 1993).
According to Benedict Anderson (1991), modern-day truth commissions
have been powerful instruments in the creation of nationalism. The NTRC, or
“Rettig Commission,” named for the head of the commission, Raul Rettig,
obtained testimonies from thousands of detainees and family members of the
disappeared. The report documented the violence executed by the military
under the auspices of General Pinochet and the DINA/CNI that resulted in
death. The NTRC was the first effort by a governmental agency in the post-
dictatorship government to address and publicly acknowledge the atrocities of
the Pinochet regime. The Rettig Report not only uncovered the nefarious deeds
of the Pinochet regime, but also unearthed sites of numerous mass graves
located throughout Chile (Zalaquett 1993).

13.5 Patio 29

Patio 29 stands as one of the most notorious and well-known large burial sites in
Chile. The burial ground rests within the heart of Santiago in the country’s
largest cemetery, Cementerio General. The General Cemetery is not simply a
graveyard, but a small city with tree-lined avenues and parks often named after
famous Chilean leaders, thinkers, and artists. The cemetery is sectioned into
patios, or courtyards. The more prosperous sections contain mausoleums,
marble statues, and formal masonry. The humbler areas to the north are reserved
for those of lower socioeconomic status (Wilde 2008). Nestled within this area is
Patio 29 (Figure 13.1), a large overgrown field of simple tin crosses, all bearing
the initials “N.N.” for “No men Nescio” Latin 8 or “Name unknown.”
Patio 29 was the largest collective effort by the Pinochet regime to hide their
crimes. Directly following the coup, bodies began piling up in the city morgue
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 223

Figure 13.1. Patio 29 mass grave. Santiago, Chile.

as they were recovered from the middle of streets, alleyways, and even floating
in the river. The bodies decomposed in the hallways of the morgue as the
freezers began to fill. Urgency, combined with pressure from the adminis-
tration, forced morgue employees to perform “economic autopsies” (Servicio
Medico Legal 2010). Such autopsies were incomplete and many of the reports
did not even contain identifying information for the decedent. Nonetheless, in
most cases fingerprints were taken if the state of decomposition allowed and
stored with the individual’s file (Servicio Medico Legal 2010; Wyndham and
Read 2010).
Disposal of these bodies was a primary concern. Orders came in to cremate
the remains, but were quickly rescinded. The military regime ordered secret
burials and a perfect site was Patio 29. Seclusion, adjacency to the morgue, and
the availability of 320 open plots provided a hiding spot in plain sight. Regular
coffins were in short supply, so morgue staff created makeshift coffins from
whatever materials were available. Some of the makeshift coffins contained
two or more individuals. When presented with this information, Pinochet
224 Forensic anthropology and national identity

remarked “Qué economía tan grande!” – ‘Such amazing economy!’ (Wyndham

and Read 2010). Military personnel supervised the interments, which occurred
over the course of several months. The military warned the workers against
notifying anyone of Patio 29’s new residents, but families of the victims
received news of the graves in spite of the military threats. Rumors concerning
Patio 29 spread through Santiago and the site increasingly became one of
horror, but of hope as well (Wyndham and Read 2010). As long as the victims
remained in the cemetery, there existed a chance that someday they might be
identified and returned home.
The military was not yet through with Patio 29. The Vicariate of Solidarity,
a human rights advocacy group in Chile, gathered detailed testimony about
the Patio 29 burials and publicly presented their findings. Although the judge
recused himself, stating that he was incompetent to carry on the case, he
ordered the Patio 29 graves were not to be touched, moved, or exhumed
further. However, the Cemetery began to remove the victims in order to reuse
the graves, and this was conducted without alerting the victims’ families
(Kornbluh 2004; Wyndham and Read 2010). The illegal exhumations would
have remained secret had it not been for an anonymous phone call to the
Vicariate from a cemetery employee. The Vicariate was unable to prevent the
exhumations, however, and the victims were either reinterred in another
location or cremated, and their whereabouts are still unknown (Wyndham
and Read 2010).
After the appointment of President Aylwin, the families of the “N.N.”
people in Patio 29 would finally have answers. In 1991 he appointed several
forensic specialists to exhume and identify the remains. In an effort to appease
the military and ensure success, the recovery of Patio 29 had to be a military-
led process. Additionally, no military personnel were to be held accountable
for the people identified in Patio 29, a necessary caveat if the scientists were to
proceed without interruption or interference (Wyndham and Read 2010).
Compromises of this sort suited both the military and the families. The military
controlled the recovery efforts while seeming to mollify the families, and the
families could find closure. Exhumation and identification of the remains
was seen as a form of restitution and acknowledgment for the country
(Servicio Medico Legal 2010; Wyndham and Read 2010). Patio 29 was not
simply a resting place for the disappeared, but had become a symbol of
remembrance.
The forensic identification of Patio 29 individuals took from 2 to 10 years.
Medical doctors and forensic anthropologists at the SML performed morpho-
logical analyses to generate a biological profile consisting of sex, age, stature,
ancestry, and any other special identifying characteristics, including dental and
skeletal radiograph comparisons. Only 108 of the original 320 graves were
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 225

located and only 126 people were recovered. Individuals exhumed from
Patio 29 ranged in age from 14 to 60þ, but the majority of them were between
the ages of 20 and 30 years old. All individuals except four were male. Ninety-
six of the decedents were returned to their families by 1998, but many could
not be identified and were kept under the custody of the SML. New infor-
mation surfaced in 2006 suggesting that 48 of the 96 individuals had
been clearly misidentified (Servicio Medico Legal 2010; Wyndham and
Read 2010). This crisis led to a complete restructuring of the human rights
identification division of the SML and presented a dilemma for future
identification efforts.

13.6 Servicio Medico Legal

The SML is a department of the Ministry of Justice and is responsible for

conducting investigations into all forensic matters in the country. A specific
branch of the SML, Unidad de Identificación y Museo, was instituted in
1994 to address the ubiquitous human rights issues rampant throughout the
nation. This department was responsible for identifying the disappeared
around the nation. The SML responds to the demands of families through
an active and organized search for victims, along with laboratory analysis of
remains. In 2006 the Identification branch was completely restructured as
a result of the Patio 29 scandal. This branch was restructured once more
in 2010. The SML had expanded their professional staff and were able
to handle human rights and modern forensic cases (Servicio Medico
Legal 2010).
Patio 29 played a pivotal role in re-establishing faith in government insti-
tutions. During the initial identification process in the 1990s, the families of
the Patio 29 victims were brought in by the SML, and medical doctors and
anthropologists explained in great detail the fate of their family member.
Every aspect of the investigation was explained, down to the smallest detail:
trajectory of the bullet(s), broken limbs, and evidence of torture. Truth and
unbiased disclosure allowed families to include the deceased in family history
while also fostering trust in the government (Avruch 2010; Barsalou 2005;
Kriesberg 1993).
DNA profiling technologies were just emerging in the early 1990s, espe-
cially in Latin America. In 2001, a special section of the SML was dedicated to
generating the mitochondrial DNA profiles of the victims. During this process
the team found inconsistencies between several of the genetic profiles and the
identified victims. In March of 2005, the courts ordered that all decedents of
226 Forensic anthropology and national identity

the Patio 29 graves be exhumed for genetic testing. Genetic tests revealed that
at least 48 of the cases were misidentified and 37 were inconclusive (Servicio
Medico Legal 2010). The impact of these results was staggering, not only for
the families who had subsequently moved on in the grief process, but for the
public and for the SML.
Trust had slowly begun eroding since the exhumations occurred and became
a reality in 2006, when the misidentifications became public. The government
suppressed two reports that revealed systematic incompetence within the SML.
A report on the Patio 29 recoveries issued in 1994 urged the SML to change
their processes of identification drastically, as they were found to be inad-
equate and out of date. An independent forensic agency released another report
in 2002 stating that the credentials of the experts in charge of identification had
not been assessed and urged that all recoveries and identification procedures be
suspended. Families had to endure two separate disappearances and begin the
grieving process again. Victims’ families directly targeted the SML director
and accused the government of gross indifference, calling for the director’s
resignation despite a public apology. The blame then fell to two officers not
working at the SML at the time, but closely associated with identification
efforts. The officers exonerated themselves, stating that they did what they
could with the tools provided them. The inadvertent misidentifications were a
direct result of the inadequate identification protocols and pressure from the
government to identify the victims quickly and were believed to be accidental.
Nonetheless, the damage was already done – public opinion deemed the SML
negligent and indifferent.
Restructuring of the human rights division was the direct result of the
misidentifications of the Patio 29 victims; it was deemed that insufficient
scientific standards and insufficiently trained professional personnel contrib-
uted to the misidentifications of the victims (Servicio Medico Legal 2010;
Wyndham and Read 2010). To address these issues, the SML commissioned
international professionals to audit the processes of identification and pro-
vide guidelines for the recovery and analysis of human remains. The SML
modernized their identification system by hiring professional forensic senior
management and providing adequate training for all new staff. Additionally,
the SML provided auditing and training protocols as a system of checks and
balances and offered continuing education programs for their scientists with
institutions in the USA and Europe. As of 2010, 30 individuals from
Patio 29 have been identified by genetic analysis (Servicio Medico
Legal 2010; Wyndham and Read 2010). The case study below is represen-
tative of the tremendous work of the restructured Identification division and
of the methodical and meticulous forensic team most recently employed at
the SML.
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 227

13.7 Case study

The forensic experts at the SML generate biological profiles for victims of
human rights abuses all across the country. Using the previous autopsy,
anthropology, and genetic profiles, the anthropologists attempt to reconstruct
the history of unidentified remains. Patio 29 victims remain a priority owing to
the high profile nature of the graves and continued support from the govern-
ment. The case study presented here provides an interesting example of the
initial Patio 29 identification issues. Further, this case demonstrates the com-
plex relationship that the forensic experts, particularly the anthropologists,
have with the victims’ families and the effect of bringing the deceased back
into the collective memory of the nation.
This individual was exhumed and identified by the SML staff in 1994 prior
to genetic testing. The decedent was returned to his family and subsequently
reburied. However, the parents did not truly believe this was their son and the
mother routinely called professionals at the SML voicing her opinion. The
individual was later returned to the SML when the court ordered genetic
testing for all Patio 29 victims.
The new biological profile generated by the SML suggested the decedent was
a young male between the ages of 16 and 24, stood about 168.0 cm (5.5 feet) tall
and was in generally good dental health. This young man was originally interred
in Patio 29 and buried in a makeshift coffin with another person in 1973.
Evidence of at least two bullet wounds were found in his cranium and other
gunshot trauma shattered his pelvis, left tibia, clavicle, humerus, scapula, and
vertebral column, particularly in the midthoracic region (Figures 13.2 and 13.3).
The newly generated profile was compared to the biological profile
constructed in the 1990s and several inconsistencies arose. First, prior age
estimates differed by approximately half a decade. Additionally, comparisons
to the original autopsy noted a healing fracture of the right clavicle, yet no
trauma to the right clavicle was observed on this skeleton. Finally, the DNA
did not match this individual to the family of the previously identified male.
The anthropologists returned to their files for any leads on the identification of
the skeletal remains and a match was discovered.
The newly identified decedent died several days after September 11, 1973. As
a known follower of President Allende, the military targeted the decedent for
execution. Found floating near the banks of the Mapocho River, gunshot wounds
had riddled his body. The morgue documented his fingerprints and he was buried
in Patio 29. He was identified and his records were on file at the SML for over 30
years. Nonetheless, his extermination and clandestine burial were obliterated
from the collective memory and he was lost. After 37 years of remaining in the
darkness, the decedent finally has his name and identity returned to his family.
228 Forensic anthropology and national identity

Figure 13.2. Full skeleton of Patio 29 victim.

Figure 13.3. Cranium of Patio 29 victim.

 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 229

The above case study was chosen to highlight in this chapter for several
reasons. First, this case is representative of the enormous task facing the
forensic anthropologists at the SML. Most individuals from Patio 29 have a
common biological profile: they are males between the ages of 20 and 40 and
have severe gunshot trauma. Additionally, when confronted with few identi-
fying characteristics, the biological profile does not narrow the number of
possible matches and the forensic anthropologists must utilize a suite of other
documents fortunately retained by the previous SML staff. This case represents
the horror that too many Chileans endured but also stands as a symbol of the
reconciliation efforts of the Chilean government. Successful identification of
each individual exterminated during the Pinochet era remains the ultimate goal
of the anthropologists and staff at the SML. The forensic team return the lost
identity of victims, give peace to the grieving families by aiding in repairing
the old wounds of a fractured society, and act to restore faith in the
government.

13.8 Changes in Chilean national identity

Chilean identity was drastically altered during the shift from a democratic
society free from involuntary exclusion to one where systematic violations of
human rights reigned. In the Pinochet regime, an entire faction of the popula-
tion was eliminated. Fear, torture, aggression, and oppression resulted in
a fractured nation. To heal this rift, families of the disappeared and those
who experienced torture and abuse needed once again to feel acknowledged as
full members of the community. Examples in transitional justice have demon-
strated that concerted effort of public acknowledgment, reconciliation, and
reparation must be given to the sufferers for the families to begin healing
(Aukerman 2002; Barsalou 2005; Waldorf 2006).
Prior to the rise of the Pinochet dictatorship, Chileans had already experi-
enced a fracture in national identity (Miller 2006). Forced expropriations and
economic instability of the nation contributed to the growing fear of the nation.
The UP’s economic policies disenfranchised a large group of people, and any
sense of shared fraternity was effectively weakened. Fear and aggression
threatened the unity necessary to sustain a strong national identity. Forced
expropriations, strikes, and armed warfare in the rural regions set Chileans
against one another. When the government neglected to thwart such conflict,
fear increased among the people (Larraín 2006; Rector 2003). Fear is a
powerful motivator to action. Once fear takes hold, rational discourse is limited
and hostilities are intensified (Hutchison and Bleiker 2008). The Allende
opposition manipulated this fear, allowing the military to take hostile action.
230 Forensic anthropology and national identity

The Allende administration made conserving a unified national identity

difficult, but the Pinochet regime escalated and manipulated these tensions.
People were excluded from the community; some people were exiled, others
were denied their nationality yet were unable to leave the country. Exclusion
from the community also extended to any individual who supported the UP but
could not leave the country. These people were vilified, spied upon by family
and neighbors, and even called enemies or “humanoids” (Wyndham and Read
2010). The military regime added a new element to their policy of brutal
repression and exclusion. Victims suffered not only the loss of freedom and
community, but the most tangible aspect of their identity. Victims were killed
and the military sought to obliterate their very existence from the collective
identity. These actions by the military and sanctioned by Pinochet traumatized
a nation. The military regime severed any ties that bound these communities
together through torture and extermination of the defeated “other.”
Discourses regarding the period leading up to the coup are naturally varied
because not all citizens experienced elimination and/or torture (Black 2002).
Tremendous fear and rage was rampant throughout the country during
Allende’s presidency. Lands that had been in families for generations were
expropriated, feeding a sense of injustice, fear, and impotence. On the other
hand, Allende’s policies had many supporters. This dichotomy is clearly
demonstrated in an article published by El Mercurio, the nation’s largest
newspaper. Isabel Allende (Salvador Allende’s daughter) remembers her
father fondly, regarding him as a national hero whose sacrifice will never be
forgotten. Countering this view, Alberto Wurmann remembers his father, who
worked his entire life building his dream, only to have it cruelly expropriated
(Larraín 2006; Wurmann 2003). If one accepts that material possessions can
be a projection of the bodily self, and the body is a central construct of
personal identity, then any threat to the property is a threat to personal
identity. This breach of trust strikes at the core of human dignity and self-
worth. If Wurmann’s view can be understood and sympathized with, then it is
not a far leap to understand, though not justify, the violent reaction to the UP
policies.
Long-term violence enacts profound changes in the behavior of groups and
individuals in the community. At the national level, evidence has shown that
re-establishing the rule of law, viable political institutions, security, and access
to information all play a role in restoring individuals’ sense of control over
their lives (August 1996; Avruch and Vejarano 2001; Mendeloff 2009). The
necessity for truth about the fate of the victims cannot be understated. Identi-
fying the disappeared makes it possible for the members of a community to
begin to heal. Reclaiming the dead allows families to rejoin the community
and take part in the narrative of the collective memory.
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 231

Pinochet’s attempt to erase the collective memories about his atrocities did
not succeed. While many people are still missing, there has been a concerted
effort by the successive administrations to address and acknowledge the human
rights violations. Although his hands were tied because of judiciary inaction
and impunity, President Aylwin set up the NTRC, which informed the public
about the truth of Pinochet’s duplicity. In 2004 the Valech Report was issued,
which registered over 35 000 cases of torture, and resulted in formal recogni-
tion by the Commander of the Army of its responsibility for these human rights
violations (Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación 2004).
A forensic anthropologist’s job in Chile is not limited to human identifica-
tion. Anthropologists at the SML work very closely with families, and the
development of that relationship has a direct effect on public opinion concern-
ing identification efforts and reconciliation. The circumstances surrounding the
Patio 29 debacle demonstrate how tenuous the thread is that links forensic
anthropologists to victims’ trust in the government. Anthropologists and
families share a collective memory that strengthens group identity and, by
extension, national identity.
Fragile threads of trust eroded until the newly elected president, Michelle
Bachelet, matched government actions to the rhetoric. Previous administra-
tions failed to address the issue of Patio 29 effectively. Appointing a
well-meaning but untrained forensic team and ignoring international recom-
mendations set the agenda for a succession of failures in a high profile human
rights situation. Restructuring the SML allowed the government to demon-
strate its dedication to ensuring that victims and their families were recognized.
The professionals at the SML act as liaisons between the government and the
victims, and each human rights case offers an opportunity to heal the fractured
community. If the body is a core component in self-identity, and self-identity is
core to belonging in a community, then, if change occurs with the self, over
time these changes can affect relationships within the community. Thus, if a
family can find peace through identification of their missing relation, then their
feelings toward the government, and, by extension, the nation, can change.
The anthropologists at the SML work hard to mend this rift by re-initializing
the core of human identity into the community.
The dynamic shift of national identity specifically with regard to human
rights is realized in the cultural manifestations and shared symbols of the
nation. Historic symbols of Chilean identity have lost their power, primarily
because of their ubiquitous use by the Pinochet regime (Meade 2001). For
example, the extensive presentation of the Chilean flag now invokes memories
of repression and trauma in some Chileans. The same can be said for national
icons, such as La Moneda, which retain the memory of tragedy even today.
Not all symbols evoke negative feelings, however. The Chile Stadium
232 Forensic anthropology and national identity

(previously Estadio Chile) has been renamed Estadio Victor Jara in honor of
the notable musician who died in that location. President Bachelet inaugurated
a museum in Santiago in 2010 dedicated to commemorating victims of the
human rights atrocities (The Museum of Memory and Human Rights). Further,
President Bachelet proclaimed Patio 29 to be a historic national landmark.
Memorials are not simply about commemorating the dead, however.
A recent shift in the utilization of human rights memorials gives insight into
how Chile is changing. Villa Grimaldi is a former concentration camp used by
DINA to torture and execute the opposition. In 1997 the camp was redesigned
as a “park for peace” (Consejo de Monumentos Nacionales Ministerio de
Educación Gobierno de Chile, n.d.; Hite and Collins 2009). An example of
the shift in significance of Villa Grimaldi lies in the construction of a wooden
water tower that was once used to house prisoners. The water tower was
originally rebuilt to be viewed from all vantage points and serve as a constant
reminder of the atrocities that occurred. Currently, however, the water tower is
obscured from view by a large stage constructed for public events (Meade
2001). This historic landmark now serves a variety of purposes. Victims and
families gather to remember, mourn, and heal, while others use the site to
educate and even entertain as theater groups and musicians have begun
performing there (Hite and Collins 2009). Chilean national identity is dynamic,
an imagined community that responds to evolving relationships between the
victims, families, and the rest of the nation. Since monuments and commemor-
ations are symbolic representations and a public acknowledgment of identity,
then the utility of the monument is also dynamic. This transformation is
evidence that the national dialog of Chile is also changing.
Human rights issues were once a fringe movement in Chile. Recently, the
dialog has shifted and human rights issues are now of primary concern to a
large group of Chileans. Pinochet’s arrest in the late 1990s electrified victims’
rights advocates. Pioneered by the Rettig Report, numerous reports have
surfaced detailing the atrocities of the Pinochet regime. The reports established
the profundity of Pinochet’s clandestine operations and allowed the Justice
Department finally to take legal action. Pinochet was arrested in England and
extradited to Chile to begin trial hearings, but he was deemed unfit and was
never convicted. Armed forces personnel did not go unscathed, however.
Members of the armed forces were directly held accountable in national
tribunals and trials. The head of DINA, Manuel Contreras, is currently serving
25 life sentences totaling 289 years after he was convicted for his numerous
human rights violations, specifically torture, rape, and murder, and his involve-
ment in political assassinations in Chile and abroad. The government has
consistently made frequent efforts since 2006 to make reparations to the
victims’ families and to put all effort into finding truth and obtaining justice.
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 233

13.9 Conclusion

Forensic scientists have been increasingly enlisted in human rights endeavors

over the past several decades because of their specialized scientific skills. In
terms of mass grave exhumations, the forensic anthropologist brings the detailed
and systematic skills of an archaeologist aimed at careful recovery of 100% of the
human remains. In the laboratory the forensic anthropologist is specifically
trained in the reconstruction of a biological profile aimed at beginning the
identification process and putting a name to the decedent. He or she is able to
reconstruct traumatic events etched in bone that bear light not only on the last
moments of the decedent’s life but also on the circumstance of the particular
humanitarian crisis event. In the context of human rights investigations, the
forensic anthropologist brings a cultural understanding of associated material
culture like clothing and personal belongings, as well as the ability to interact
appropriately and compassionately with the victims’ families. Lastly, and most
importantly, the multidisciplinary approach of forensic experts brings an
unbiased view of science that seeks only the truth and a voice for the life silenced
by employing the use of internationally accepted standards and quality control
through implementation of verified protocols. It is this passionate and unbiased
approach to reuniting families with their missing loved ones that has been
instrumental in rebuilding the national identity of Chile that was stolen long ago.

References
Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of
Nationalism. 1983. London: Verso.
August, A. (1996). Overwriting Pinochet: undoing the culture of fear in Chile. Modern
Language Quarterly, 57, 151–63.
Aukerman, M. J. (2002). Extraordinary evil, ordinary crime: a framework for under-
standing transitional justice. Harvard Human Rights Journal, 15, 1–50.
Avruch, K. (2010). Truth and reconciliation commissions: problems in transitional
justice and the reconstruction of identity. Transcultural Psychiatry, 47,
33–49.
Avruch, K. & Vejarano, B. (2001). Truth and reconciliation commissions: a review
essay and annotated bibliography. Social Justice: Anthropology, Peace, and
Human Rights, 2, 47–108.
Barsalou, J. (2005). Trauma and transitional justice in divided societies. United States
Institute of Peace, 1, 1–12.
Bell, D. S. (2003). Mythscapes: memory, mythology, and national identity. The British
Journal of Sociology, 54, 63–81.
Black, J. K. (2002). Exorcising the ghost of Pinochet. Revista Europea de Estudios
Latinoamericanos y del Caribe/European Review of Latin American and Carib-
bean Studies, 73, 105–11.
234 Forensic anthropology and national identity

Brison, S. J. (2002). Outliving Oneself: Trauma, Memory, and Personal Identity.

Gender Struggles: Practical Approaches to Contemporary Feminism. Maryland:
Rowan and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 137–65.
Brody, R. (2008). Pinochet’s European Vacation. Human Rights Watch [Online].
Available: www.hrw.org/news/2008/10/16/pinochets-european-vacation. [Accessed
October 16, 2013.]
Collier, S. & Sater, W. F. (2004). A History of Chile, 1808–2002. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación (2004). Informe Rettig. Santiago:
Ediciones del Ornitorrinco.
Consejo de Monumentos Nacionales Ministerio de Educación Gobierno de Chile. (n.d.).
Parque Por La Paz Villa Grimaldi [Online]. Available: www.villagrimaldicorp.cl.
[Accessed September 28, 2013.]
Ensalaco, M. (1994). Truth commissions for Chile and El Salvador: a report and
assessment. Human Rights Quarterly, 16, 656.
Grandin, G. (2005). The instruction of great catastrophe: truth commissions, national
history, and state formation in Argentina, Chile, and Guatemala. The American
Historical Review, 110, 46–67.
Hite, K. & Collins, C. (2009). Memorial fragments, monumental silences and re-
awakenings in 21st-century Chile. Millennium: Journal of International Studies,
38, 379–400.
Hutchison, E. & Bleiker, R. (2008). Emotional reconciliation reconstituting identity and
community after trauma. European Journal of Social Theory, 11, 385–403.
Informe, Rettig, (1991). Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación.
Kornbluh, P. (2004). The Pinochet File: A Declassified Dossier on Atrocity and
Accountability. New York: The New Press.
Kriesberg, L. (1993). Intractable conflicts. Peace Review, 5, 417–21.
Larraín, J. (2006). Changes in Chilean identity: thirty years after the military coup.
Nations and Nationalism, 12, 321–38.
Loveman, B. (1986). Military dictatorship and political opposition in Chile, 1973–
1986. Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs, 28, 1–38.
Meade, T. A. (2001). Holding the junta accountable: Chile’s ‘Sitios De Memoria’
and the history of torture, disappearance, and death. Radical History Review, 79,
123–39.
Mendeloff, D. (2009). Trauma and vengeance: assessing the psychological and emo-
tional effects of post-conflict justice. Human Rights Quarterly, 31, 592–623.
Miller, N. (2006). The historiography of nationalism and national identity in Latin
America. Nations and Nationalism, 12, 201–21.
Montaner, L. B. (1988). Atentados a La Libertad De Información Ya Los Medios De
Comunicación En Chile, 1973–1987. CENECA.
Reconciliación, C. C. N. D. V. Y. & Berryman, P. (1993). Report of the Chilean
National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation. Notre Dame: University
of Notre Dame Press, Center for Civil and Human Rights, Notre Dame Law
School.
 Elizabeth M. DeVisser et al. 235

Rector, J. L. (2003). The History of Chile. Westport: Greenwood Publishing Group.

Reimers, E. (1999). Death and identity: graves and funerals as cultural communication.
Mortality, 4, 147–66.
Servicio Medico Legal (2010). Memoria Programa De Derechos Humanos. Santiago:
Servicio Medico Legal.
Smith, A. D. (1991). National Identity. Reno: University of Nevada Press.
Spooner, M. H. (2011). The General’s Slow Retreat: Chile after Pinochet. Berkeley and
Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Valech, (1992). Informe Sobre Calificación de Víctimas de Violaciones de Derechos
Humanos y de la Violencia Política Elaborado por la Corporación Nacional
de Reparación y Reconciliación. (www.memoriaviva.com/Centros/centros_de_
detencion.htm
Waldorf, L. (2006). Mass justice for mass atrocity: rethinking local justice as transi-
tional justice. Temple Law Review, 79, 1.
Wilde, A. (2008). Avenues of memory: Santiago’s General Cemetery and Chile’s recent
political history. A Contracorriente: Revista de Historia Social y Literatura en
América Latina, 5, 134–69.
Wurmann, A. (2003). ‘My father was also killed’. El Mercurio, Letter published 20
August.
Wyndham, M. & Read, P. (2010). From state terrorism to state errorism: post-Pinochet
Chile’s long search for truth and justice. The Public Historian, 32, 31–44.
Zalaquett, J. (1985). “From Dictatorship to Democracy.” New Republic, 16, 17–21.
(1993). Introduction to the English Edition. Report of the Chilean National Commis-
sion on Truth and Reconciliation, 1.
14 Cranial trauma and cranial
modification in post-imperial
Andahuaylas, Peru
danielle kurin

14.1 Emerging from the ashes of empire: Chanka genesis

in Andahuaylas

Tumultuous sociopolitical changes can dramatically impact the behaviors and

lifeways of people who survive through, or emerge from, such eras. Often,
societies that coalesce in the midst of transformations such as state collapse or
environmental calamity witness endemic conflict (Chase-Dunn and Taylor
1994; Tainter 1988; Yoffee 2005). Acts of violence may be persistent or
recurring, and range in scale from domestic abuse, to small-scale scuffles,
raids, and other acts of warfare (Arkush and Stanish 2005; Brubaker and Laitin
1998; Nielsen and Walker 2009). While violent interactions are common in
times of change or want, these eras also witness novel configurations of
historically contingent social groups (Fearon and Laitin 2003).
The era known as the Late Intermediate Period (LIP; AD 1000–1400)
experienced the highest levels of warfare in Andean prehistory (Arkush and
Tung 2013), but also the formation of hundreds of small, regional polities
(Rowe 1945; see Covey 2008). Underlying causes of violence in south-central
Peru during this period have been attributed to two major transformations:
a long-term drought (Bauer et al. 2010) and the fragmentation of the Wari
Empire at the end of the Middle Horizon (AD 600–1000) (LaLone 2000;
Tainter 1988; Williams 2002). Related, proximate explanations for violence
in the region include material poverty (Torres-Rouff and Costa Junqueira
2006), resource scarcity and competition (Arkush 2008; 2009), population
migrations (Lofaro et al. 2011; see Bamforth 1994), and general sociopolitical
instability (Cahill 2010). Reasons for Wari’s collapse are not fully understood,

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

236
 Danielle Kurin 237

but, nevertheless, the Empire’s retraction is thought to have created a political

vacuum which transformed local intergroup relationships; these relationships
were antagonistic and consequently involved physical violence.
This study investigates how violence was experienced among newly formed
social groups in the Andahuaylas region of south-central Peru following Wari
imperial fragmentation. Human crania excavated from Middle Horizon and
LIP mortuary contexts were systematically assessed. To discern how violence
was experienced in Andahuaylas before and after the era of Wari fragmenta-
tion, crania from both eras were examined for evidence of head wounds,
a reliable proxy for physical conflict. Trauma data were correlated with
attributes including age, sex, and cranial modification, to determine how
violence may have variably impacted different subpopulation groupings.

14.2 Historical context

14.2.1 The post-imperial Chanka of Andahuaylas, Peru

Following Wari fragmentation in the Andahuaylas region, a near-hinterland

province located about a 2-day walk southeast from the old imperial capital,
the Chanka society coalesced as a formidable and distinctive presence (Bauer
et al. 2010) (Figure 14.1). Chanka social organization during the LIP was
likely structured by the ayllu, a complex amalgam of nested and comple-
mentary ranked groups. Practically speaking, ayllu members collectively
managed corporate landholdings, shared communal burial crypts, and claimed
descent from a common mythohistoric ancestor (Isbell 1997). Bioaffinity data
derived from analysis of cranial non-metric traits show that the Chanka are
directly descended from earlier, Wari-era populations in Andahuaylas (Pink
and Kurin 2011).
Archaeological data suggest that the Chanka experienced significant levels
of violence. Hilltop settlements were built and occupied in Andahuaylas just
after Wari fragmentation between AD 1000 and 1100 (Bauer et al. 2010: 80;
Bauer and Kellett 2010; Kellett 2010). Settlements were isolated and lacked
water sources; many consisted of defensive features such as walls, ditches,
precipices on three sides, and lookouts. Caches of used, functional weaponry
have been found at many Chanka sites (Gómez 2009).
Similarly, recent ethnohistoric research indicates fierce competition among
different Chanka groups (Hyland and Amado Gonzalez 2010). For instance,
several early colonial testimonies relate that Chanka leaders dispossessed
rivals by “pulling crops from the root and slinging stones” (Hostnig et al.
2007 [1612]: 491). Although historic portrayals depict the Chanka as
238 Cranial trauma and modification

Figure 14.1. Map of the Andahuaylas region. Study sites include Ranracancha, Cachi,
Natividad, and Turpo.

a capriciously bellicose society which emerged from the ashes of a crumbling

archaic empire, the relationship between Chanka social groupings and violence
remains poorly understood.

14.2.2 The emergence of cranial modification in Andahuaylas:

novel affiliations

Among the many distinctive cultural attributes that structured Chanka society
was the practice of cranial modification. Cranial modification, the intentional
deformation of the infant skull using pads, bands, and boards (O’Brien and
Stanley 2011), is perhaps the most salient corporeal indicator of social identity
in the ancient Andes. Indeed, Spanish and Mestizo chroniclers, including
Betanzos (2004 [1557]), Cieza de Leon (1984 [1553]), and Garcilaso de la
Vega (1966 [1609–1613]), all related that cranial modification signaled some
type of affiliation.
 Danielle Kurin 239

Today, many anthropologists interpret cranial modification not just as an

artifact of normative child-rearing practices (see Shimada et al. 2004; Verano
1994) but as a marker of a social identity and group affiliation. In the Andes,
studies have consistently demonstrated that cranial modification was often
employed to demarcate different sectors of the population, including occupa-
tional groups (Lozada and Buikstra 2002), social or ethnic groups (Torres-
Rouff 2002), moiety and residential descent groups (Hoshower et al. 1995),
lineages (Blom 2005), and even elites (Dembo and Imbelloni 1938). Previous
research in Andahuaylas has revealed several significant trends in cranial
modification. For instance, cranial modification was practiced in Andahuaylas
only after Wari’s fragmentation. None of 36 individuals from the Middle
Horizon evinces modified crania. However, during the early LIP, cranial
modification rates increased significantly to 76% (208/273) (Fisher’s exact;
P ¼ 0.0001; n ¼ 309). Modification rates remained high throughout the LIP.
Discerning the meaning of cranial modification in Andahuaylas has been
tricky. Modified head shapes are not significantly associated with sex, burial
cave, historically documented ayllu or moiety, diet (revealed through carbon
isotope analysis), residential origin (as determined through strontium isotope
analysis), biological affinity (informed by cranial non-metric traits), or status
(as indicated through grave goods) (Kurin 2012). Presently, the consensus
among scholars in Andahuaylas is that cranial modification signals affiliation
with a historically contingent social group. This social group may have been
structured to some extent by lineage, kinship category (i.e. primogeniture), or
an ethnic or “ethnic-like” identity.
Regardless of the type of social identity and affiliation demarcated through a
modified head, the implementation of this boundary-marking practice (separ-
ating “us” and “them”) is noteworthy (see Barth 1969). The sudden, novel use
of cranial modification in post-imperial Andahuaylas appears to be part of a
larger process of ethnogenesis during the nascent LIP. In this case, ethnogen-
esis refers to invented or reformulated traditions which come to prominence as
social boundary markers, integrated with surviving or vestigial elements of
past societies that become stitched together in such a way that the boundaries
between groups are radically redefined compared to previous generations (see
also Knudson and Stojanowski 2009).
Ethnogenesis is a common feature in eras emerging from dramatic societal
restructuring. In highland Peru, tightly imbricated social, political, and
economic relationships unraveled at the end of the Middle Horizon, and new
social affiliations were necessarily forged. During the LIP, fraught with
unforeseen challenges, solidarity groups would have to have been maintained,
occasionally activated, and (re)created in each generation. Certain practices of
affiliation may have been necessary so that in-group members could make
legitimate claims to access natural resources and social networks. Modification
240 Cranial trauma and modification

may have been one strategy that facilitated this process. Yet, although cranial
modification could have promoted solidarity among in-group members, it may
have simultaneously provoked further balkanization with those outside the
group (Torres-Rouff 2002). These antagonisms could have become violent
(see Sen 2008; Taylor 2010). Thus, an important question remains: what were
the consequences of ethnogenesis with respect to experiences of violence
during the tumultuous LIP?

14.3 Materials and methods

To better understand how Andahuaylan lifeways were impacted by Wari

fragmentation and the ensuing sociocultural and political machinations, human
skeletal remains (minimum number of individuals [MNI] ¼ 477) were sys-
tematically excavated from one late Middle Horizon tomb (c. AD 700–1000)
and 14 early LIP burial caves in the region (c. AD 1000–1250) (Figure 14.2).

14.3.1 Site descriptions

Turpo (Middle Horizon)

Rescue excavations at Qatun Rumi (3206 meters above sea level [m.a.s.l.]) in
Turpo District, Andahuaylas Province, focused on the recovery of human

Figure 14.2. Typical burial cave in Andahuaylas.

 Danielle Kurin 241

remains and artifacts from a stone-lined, circular, semi-subterranean tomb. In

all, crania representing at least 36 individuals were recovered from the circular
tomb, and 26 of them were at least 15 years old. Within the tomb, a bone bed
of disarticulated human remains was deposited above a fully articulated middle
adult male (35–50 years old). This “apical” male was buried face down in a
tightly flexed position on a thin-beamed wooden pallet, likely fabricated for
the occasion. A sample of wood from the burial pallet was radiocarbon dated
to cal AD 880–990 (2σ), placing it squarely in the twilight of Wari’s imperial
existence during the later Middle Horizon.
The style of the tomb was similar to those uncovered elsewhere in both the
Wari heartland and hinterland (Ochatoma Paravicino 2007; Tung 2007b: 251).
Poorly preserved, culturally unaffiliated terraces are also located near the
tomb, and a pre-Hispanic road runs next to the site. Several classes of artifacts
recovered during excavation affirm that Wari’s influence was pervasive in
western Andahuaylas. High-quality Viñaque style ceramics (Menzel 1968:
143) were present, along with locally produced vessels with emulated Wari
motifs. Excavations also uncovered high-status Wari goods, including a figur-
ine pendant depicting an elite, collared individual wearing a four-cornered hat
with crossed arms (Ochatoma Paravicino 2007: 203) and pupil-less eyes (Cook
1992). A fragment of a face-neck jar depicts Wari Agent 102 (Knobloch 2002),
an individual who played an integral role in the proselytization
and subjugation of distant regions during Epoch 1B/2 (c. AD 700). In the
lab, the well-contextualized human remains from Turpo were assessed to
provide insight on both mortuary practices and lifeways during the twilight
of the Wari Empire.

Natividad (LIP Chanka)

The Natividad Museum collection consists of skeletal remains of 24 individ-
uals, 19 of whom were over 15 years of age. Remains derive from a burial cave
on the Qasiachi plateau in Turpo District (3405 m.a.s.l.). Reconnaissance
survey work and loosely associated ceramics suggest the caves were used
during the LIP. According to colonial documents, Turpo was governed by a
powerful upper moiety Chanka lord named Guasco, whose family maintained
leadership in the region for at least five centuries (Cieza de Leon 1996 [1553];
Hostnig et al. 2007 [1612]; Julien 2002 [1539]).

Cachi (LIP Chanka)

Located in San Antonio de Cachi District, Andahuaylas Province, the arch-
aeological complex at Cachi was home to a historically documented upper
moiety Chanka community. Radiocarbon dating and Wari-style pottery
242 Cranial trauma and modification

indicate that Cachi witnessed significant Wari investment in mining, agricul-

ture, and pastoralism between cal AD 690–973 (2σ). During the eleventh
century AD, burial caves in Cachi were cleaned out and refurbished. Subse-
quently caves were used for internment for about a century on average,
between cal AD 1123 and 1290 (2σ). LIP mortuary assemblages included
small personal items (e.g. spindle whorls and tupu mantle pins) marking
gender-based (Silverblatt, 1987) or social collectives. Offerings of non-
functional artifacts like paired miniature ceramics, curated carnivore skulls,
and camelid conopas (talismans) were commonly encountered and likely
formed part of a mortuary assemblage that signaled patrilineal affiliation
(Arriaga 1968 [1621]: 29; Betanzos 2004 [1557]: 109). Finally, paired stone
weapons like liwis, aillos, and porras were uncovered and are important
indirect signatures of warfare and violence (Nielsen and Walker 2009).
At Cachi, skeletal remains were excavated from three sectors and, in
total, 162 individuals over the age of 15 were assessed in the lab. The
largest sector at Cachi, called Sonhuayo (3365 m.a.s.l.), is a 5-ha. fortified
habitation located on a promontory that has commanding views of the
surrounding region. The accessible south side of the site is protected by a
wide ditch and a series of concentric walls. Several dozen agglutinated
circular houses were arranged into haphazard patio groups and burial caves
were carved out of the existing bedrock nearby. Three intact mortuary caves
were excavated within this sector, and surface remains were collected from
an additional six caves that were all badly looted, yielding 129 crania
amenable to analysis. At the nearby Masumachay sector (3380 m.a.s.l.),
burial caves were hewn from bedrock outcrops in the middle part of a butte-
like hill that has poorly preserved terraces. Four crania from three caves
were assessed from this sector. Finally, the Mina Cachihuancaray sector
(3530 m.a.s.l.) is characterized by the Mina rock salt mine, where extraction
by hand has continued unabated for some 10 centuries. A few meters
downslope of this mine are burial caves. In all, 56 crania were recovered
from two caves in this sector.

Ranracancha (LIP Chanka)

Finally, 42 crania were assessed from a looted burial cave at Ranracancha
(3436 m.a.s.l.) (Chincheros Province) called Ayamachay. Thirty-seven
individuals from this cave were at least 15 years old. Sixteenth-century
documents relate that Ranracancha was populated by members of the
Anccohuallyo ayllu (Bauer et al. 2010; Kellett 2010), a group that con-
formed to the lower moiety Chanka. Ceramic styles and radiocarbon dates
indicate internment during the early LIP (AD 1160–1260). There are no
 Danielle Kurin 243

visible signs of pre-Hispanic architecture near Ayamachay Cave, but there

are extensive LIP terraces 3.0 km east.

14.3.2 Methods

Although excavations yielded cranial and postcranial remains, this article only
presents data derived from analysis of human crania. This unit of analysis was
selected because crania afford information on age, sex, and the absence or
presence of cranial modification. Moreover, head trauma in particular is often
attributed to violent physical confrontations rather than accidental injury (Tung
2007a, 2012; Walker 2001). Cranial MNIs were determined based on the
number of diagnostic crania (at least 75% complete). Age-at-death estimations
were made using standard methods (Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994). Cranial
vault suture closure scores were summed to determine an S value correlated
with mean ages, and maxillary dental wear scores were employed to determine
broad age categories which could be compared to other south-central Peruvian
populations (Tung 2012). For subadults, dental development and eruption
were used to determine the age at death (Hillson 1996; Ubelaker 1989).
Finally, sex estimation was based on dimorphic features on the cranium; crania
were designated as male, female, probable male or female, or unknown
(Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994: 21). Because sexually dimorphic features are
not expressed in individuals until after puberty, juveniles under 15 years of age
were designated as “unknown.”
Anthropogenic features of the crania were also evaluated. Evidence for
cranial modification was assessed anthroposcopically, and confirmed through
the measurement of cranial arcs and chords (Kurin 2012; see Torres-Rouff
2002). Heads were classified as either modified or unmodified (“normal”).
Bioarchaeologists have had much success in discerning the social contexts
of violent interactions based on trauma frequency, location, and distribution
(Frayer 1997; Martin and Frayer 1997; Tung 2012; Walker 1997). To ascertain
how violence was experienced in Andahuaylas, crania were examined for
evidence of head wounds. Despite remodeling, evidence of injury becomes
sedimented in bone for several years, usually leaving residual defects that
allow us to see the accumulated effects of violence over the life of an individ-
ual (Agarwal and Glencross 2011). Trauma data were collected on the location
of affected areas on bone, including the side, region, and aspect. The number
and types of fractures or defects were calculated from the inventory and
distribution of wound impacts (Jurmain 1999; Lovell 1997), and concomitant
abnormal bone changes were described. Trauma frequency sheds light on rates
of violence within a population, while the location and distribution of wounds
244 Cranial trauma and modification

informs on the victim’s position relevant to the direction of force (Galloway

1999) and may illuminate normative patterns of aggression that targeted
specific regions of the head. For instance, multiple perimortem facial injuries
on a single individual may be an example of excessive rage-filled “overkill”
violence (Rautman and Fenton 2005), while lethal wounds directed to the base
of the skull may signal execution blows (Ta’ala et al. 2006). Thus, used in
conjunction with wound distribution and frequency, trauma lethality can signal
whether the potential intent of an assailant during a violent confrontation was
to injure or kill an opponent. Following standard practices, head wounds were
classified as either antemortem, which bear evidence of bone remodeling
(healing), or unhealed perimortem wounds, which occur at or around the time
of death (Lovell 1997). The presence of both antemortem and perimortem
wounds is an unambiguous sign of consecutive assault. Finally, because the
experience of adults and subadults may deviate, infant/child (0–14 years) and
late adolescent/adult (15–50þ years) trauma rates were calculated separately
following Tung (2003; 2012).

14.4 Results: trauma and violence in Andahuaylas

14.4.1 Trauma during imperial and post-imperial eras

Remains at Turpo were radiocarbon dated to the late tenth century (AD 880–
990). Of 26 late adolescent/adult diagnostic crania examined, only two (7.7%)
have traumatic injuries (Table 14.1). All injuries were non-lethal, and showed
signs of long-term healing. In sharp contrast, during the subsequent early LIP
(AMS dated c. AD 1080–1290), trauma rates increase significantly: 53.7%
(117/218) of late adolescent/adult crania have at least one wound (Fisher’s
exact; P <0.0001; n ¼ 244). Trauma also became significantly more lethal
over time. While there are no late adolescent/adult individuals with perimor-
tem fractures from the Middle Horizon population, the Chanka sites occupied
during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries apparently experienced substantial
lethal violence. Fifty of 218 (22.9%) late adolescents/adult Chanka crania have
at least one perimortem wound; 39% (88/225) of all wounds observed
occurred at or around the time of death (Fisher’s exact; P ¼ 0.0034).

14.4.2 Sex and violence in Chanka communities

Trauma patterns between Chanka males and females are similar across Anda-
huaylas (Figure 14.3). There are no sex-based differences in trauma
Table 14.1. Trauma among late adolescent/adults in Andahuaylas.

Antemortem: Total
Cranial Number % w/ Total number Average number perimortem trauma
Site Sex MNI w/ trauma trauma of wounds of wounds trauma rates

Turpo Males 11 2 18.1 4 2.00 N/A 7.7%

(Wari-affiliated) Females 5 0 0 0 N/A N/A (2/26)
Unknown 10 0 0 0 N/A N/A
Ranracancha (Chanka) Males 19 11 57.9 31 2.81 2.44:1 62.1%
Females 17 11 64.7 13 1.18 2.25:1 (23/37)
Unknown 1 1 100 2 2.00 n/a
Natividad Males 16 7 43.7 9 1.29 0.5:1 52.6%
(Chanka) Females 3 3 100 3 1.00 0.5:1 (10/19)
Cachi Males 63 36 57.1 64 1.78 2.05:1 51.8%
(Chanka) Females 72 45 62.5 92 2.04 1.34:1 (84/162)
Unknown 27 3 11.1 7 2.33 0.4:1
Total 244 119 48.8 225
246 Cranial trauma and modification

Table 14.2. Summary table of wound distribution on Andahuaylan males

and females.

Left Right Anterior Posterior Superior Inferior Total

Middle Horizon
Antemortem 0 0 3 1 0 0 4
Perimortem 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Total wounded males 0 0 3 1 0 0 4
(n ¼ 2)
Antemortem 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Perimortem 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
Total wounded females 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
(n ¼ 0)
Late Intermediate
Period
Antemortem 11 12 26 17 5 0 71
Perimortem 7 7 13 3 1 2 33
Total wounded males 18 19 39 20 6 2 104
(n ¼ 54)
Antemortem 14 10 17 14 9 0 64
Perimortem 7 8 15 8 0 5 43
Total wounded females 21 18 32 22 9 5 107
(n ¼ 56)

Table 14.3. Wound tally and distribution on modified and unmodified

individuals.

Left Right Anterior Posterior Superior Inferior Total

Antemortem (mod.) 24 18 40 26 14 0 122

Perimortem (mod.) 9 12 23 10 2 7 63
Total modified (n) 33 30 63 36 16 7 185
Modified (%) (17.8%) (16.2%) (34.1%) (19.5%) (8.6%) (3.8%)

Antemortem (unmod.) 2 4 4 5 0 0 15
Perimortem (unmod.) 4 3 5 1 0 0 13
Total unmodified (n) 6 7 9 6 0 0 28
Unmodified (%) (21.4%) (25%) (32.1%) (21.4%) (0%) (0%)

frequencies (males ¼ 52.9%, females ¼ 75.7%; Fisher’s exact; P ¼ 0.2378;

n ¼ 190), the ratio of lethal to sublethal wounds (Table 14.2; Fisher’s exact;
P ¼ 0.2512; n ¼ 211), or the average number of wounds (males ¼ 1.96,
females ¼ 1.40; unpaired t test; P ¼ 0.9685). Finally, male and female trauma
distribution patterns were similar; sex is not correlated with trauma on a
particular region of the head (Table 14.2).
 Danielle Kurin 247

Figure 14.3. Trauma lethality and distribution between Chanka males (left) and
females (right). Grey circles signal antemortem trauma; black circles indicate
perimortem trauma.

Trauma frequencies, lethality, and wound distribution are not significantly

different between Chanka males and females. These results suggest that both
males and females were experiencing violence in similar social contexts, or that
sex did not mediate the frequency, location, or lethality of attack. This pattern is
distinct from traditional cases of Andean warfare, where males tend to display
significantly more trauma than females (Tung 2007a; 2012). Instead, trauma data
from Andahuaylas appear to be strongly associated with cranial modification.

14.4.3 Trauma among modified and unmodified adults

Thus far, trauma data from Andahuaylas have shown that Chanka individuals
experienced significantly more violence then earlier Middle Horizon popula-
tions. Moreover, Chanka late adolescent/adult males and females experienced
physical attacks that were congruent in their frequency, lethality, and location.
However, not all Chanka late adolescent/adults were targeted for attack.
While some individuals were singled out for head trauma, others did not
experience violence severe enough to break bone. In this case, the difference
appears to have been primarily based on whether or not an individual had a
modified head. Trauma rates among modified and unmodified Chanka are
significantly different. Of 160 modified individuals, 97 (60.6%) had at least
one traumatic wound, while only 16 of 50 (32%) unmodified crania had at least
one instance of trauma (Fisher’s exact; P ¼ 0.0006; n ¼ 210) (Figure 14.4).

14.4.4 Trauma among modified and unmodified juveniles

Head wound trends for late adolescents and adults in Andahuaylas also extend
to subadults under 15 years of age. Juvenile trauma rates increased overall
248 Cranial trauma and modification

Figure 14.4. Trauma among Chanka individuals with modified crania (top) and
unmodified crania (bottom). Clear circles signal antemortem trauma; black circles
indicate perimortem trauma.

from 0% (0/10) during the Wari era to 14.3% (3/21) during the post-imperial
period (Fisher’s exact; P ¼ 0.5328; n ¼ 31). Relative to the preceding Wari era
when no juveniles exhibited head trauma (Tung 2012), this is a striking change
that further demonstrates that the Chanka lived during a violent and tumultu-
ous time, both for adults as well as children. Intriguingly, in Andahuaylas,
wounded children were only present at Chanka sites; juvenile crania (n ¼ 12)
from other contemporaneous (non-Chanka) cultural groups in the region do
not display head wounds (Kurin 2012).
Similar to the older group, cranial modification appears to have structured
experiences of violence among Chanka juveniles. All three wounded Chanka
subadults also had cranial modification; wounds were all higher impact blunt
force trauma with characteristic depression and radiating fractures. Linear
 Danielle Kurin 249

fractures, which are usually caused by lower forces and stem from accidental
injury (Lovell 1997), were not observed. The lone unmodified child cranium in
the sample had no trauma. Because of the small sample size, trauma differ-
ences between modified and unmodified juveniles are not statistically signifi-
cant (Fisher’s exact; P ¼ 1.000; n ¼ 21). However, the trend suggests that
traumatic injuries were not restricted to modified individuals within a specific
age cateogry. Regardless of age, those who displayed cranial modification
(a practice that must occur in infancy) were predisposed to a higher level of
violence.

14.4.5 Distribution of trauma in modified and unmodified groups

The location of trauma can inform on the social context of the encounter and
intent of the assailant (Ta’ala et al. 2006). This study compared the distribution
of wounds between the modified and unmodified groups (Table 14.3). Signifi-
cant differences are apparent: only individuals with cranial modification had
wounds targeting the superior and inferior portions of the vault (Fisher’s exact;
P ¼ 0.0322; n ¼ 213).
Furthermore, only Chanka crania with modification demonstrated unsur-
vivable basal skull wounds, called ring fractures. With this type of wound,
impact forces caused the basilar portion of the occipital to separate from the
rest of the vault. Radiating fractures split dense features terminating at the
foramen magnum, and posterior fracture margins on the occipital squama
displayed internal beveling. With this type of wound, the brainstem is often
lacerated, and death is almost always immediate (DiMaio and DiMaio
2001). Biomechanically, ring fractures can be caused by vertical loading
and impact forces transmitted up through the cervical spine and occipital
condyles, as experienced in high falls (Lovell 1997). However, ring frac-
tures from falls are usually associated with cervical vertebrae compression
fractures. In Andahuaylas, not a single cervical vertebra of more than 2224
observed had this type of fracture. Because there is no evidence that ring
fractures are from falls, the likely etiology of these wounds in Andahuaylas
is violent blunt force trauma. The location of the wound indicates that the
victims likely had their heads bowed, exposing the base of the skull.
Several strikes to the base of the skull of a kneeling, subdued individual
by a standing assailant would lead to the ring fractures observed on
Andahuaylan crania. A similar pattern of lethal injury, characterized as
execution blows, was found on crania from post-imperial contexts at the
former Wari capital city in Ayacucho (Tung 2008) and at the Khmer Rouge
killing fields (Ta’ala et al. 2006).
250 Cranial trauma and modification

Figure 14.5. Excessive trauma and ring fractures on modified Chanka crania.

14.4.6 Head shape and excessive trauma

When Chanka individuals were targeted for violence, those with cranial modi-
fication tended to be the victims of consecutive violent encounters, unambigu-
ously evinced by the presence of both antemortem and perimortem trauma. Of
97 modified individuals with trauma, 16 (16.5%) have both antemortem and
perimortem wounds, while none of the unmodified individuals (0/16) were the
victims of repeated aggression. This difference is nearly significant (Fisher’s
exact; P ¼ 0.0715; n ¼ 113). Given this trend, it appears that Chanka men and
women with cranial modification were victims of recidivism, while the group
with unmodified, “normal,” head shapes evaded repeated attacks.
Finally, synchronic, excessive violence was also enacted within Chanka
communities. This type of violence may be identified by the presence of
multiple perimortem blunt force traumas that are redundant and physically
destructive (Figure 14.5). In post-imperial Andahuaylas, these repetitive, high
impact, overkill blows were mostly directed towards the face. Although crania
(n ¼ 34) from contemporaneous, non-Chanka sites in the region were also
examined to provide a comparison (Kurin 2012), excessive wounds were only
observed during the post-imperial era, exclusively in Chanka communities,
and only on modified crania.

14.5 Discussion: exploring motivations of violence in Andahuaylas

14.5.1 Interpreting trauma during the Wari era

Compared to other contemporaneous Andean hinterland communities (Tung

2012), cranial trauma among Wari-era populations in Andahuaylas was low
 Danielle Kurin 251

and non-lethal. This suggests that assailants may have intended to injure – but
not kill – the victim during the assaults. Moreover, given that trauma only
impacted males, what sort of violence might have been taking place?
Sublethal anterior cranial injuries in the Andes are often attributed to a form
of ritualized conflict called tinku (Tung 2012: 139), or takanakuy in Andahuay-
las. In cases of takanakuy, combatants from different ayllus meet at a central
location to face off. During these yearly events, community tensions are
released as fighters trade blows. Ethnographic observations of over three dozen
takanakuy encounters in Andahuaylas revealed that jabs, crosses, and uppercuts
were never used, while hooks and bolo punches were only thrown in a few
bouts. In almost all cases, combatants lunged with wild, uncontrolled, round-
house blows. This type of fighting significantly impacted the nasal bones,
lateral eye orbits, zygomatics, greater wings of the sphenoid and temporal
bones; medial areas around the frontal bosses and superior coronal suture
tended to evade impact. Although hands were bandaged, combatants also
tended to display broken metatarsals (“boxer’s fractures”) (see Lovell 1997).
Assuming traditional fighting styles have remained relatively unchanged over
several centuries, the lack of wounds to the sides of the face and broken hand
bones at Turpo suggest takanakuy was not the cause of injuries.
Sublethal violence on males may be evidence of more acrimonious encoun-
ters. For instance, Tung’s (2012: 125) research on trauma in the Wari southern
hinterlands documented injuries on the frontal bones and facial area of males as
well as concomitant parry fractures of the radius and ulna. These data were
interpreted as evidence of face-to-face physical conflict and possibly raiding.
Yet, in Wari-era Andahuaylas, the low trauma rate and the lack of clear evidence
of parry fractures suggests that violence at Turpo did not take the form of
malevolent attacks either. Because trauma data largely rule out other forms of
violence, it appears that males at Turpo may have occasionally fallen victim to
interpersonal conflict resolution with prescribed rules of engagement (Chagnon
1992), or perhaps some form of community sanctioned corporal punishment
(Tung 2012: 144–5). Overall, there is no evidence at present to suggest that the
later Wari era (Middle Horizon) in Andahuaylas was a time of endemic conflict.

14.5.2 Interpreting trauma among the Chanka

Trauma patterns at the three LIP Chanka sites are distinct. Ranracancha,
Natividad, and Cachi were engaged in a context of violence distinct from
earlier Wari-era populations. The striking similarity in trauma patterning
between males and females, and between juveniles and late adolescents/adults,
informs on the type of violence that the Chanka may have experienced.
252 Cranial trauma and modification

Violence from raiding and traditional warfare tends to be associated with

disparate trauma rates, distribution, and lethality between males and females,
and old and young. This is not the case among the Chanka. Instead, violence
seems to be structured by the performance of cranial modification. Given the
significant disparities in trauma patterning between those with and without
cranial modification, it appears that modifying the shape of one’s head was a
culturally meaningful practice, one that denoted a specific type of ethnic,
social, or cultural identity. Conspicuously demarcated through head shape
(among other archaeologically unidentifiable indicators), the identity
embodied by those with modified crania apparently signaled their status as
potential victims of violence to as-of-yet unknown assailants. This type of
selective assault has few analogs in the prehistoric past. In contemporary
societies, violence that targets particular social, cultural, or ethnic groupings
has been characterized as intergroup violence, sectarian conflict, civil war,
ethnocide, and genocide (see Bhavnani and Backer 2000; Gould 1999; Hinton
2002; Horowitz 1985; Potter and Chuipka 2010; United Nations General
Assembly 1948). The evidence from ancient Andahuaylas strongly suggests
that a similar iteration of selective violence was occurring during the tumultu-
ous milieu that constituted the post-imperial Chanka era. There are several
lines of data that support this interpretation.

High trauma rates among males, females, and juveniles with

cranial modification
Foremost, late adolescents/adults with cranial modification have significantly
more trauma than their unmodified counterparts. These results strongly suggest
that, within post-imperial Chanka communities, victims of violence were pri-
marily and disproportionately singled out for attack based on identification and
recognition of head shape. In sharp contrast, unmodified individuals led less
violent lives. The stark disparity in trauma rates between groups is a fundamen-
tal correlate of violence that singles out certain subpopulations within society.
Trauma enacted against children is another key indicator of intergroup
violence. The frequency of childhood trauma among the prehistoric Chanka
(14.3%) is high even among modern populations (c.f. United Nations 2009).
Although abuse is a common etiology of trauma in children and may increase
in times of stress (Korbin 2003), only children from Chanka communities with
modified crania demonstrated head wounds. The disparate treatment of chil-
dren is commonly seen in ethnographic examples of genocidal behavior (vs.
traditional warfare), where children are actually targeted for killing. This seems
to have been the case for Chanka juveniles with modified crania; they, like
their adult counterparts, were singled out for violence.
 Danielle Kurin 253

Executions, recidivism, and excessive trauma among those

with cranial modification
Unique locations or mechanisms of injury can become normative for groups of
aggressors. For these reasons, violent acts can sometimes be attributed to a
particular segment of society. For instance, in Peru during the 1980–2000 civil
war, different causes of death could be associated with agents of the state (e.g.
military, secret police), who tended to use small arms fire, compared to the
Shining Path Senderista terrorists, who overwhelmingly employed blunt force
trauma to subdue victims (Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación 2003).
While the identity of aggressors in Andahuaylas remains unknown, the similar-
ity in targets and methods across the region may point to a common enemy.
Beside informing on possible motivations for violence, wound patterning
also indicates the victim’s position at the moment of impact. In Andahuaylas,
the presence of ring fractures on Chanka men, women, and juveniles with
cranial modification indicates that those individuals were possibly incapaci-
tated when they received deadly, close range, blunt force trauma. The victims
were ultimately interred collectively in burial caves with uninjured and
unmodified men, women, and children. The lack of any specialized mortuary
treatment for individuals with excessive trauma points to violent behavior not
commonly associated with ritual sacrifice in the Andes (see Benson and Cook
2001). Moreover, individuals with ring fractures were found at different
Chanka sites; this evidence does not support a single mass killing or massacre
scenario (Frayer 1997; Slaus et al. 2010; Tung 2008; Verano 1986; Willey and
Emerson 1993). Rather, ring fractures arising from efficient, depersonalized
executions of defenseless victims have been noted in cases of modern genocide
(Ta’ala et al. 2006).
In addition to execution blows, other trauma patterns are consistent with
selective intergroup violence. For instance, only individuals with cranial modi-
fication demonstrated both antemortem and perimortem wounds, unambiguous
evidence of injury recidivism. Apparently, individuals with modified head
shapes were more likely to become the victims of repeated aggression. Finally,
the fact that excessive “overkill” violence was solely directed towards Chanka
men, women, and children with cranial modification is especially significant.
This type of trauma is deeply symbolic. Repeated blunt force injury is meant to
increase the suffering of a victim (Kimmerle and Baraybar 2008), and the
intentional fragmentation of the skull (but not the postcranial skeleton) suggests
destruction and dehumanization, distinct from cases of dispatched witches (see
Darling 1998). In post-imperial Chanka communities, the physical destruction
of modified crania would have been a potent method of obliterating a victim’s
identity. This form of trauma has deep roots in the Peruvian highlands: witness
254 Cranial trauma and modification

testimony from Andahuaylas relates how Senderistas in the late 1980s would
almost always smash the faces of victims with large rocks to symbolically
destroy their identities, as well as inhibit the positive identification of victims
(Theidon 2001). Centuries earlier, chronicler Juan de Betanzos (2004 [1557]:
244) reported that battle axes were used to “smash heads to pieces,” as the final
step in a longer process of genocidal torture. Osteological evidence from
Andahuaylas appears to confirm at least part of the chronicler’s account.

14.6 The social dimension of intergroup conflict in post-imperial

Andahuaylas

Coalescing in the wake of Wari fragmentation, the Chanka appear to have

employed cranial modification as a novel form of demarcating intergroup differ-
ences. This active process of ethnogenesis was not a matter of biology, but rather
structured by historically and politically contingent and embedded conventions.
These groups became socially relevant as distinctions were acknowledged –
tacitly or implicitly – as people went about their day-to-day lives.
As a permanent process, cranial modification may have provided a solid
basis for forming coalitions. This boundary-marking tradition persisted for
hundreds of years despite the very real risk of violence associated with the
affiliation signaled by an intentionally elongated head. Motivations for
violence are still unclear, but selective, intergroup violence may have been a
strategic mechanism used to gain access over resources, build allegiances with
like-minded members, completely eliminate rivals, and legitimize dominant
authority and beliefs (see Fearon and Laitin 1996) during a tumultuous era that
witnessed the disintegration of Wari hegemony and infrastructure as well as
the coalescence of novel, regional societies in the early LIP.
Human remains were used to evaluate this scenario. This study hypothe-
sized that violence increased after Wari collapse, and cranial trauma data
appear to support this hypothesis. Compared to the late Wari imperial era,
trauma rates increased significantly during the post-imperial Chanka period.
Violence also became significantly more lethal in the post-imperial era, as
illustrated by a dramatic increase in perimortem trauma.
Within Chanka communities, wound frequency, lethality, and distribution
are similar between males and females. This indicates that they experienced
violence in similar encounters. Importantly, trauma rates and patterns diverged
significantly between individuals with cranial modification and those with
“normal-shaped” heads. Males, females, and juveniles with cranial modifica-
tion had significantly (or nearly significantly) more trauma than their contem-
poraneous, unmodified neighbors. They were also more likely to be the
 Danielle Kurin 255

victims of successive violent encounters. The fact that all members of this
subpopulation group appear to have been equally impacted by attack is an
indispensable correlate of genocidal behavior in modern societies.
The distribution of head wounds also points to violence that singled out a
particular group within Chanka communities. Only modified individuals had
trauma directed at the inferior portions of the vault. These deadly ring fractures
on the skull base indicate that those individuals were likely incapacitated when
they became the victims of close range, execution-style blunt force trauma.
Moreover, repeated, high impact, lethal, overkill blows were used to physically
and symbolically extirpate the identity of modified victims.
As victims of selective intergroup violence, Chanka men, women, and
children with cranial modification endured fundamentally different social
contexts of conflict than both their unmodified neighbors and their Wari-era
ancestors. The skeletal data from Andahuaylas clearly indicate that local
intergroup relationships were profoundly transformed in the decades following
Wari imperial fragmentation. Notably, cranial modification emerged as a
newly significant and highly conspicuous means of group differentiation.
However, with this distinction came the systematic, targeted killing of those
newly identifiable group members. In sum, skeletal data strongly support a
scenario whereby group identities were reformulated and, correspondingly,
violent physical interactions were restructured. Connections between cranial
modification and cranial trauma point to the creation of new social boundaries
as well as the intentional, physical destruction of the very individuals who
employed those boundary-marking practices in this region of the Andes.

Acknowledgments
This research was supported by funding from a National Science Foundation
DDIG, a Fulbright-Hays DDRA fellowship, and Vanderbilt University. The
Peruvian Ministry of Culture and the Municipality of Andahuaylas provided
research permits and lab space. Lic. Emmanuel Gómez helped lead exca-
vations and direct the Proyecto Bioarqueologico Andahuaylas research team.
Many thanks to Debra Martin and Cheryl Anderson for inviting me to partici-
pate in this volume and for offering suggestions that greatly improved the
quality of the manuscript. All errors herein are my own.

References
Agarwal, S. C. & Glencross, B. A. (eds.) (2011). Social Bioarchaeology. Malden:
Wiley-Blackwell.
Arkush, E. N. (2008). War, chronology, and causality in the Titicaca Basin. Latin
American Antiquity, 19, 339–73.
256 Cranial trauma and modification

(2009). Warfare, space and identity in the South-Central Andes: constraints and
choices. In: Nielsen, A. & Walker, W. (eds.) Warfare in Cultural Context:
Practice Agency, and the Archaeology of Conflict. Tucson: University of Arizona
Press, Amerind Foundation Advanced Seminar Series, 190–217.
Arkush, E. N. & Stanish, C. (2005). Interpreting conflict in the ancient Andes. Current
Anthropology, 46, 3–28.
Arkush, E. N. & Tung, T. A. (2013). Patterns of war in the Andes from the archaic to the
late horizon: insights from settlement patterns and cranial trauma. Journal of
Archaeological Research, DOI: 10.1007/s10814–013–9065–1.
Arriaga, P. J. (1968) [1621]. The Extirpation of Idolatry in Peru. Lexington: University
of Kentucky Press.
Bamforth, D. B. (1994). Indigenous people, indigenous violence: precontact warfare on
the North American great plains. Man, New Series, 29, 95–115.
Barth, F. (1969). Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture
Difference. New York: Waveland Press.
Bauer, B. S. & Kellett, L. C. (2010). Cultural transformations of the Chanka Homeland
(Andahuaylas, Peru) during the late intermediate period (AD 1000–1400). Latin
American Antiquity, 21, 87–111.
Bauer, B. S., Kellett, L. C. & Silva, M. A. (2010). The Chanka, Archaeological
Research in Andahuaylas (Apurimac), Peru. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of
Archaeology, UCLA.
Benson, E. P. & Cook, A. G. (eds.) (2001). Ritual Sacrifice in Ancient Peru. Austin:
University of Texas Press.
Bhavnani, R. & Backer, D. (2000). Localized ethnic conflict and genocide: accounting
for differences in Rwanda and Burundi. Journal of Conflict Resolution, 44,
283–306.
Blom, D. E. (2005). Embodying borders: human body modification and diversity in
Tiwanaku society. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 24, 1–24.
Brubaker, R. & Laitin, D. D. (1998). Ethnic and nationalist violence. Annual Review of
Sociology, 24, 423–52.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection from
Human Skeletal Remains. Proceedings of a Seminar at the Field Museum of
Natural History. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archaeological Survey, Research Series,
No. 44.
Cahill, D. (2010). Advanced Andeans and backward Europeans: structure and agency
in the collapse of the Inca Empire. In: McAnany, P. A. & Yoffee, N. (eds.)
Questioning Collapse: Human Resilience, Ecological Vulnerability, and the After-
math of Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 207–38.
Chagnon, N. (1992). Yanomamo. New York: Harcourt-Brace College Publishers.
Chase-Dunn, C. & Taylor, P. (1994). Hegemony and social change. Mershon Inter-
national Studies Review, 38, 361–6.
Cieza de Leon, P. (1984) [1553]. La Crónica Del Peru: Primera Parte. Lima: Fondo
Editorial, Pontificia Universidad Catolica del Peru.
(1996) [1553]. La Crónica Del Perú. Madrid: Cornices de America.
 Danielle Kurin 257

Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación. (2003). Informe Final [Online]. Available:

www.cverdad.org.pe. [Accessed September 28, 2013.]
Cook, A. G. (1992). The stone ancestors: idioms of imperial attire and rank among
Huari figurines. Latin American Antiquity, 3, 341–64.
Covey, R. A. (2008). Multiregional perspectives on the archaeology of the Andes
during the late intermediate period (C. A.D. 1000–1400). Journal of Archaeo-
logical Research, 16, 287–338.
Darling, A. J. (1998). Mass inhumation and the execution of witches in the American
Southwest. American Anthropologist, New Series, 100, 732–52.
De Betanzos, J. (2004) [1557]. Suma y Narración de los Incas. Lima: Polifemo.
Dembo, A. & Imbelloni, J. (1938). Deformaciones intencionales del cuerpo humano de
carácter étnico. Humanior. Buenos Aires, Sección A, Tomo, 3, 1–348.
DiMaio, D. & DiMaio, V. (2001). Forensic Pathology, 2nd edn. Boca Raton: CRC Press.
Fearon, J. D. & Laitin, D. D. (1996). Weak states, rough terrain, and large-scale ethnic
violence since 1945. Paper presented at the 1999 Annual Meeting of the American
Political Science Association.
(2003). Ethnicity, insurgency, and civil war. American Political Science Review, 97,
75–90.
Frayer, D. W. (1997). Ofnet: evidence for a mesolithic massacre. In: Martin, D. L. &
Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled Times: Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amster-
dam: Gordon and Breach, 181–216.
Galloway, A. (ed.) (1999). Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force
Trauma. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas.
Garcilaso de la Vega, I. (1966) [1609–1613]. Comentarios Reales: El Origen De Los
Incas. Madrid: Bruguera.
Gómez, D. E. (2009). Investigaciones en sitios de inhumación en Andahuaylas. Uni-
versidad Nacional San Cristóbal de Huamanga: Unpublished Lic. thesis.
Gould, R. (1999). Collective violence and group solidarity: evidence from a feuding
society. American Sociological Review, 64, 356–80.
Hillson, S. W. (1996). Dental Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Hinton, A. (ed.) (2002). The Annihilation of Difference: The Anthropology of Genocide.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Horowitz, D. L. (1985). Ethnic Groups in Conflict. Berkeley: University of California
Press.
Hoshower, L. M., Buikstra, J. E., Goldstein, P. S. & Webster, A. D. (1995). Artificial
cranial deformation at the Omo M10 site: a Tiwanaku complex from the Moque-
gua Valley, Peru. Latin American Antiquity, 6, 145–64.
Hostnig, R., Palomino, P. D. & Decoster, J. J. (2007) [1612]. Proceso De Composición
Y Titulación De Tierras En Apurimac. Cuzco: Instituto de Investigaciones Jurídi-
cas y Asesoramiento.
Hyland, S. & Amado Gonzalez, D. (2010). Marriage and conflict among Chanka
Kurakas, 1570–1775. Paper presented at the 38th Annual Midwest Andean Con-
ference on Andean and Amazonian Archaeology and Ethnohistory. Indiana
University–Purdue University Fort Wayne. February 21.
258 Cranial trauma and modification

Isbell, W. H. (1997). Mummies and Mortuary Monuments: A Postprocessual Prehistory

of Central Andean Social Organization. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Julien, C. (2002) [1539]. Diego Maldonado y los Chancas. Revista Andina, 34, 183–97.
Jurmain, R. (1999). Stories from the Skeleton: Behavioral Reconstruction in Osteoarch-
aeology. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach Publishers.
Kellett, L. C. (2010). Chanka settlement ecology: hilltop sites, land use and warfare in
late prehispanic Andahuaylas, Peru. University of New Mexico: Unpublished PhD
dissertation.
Kimmerle, E. H. & Baraybar, J. P. (eds.) (2008). Skeletal Trauma: Identification of Injuries
Resulting from Human Remains Abuse and Armed Conflict. Boca Raton: CRC Press.
Knobloch, P. J. (2002). Who Was Who in the Middle Horizon Andean Prehistory [Online].
Available: www-rohan.sdsu.edu/~bharley/WWWHome.html. [Accessed September
10, 2012.]
Knudson, K. J. & Stojanowski, C. M. (eds.) (2009). Bioarchaeology and Identity in the
Americas. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
Korbin, J. (2003). Children, childhoods, and violence. Annual Review of Anthropology,
32, 431–46.
Kurin, D. S. (2012). The bioarchaeology of collapse: ethnogenesis and ethnocide in
Post-Imperial Andahuaylas, Peru (AD 900–1200). Vanderbilt University: Unpub-
lished PhD dissertation.
LaLone, D. (2000). Rise, fall and semiperipheral development in the Andean world
system. Journal of World-Systems Research, 1, 67–98.
Lofaro, E. M., Kurin, D. S., Krigbaum, J. & Kamenov, G. (2011). Isotopic analysis of
Chanka mobility in the central highlands of Peru (Ca. AD 1000–1450). University
of Florida: Unpublished MA thesis.
Lovell, N. C. (1997). Trauma analysis in paleopathology. Yearbook of Physical Anthro-
pology, 40, 139–70.
Lozada, M. C. & Buikstra, J. E. (2002). El Senorio Chiribaya En La Costa Sur Del
Peru. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peranos.
Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) (1997). Troubled Times: Violence and Warfare in
the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach.
Menzel, D. (1968). La Cultura Huari. Lima: Compañía de Seguros y Reaseguros
Peruano-Suiza.
Nielsen, A. E. & Walker, W. H. (2009). Warfare in Cultural Context: Practice, Agency,
and the Archaeology of Violence. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
O’Brien, T. G. & Stanley, A. M. (2011). Boards and cords: discriminating types of
artificial cranial deformation in prehispanic South Central Andean Populations.
International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, 23, 459–70.
Ochatoma Paravicino, J. A. (2007). Alfareros Del Imperio Huari: Vida Cotidiana
Y Areas De Actividad En Conchopata. Ayacucho, Peru: Universidad Nacional
de San Cristobal de Huamanga Facultad de Ciencias Sociales.
Pink, C. & Kurin, D. S. (2011). Beyond the grave: continuity among Chanka popula-
tions in Andahuaylas Province, Peru. Paper presented at the 76th Annual Meeting
of the Society for American Archaeology. Sacramento, CA.
 Danielle Kurin 259

Potter, J. M. & Chuipka, J. P. (2010). Perimortem mutilation of human remains in an

early village in the American Southwest: a case for ethnic violence. Journal of
Anthropological Archaeology, 29, 507–23.
Rautman, A. E. & Fenton, T. W. (2005). A case of historic cannibalism in the American
West: implications for southwestern archaeology. American Antiquity, 70, 321–41.
Rowe, J. H. (1945). Absolute chronology in the Andean area. American Antiquity, 10,
265–84.
Sen, A. (2008). Violence in identity. In: Karawan, I. A., Mccormack, W. & Reynolds,
S. E. (eds.) Values and Violence. New York: Springer Press, 3–14.
Shimada, I., Shinoda, K., Farnum, J., Corruccini, R. & Watanabe, H. (2004). An
integrated analysis of pre-hispanic mortuary practices: a middle Sican case study.
Current Anthropology, 3, 369–402.
Silverblatt, I. (1987). Moon, Sun, and Witches: Gender Ideologies and Class in
Colonial Peru. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Slaus, M., Novak, M., Vyroubal, V. & Bedic, Z. (2010). The harsh life on the 15th
century Croatia-Ottoman empire military border: analyzing and identifying the
reasons for the massacre in Cepin. American Journal of Physical Anthropology,
141, 358–72.
Ta’ala, S. C., Berg, G. E. & Haden, K. (2006). Blunt force cranial trauma in the
Cambodian killing fields. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 51, 996–1001.
Tainter, J. A. (1988). The Collapse of Complex Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Taylor, C. C. (2010). Rwandan genocide: toward an explanation in which history and
culture matter. In: Mcanany, P. A. & Yoffee, N. (eds.) Questioning Collapse:
Human Resilience, Ecological Aftermath of Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 239–68.
Theidon, K. (2001). How we learned to kill our brother: memory, morality and
reconciliation in Peru. In: Sanchez, G. & Lair, E. (eds.) Bulletin De L’institut
Français Des Études Andines, No. 3 (29). Bogota: Colombia, 539–54.
Torres-Rouff, C. (2002). Cranial vault modification and ethnicity in middle horizon San
Pedro De Atacama, North Chile. Current Anthropology, 43, 163–71.
Torres-Rouff, C. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (2006). Interpersonal violence in prehistoric
San Pedro De Atacama, Chile: behavioral implications of environmental stress.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 130, 60–70.
Tung, T. A. (2003). A bioarchaeological perspective on Wari imperialism in the Andes
of Peru: a view from heartland and hinterland skeletal populations. University of
North Carolina, Chapel Hill: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
(2007a). Trauma and violence in the Wari Empire of the Peruvian Andes: warfare,
raids, and ritual fights. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 133, 941–56.
(2007b). The village of Beringa at the periphery of the Wari empire: a site overview
and new radiocarbon dates. Andean Past, 8, 253–86.
(2008). Violence after imperial collapse: a study of cranial trauma among late
intermediate period burials from the former Huari Capital, Ayacucho, Peru.
Ñawpa Pacha, 29, 101–18.
260 Cranial trauma and modification

(2012). Violence, Ritual, and the Wari Empire: A Social Bioarchaeology of Imperi-
alism in the Ancient Andes. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
Ubelaker, D. H. (1989). Human Skeletal Remains: Excavation, Analysis, Interpretation.
Washington: Taraxacum Press.
United Nations (2009). Progress for Children: A Report Card on Child Protection.
New York: United Nations Publications.
United Nations General Assembly (1948). Convention on the Prevention and Punish-
ment of the Crime of Genocide. Adopted December 9.
Verano, J. W. (1986). A mass burial of mutilated individuals at Pacatnamu. In: Donnan,
C. B. & Cock, G. A. (eds.) The Pacatnamu Papers, Volume 1. Los Angeles:
Museum of Cultural History, University of California, 117–38.
(1994). Características físicas y biología osteológica de Los Moche. In: Uceda, S. &
Mujica, E. (eds.) Propuestas Y Perspectivas, Vol. 79. Lima: Travaux de l’Institut
Frances d’Etudes Andines, 307–26.
Walker, P. L. (1997). Wife beating, boxing, and broken noses: skeletal evidence for the
cultural patterning of violence. In: Martin, D. L. & Frayer, D. W. (eds.) Troubled
Times: Violence and Warfare in the Past. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach, 145–80.
(2001). A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence. Annual Review of
Anthropology, 30, 573–96.
Willey, P. & Emerson, T. E. (1993). The osteology and archaeology of the Crow Creek
massacre. Plains Anthropologist, 38, 227–69.
Williams, R. P. (2002). Rethinking disaster-induced collapse in the demise of the
Andean Highland states: Wari and Tiwanaku. World Archaeology, 33, 361–74.
Yoffee, N. (2005). Myths of the Archaic State: Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States
and Civilizations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
15 Allies today, enemies tomorrow.
A comparative analysis of
perimortem injuries along the
biomechanical continuum
m e l i s s a s c o t t mu r p h y , b r i a n s p a t o l a ,
and r ick w eathermon

15.1 Introduction

The historical record often guides the understanding of the violence perpetrated
by the Spanish during the conquest of the Inca Empire; however, a critical
close reading of the record combined with nuanced skeletal analysis is required
to evaluate the victims of violence properly and to understand the social
contexts of those violent encounters. For example, evidence of injuries from
European weapons, such as firearms or steel-edged weapons (blunt and sharp),
indicates that the victims were injured after the arrival of the Spanish; however,
the perpetrators could have been Spaniards, indigenous Andean allies of the
Spanish armed with European weapons, or even allies recruited from different
parts of the Americas. Furthermore, the effects of sixteenth-century European
weapons on human skeletal remains are little known, so the interpretation
of the correspondence between the weapon and the injury is particularly
challenging. In this chapter, we examine characteristics of perimortem skeletal
injuries, weapon class, and mechanism of injury from historical and forensic
case studies to aid in interpretation of the high frequencies of perimortem
traumatic injuries (25.0%) among 120 individuals, and injuries consistent with
European weapons from a sample of indigenous human skeletal remains from
Puruchuco-Huaquerones (PH), Peru (Murphy et al. 2010). Our analysis
attempts: (1) to interpret trauma characteristics based on their association with
the types of weapons available before and after the arrival of the Spanish; and
(2) to illuminate the context of the violence of the Spanish Conquest.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

261
262 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

15.2 Bioarchaeological trauma analysis

In this study documented historic and modern injuries are compared with
historic and prehistoric unknown injuries of similar character from cemeteries
at the archaeological site of PH, Peru (AD 1470–1540). The purpose of this
exercise is to explore the interface between contextual and forensic anthropo-
logical approaches to interpretation of wounds from unidentified weapons. The
effects of sixteenth-century European weapons on human skeletal remains are
not as widely documented as those of their modern counterparts and the
evidence should be approached with due caution. We examine characteristics
of perimortem skull injuries, documentation of Spanish and Inca weapons, and
forensic case studies to assist with interpretation of perimortem traumatic
cranial injuries from PH, Peru.

15.3 Perpetrators or victims? Violence and Spanish Conquest

Warfare, raiding, and battles have been reported from pre-Hispanic contexts in
the Central Andes (Andrushko 2007; Andrushko and Torres 2011; Torres-
Rouff and Costa Junqueira 2006; Tung 2007; Verano 2001). Typical pre-
Hispanic Andean weapons included maces, slings with sling stones, large
wooden axe-like implements, bolas, tumi knives, and large wooden spears
(macana) (D’Altroy 2002; Del Busto Duthurburu 1978; Himmerich and
Valencia 1998; Rowe 1957). The Inca attached edges or points made of animal
bone, copper, silver, or bronze to their weapons (D’Altroy 2002; Hemming
1970; Himmerich and Valencia 1998; Pizarro 1978; Rowe 1946; Salas 1950).
As armor, the Incas donned lightweight cotton or textile padding.
During the conquest and invasion of the Inca Empire, the Spanish armed
themselves with steel-edged swords, pikes, pole arms (such as a halberd), war
hammers, crossbows, longbows, metal clubs and maces, and some firearms
(arquebus, pistol, falconet) (Guilmartin 1991; Hemming 1970; Salas 1950).
When musket balls were in short supply, the Spanish loaded their firearms and
small cannons with rocks and metal objects (Guilmartin 1991; Salas 1950).
The Spanish also discharged “branched balls” or wire balls, which were two
hemispheres of lead joined together with a wire (Salas 1950: 211–12). Indigen-
ous allies, including the Lima chiefdom from the central coast of Peru, as well
as from other regions, supported the Spanish in their quest to subdue the Inca
(Rostworowski 1977; 2002: 238; Spalding 1999).
In our efforts to understand the perpetrators and victims of violence in
the samples from PH and to illuminate the context of violence of the Spanish
Conquest, we used historic cases, forensic studies, and the biomechanical
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 263

principles that apply to bone under physical stress to aid in the interpretation of
trauma. Based on ethnohistoric accounts of the Spanish Conquest of the Inca
Empire (D’Altroy 2002; Del Busto Duthurburu 1966, 1978; Rostworowski
2002; Spalding 1999), indigenous Andean peoples were both perpetrators and
victims of violence. Other bioarchaeological studies have reported heightened
levels of violence associated with the Spanish Conquest, between the Spanish
and indigenous peoples and heightened internecine violence between indigen-
ous peoples (Hutchinson 2009; Larsen et al. 1996; Stodder and Martin 1992).
Therefore, we expected that the indigenous community at PH also experienced
heightened levels of violence associated with the Spanish Conquest and
warfare. Previous analysis of the perimortem injuries on individuals from PH
has shown that the injuries are consistent with trauma sustained by a variety of
indigenous and European weapons (Murphy et al. 2010). We expect that
injuries or combinations of injuries with conflicting characteristics will pose
significant challenges to interpretation.

15.4 Samples: archaeological, historic, and modern cases

The archaeological zone of PH is located on the Central Coast of Peru

approximately 12 km southeast of the center of Lima in the middle of the
Rímac valley. The archaeological zone contains several cemeteries, two of
which, Huaquerones and 57AS03, are contemporaneous and located less than
1 mile from one another. Over 1200 burials have been recovered from the
cemeteries. The presence of Inca-style ceramic vessels, a small number of
Early Colonial ceramic vessels, as well as Inca stylistic patterns and details on
textile bags, date the majority of the burials to the arrival of the Inca in the
Rímac valley shortly after the arrival of the Europeans, or approximately AD
1470–1540 (Cock 2006; Cock and Goycochea 2004: 185). Previous publica-
tions have reported that the nature and frequency of perimortem injuries is
different at the two cemeteries of Huaquerones and 57AS03 (13% vs. 25%,
respectively), with multiple perimortem injuries observed on many individuals
at 57AS03, including children (Gaither and Murphy 2012; Murphy et al.
2010). The higher frequency of injuries at 57AS03 may have resulted from
violence associated with the Spanish Conquest, and several individuals possess
injuries that may have been caused by sixteenth-century European weapons
(Murphy et al. 2010).
For this study, a total of 53 (of which 31 are shown in Table 15.1) adult
individuals (
15 years of age) previously identified as displaying perimortem
injuries to the cranium were compared to documented specimens from various
collections (Table 15.1) (Murphy et al. 2010: 640).
264 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Table 15.1. Individuals with perimortem injuries to the cranium (Huaquerones

and 57AS03) (Modified from Murphy et al. 2010: 640).

Burial
number Age Sex Burial type Description of perimortem trauma

HP01–11 35–49 M Late Horizon Majority of cranium

HP01–32 20–34 M Late Horizon Right frontal
HP01–33 15–20 M Late Horizon Majority of left side of cranium, right
mandible
HP01–76 15–20 F Late Horizon Left side and midline of cranium (parietal,
occipital)
HP01–84 35–49 M Late Horizon Majority of cranium
HP01–86 20–34 M Late Horizon Occipital
HP01–107 35–49 M Late Horizon Right parietal, right temporal
HP01–123 20–34 M Late Horizon Mandible
HP02–170 20–34 M Late Horizon Majority of cranium
HP02–174 20–34 M Late Horizon Majority of right side of cranium
HP02–187 20–34 F Indeterminate Majority of cranium
HP02–193 16–18 I Late Horizon Left parietal
HP02–199 16–18 F Late Horizon Mostly to left side of cranium, some
damage on right side
57AS03E048 15–20 F Atypical Left parietal
57AS03E073 20–34 M Atypical Extensive damage to left side of cranium,
occipital
57AS03E107 20–34 F Late Horizon Multiple injuries to cranium (frontal,
mandible)
57AS03119A 35–49 F Atypical Injuries to right frontal, zygomatic,
sphenoid, and maxilla
57AS03E121 20–34 M Atypical Extensive damage to entire cranium
57AS03E123 20–34 M Atypical Possible projectile entrance and exit
wounds; related damage to cranium
57AS03E145 15–20 F Atypical Occipital, right parietal
57AS03E160 20–34 M Atypical Craniofacial region
57AS03E175 35–49 M Atypical Maxillae and mandible
57AS03E176 50þ F Atypical Extensive damage to cranium
57AS03E218 20–34 M Atypical Occipital
57AS03E231 15–20 F Atypical Ovoid defect to left frontal; extensive
damage to entire cranium
57AS03E248 15–20 M Atypical Quadrangular defects to left, posterior
of cranium
57AS03E366 35–49 F Atypical Left temporal, parietal
57AS03E368 35–49 M Atypical Mandible, atlas
57AS03E449 35–49 M Atypical Frontal, left maxilla
57AS03E459 20–34 M Atypical Occipital
57AS03E479 15–20 I Atypical Extensive damage to entire cranium

I, Indeterminate.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 265

Reference specimens from the National Museum of Health and Medicine

(NMHM) consist of documented historic and modern examples of cranial
trauma. The NMHM curates skeletal remains with a range of traumatic injuries
that include a large collection of nineteenth- and twentieth-century gunshot,
sharp force, and blunt force injuries from military and civilian contexts.
Modern examples are drawn from the Milton Helpern Collection from the
early to mid-twentieth-century cases of the New York City Medical Examiner
curated at the museum. In addition to NMHM cases, this study is augmented
by a reference specimen from a forensic case of a crossbow injury investigated
by law enforcement from southeastern Wyoming, the county coroner, and
forensic scientists from the University of Wyoming.
Documented specimens were selected to demonstrate the range of charac-
teristics that may be seen in bone trauma through historic time from various
types of objects and surfaces. The appearance of different episodes of trauma
inflicted using similar weapons varies with regard to unknown factors such as
striking angle and velocity. Reference specimens of documented injuries are
bona fide exemplars of the typological features of trauma. They are not
diagnostic tools for matching to unknown injuries; rather they display similar-
ities and differences in characteristics that may assist in highlighting salient
features for comparison with the injuries from PH.
Selected historic and modern forensic examples from civilian and military
sources provide references for a broad range of wound characteristics. Refer-
ences are presented for comparison and contrast with the injuries seen from the
cemeteries at Huaquerones and 57AS03. The reference specimens represent
the evidence of injuries spanning prehistoric and historic contexts. They
include injuries from early firearms, as well as metal and stone implements.
Two instances of suicidal injury to the cranium are also included, each from
different contexts, including a broad depressed fracture from a fatal leap from a
building and another from a localized injury caused by being struck by a
moving subway train.
Early firearm injuries show characteristics of trauma from the American
Civil War (1861–5) and the Mexican–American War (1846–8). Both of these
wars utilized firearms that delivered large-caliber, unjacketed projectiles using
a black powder charge at velocities that were considerably lower than those of
which modern rifles are capable (LaGarde 1916; Ragsdale 1984; see Table
15.2). Conical-shaped projectiles were introduced just prior to the Civil War
while only round ball ammunition was used during the Mexican–American
War. The velocity of projectiles from firearms used during the Spanish Con-
quest would not have been significantly larger than some mid-nineteenth-
century firearms. The rifling of barrels and technological improvements of
conical bullets slightly increased velocity and improved accuracy.
266 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Table 15.2. Velocity and foot-pounds of various weapons and implements

discussed in text.

Velocity Velocity Foot-pounds

Projectile/firearm (meters per second) (feet per second) (at impact)

Thrown projectiles
Sling stones (2314.9–12346 grains1) 29.9–40.22 98–132 49.4–477.6
Baseball (2284 grains) 40.2 132 (90 mph) 88.4
sixteenth-century crossbow bolt 36.6–54.9 120–180 35.0–78.8
(1095.7 grains3)
Antique firearms
.58 caliber arquebus match-lock 198.1–259.75 650–850 262.7–449.2
(smoothbore, 280 grain ball4)
.75 caliber flintlock (smoothbore, 173.4–306.6 569–1006 391.8 –1224.6
545 grain ball5)
.58 caliber rifle minie ball (510 283.5–369.1 930–1211 979.3–1660.6
grain bullet5)
Modern firearms
.22 caliber – 5.56 mm long rifle 304.8 1000 88.8
(40 grain bullet6)
Colt 1911.45 caliber ACP (200 283.5 930 384.1
grain bullet6)
.44 Smith & Wesson magnum 475.5 1560 1296.8
(240 grain bullet6)
M16 – 5.56 mm NATO (70 grain 960.1 3150 1542.1
bullet6)

Weights and/or velocities adapted from: 1 Mullins 2012; 2 Richardson 1998; 3 Watson 2009;
4
Alderney Maritime Trust 2012; 5 Fadala 2005; 6 Barnes 1989.
Note: 437.5 grains ¼ 1 ounce.

Stones, hammers, and sling ammunition are technologically similar to

traditional stone and Bronze Age pre-Hispanic weapons and produce blunt
force injuries. Spanish swords, halberds, and pikes would have been capable of
introducing sharp force injuries with cut edges, penetrating injuries, and
combinations of blunt injuries from sharp instruments and possibly patterned
injuries consistent with weapon size and shape.
Extrinsic factors such as mass, velocity, and energy-absorbing potential of
objects involved in an injury can vary significantly, affecting the extent and
magnitude of wound expression; however, the patterning of injuries and
degree of localization are assumed to be consistent with overall size, shape,
and design characteristics of a range of weapon types and to be in accordance
with biomechanical principles.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 267

15.5 Trauma classification

Forensic anthropologists use a classification system of traumatic bone injury

originally conceived by forensic pathologists that has proven to be accurate in
categorizing the mechanism of skeletal injuries in the majority of cases. The
categories are blunt force trauma (BFT), sharp force trauma (SFT), and
gunshot (projectile) wounds (GSWs) (DiMaio and DiMaio 2001; Galloway
1999; Gonzales et al. 1954; Spitz 1993; Symes et al. 2012). Injuries can be
further subclassified as either penetrating (impaling) or non-penetrating
(Shkrum and Ramsay 2007). The classification system has been recognized
as being overly weapon-centric in light of the biomechanical continuum of
force, surface area, and acceleration that contributes to wound production
(Kroman 2007). It has also been pointed out that, without an estimate of the
type of weapon involved, trauma analysis in forensic cases would not be very
useful in a medicolegal context (Berryman et al. 2013). Likewise, the need to
classify trauma in archaeological research is unavoidable; however, interpret-
ation should follow the same best practice standards as forensic trauma
analysis. The tendency in archaeological and historical trauma analysis is to
support findings with written and archaeological references to specific
weapons used during the period under examination. In any instance where
interpretation is questionable, a detailed description of the wound and context
of discovery is acceptable.
BFT is the classification for injuries involving low-velocity mechanical
forces from broad and blunt surfaces. They are slow-loading injuries that
typically exhibit a ductile response in bone prior to fracturing, creating the
irreversible deformation of bone material (plastic deformation). Blunt force
fractures can be classified as either linear or depressed (Itabashi et al. 2007).
Linear fractures can be single or multiple radiating or stellate patterned
injuries where point of impact is often clearly indicated, particularly if there
was only a single impact (Gurdjian and Webster 1958). Depressed fractures
are those where bone is forced below its original anatomical location. Many
different fracture characteristics can be present within a single injury. Patterns
of injury are also influenced by surface area of the object, with broad impacts
more likely to cause linear and comminuted fractures and narrow impacts
often resulting in depressed and potentially penetrating fractures (Galloway
1999). Overall, blunt injuries are less likely to result in penetrating injuries
than injury caused by stabbing or gunshot (Gonzales et al. 1954). Wounding
by a blunt instrument tears, shears, and crushes tissue (Spitz 1993).
SFT to bone is characterized by narrow or broad defects with at least one
incised or straight-line cut edge produced by narrowly focused, slow-loading
268 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

compressive forces from a tool or instrument with a beveled edge (Symes

et al. 2012). Examples of actions related to SFT involve stabbing, cutting,
sawing, or hacking of tissue (Spitz 1993; Symes et al. 2012). SFT often has
characteristics of blunt force injuries, such as radiating fractures and plastic
deformation, and can be described as BFT with a sharp implement (Symes
et al. 2012). Sharp force may or may not result in a penetrating injury.
Hacking and deep penetrating injuries with sharpened blades, such as slashes,
usually have one polished side (Humphrey and Hutchinson 2001; Hutchinson
1996; Milner et al. 2000: 358; Williamson et al. 2003) that is diagnostic of
sharp force injury.
GSWs are typically high-velocity penetrating or perforating wounds caused
by projectiles accelerated by a charge of gunpowder. Kinetic energy trans-
ferred to bone through GSWs results in the “brittle” fracture response of
rapidly loaded bone, with little to no deformation during fracturing. Character-
istics of GSWs are affected by the design of the weapon, projectile, and the
density of affected body tissues (Hollerman et al. 1990). Entrance wounds are
typically round to oval punched-out defects with sharp uncrushed edges exter-
nally with internal beveling (DiMaio 1985). Bone beveling is recognized as a
circumscribed radius of exposed diploe at the gunshot injury site on the side
opposite the direction of force. These features are reversed for exit wounds.
External beveling of entrances may be found in tangential bullet strikes,
resulting in “keyhole” defects. In rare instances entrance wounds can display
external beveling that resembles an exit wound (Coe 1982; Peterson 1991).
GSWs may also be classified as penetrating (entrance only) or perforating
(entrance and exit). In historic contexts and instances of diminished velocity of
projectiles, GSWs can be indistinguishable from blunt force injuries (LaGarde
1916; Otis 1870). Standard radiography can be used to locate evidence of
metal fragments in such cases.
Underlying the defined categories is the fact that wound production in
reality occurs on a continuum. Wounding potential of a given object is
commensurate with the amount of kinetic energy conveyed to the body and
is further influenced by the physical and dynamic characteristics (i.e. velocity,
surface area, and acceleration/deceleration rates) of both the tissues and
impacting object (Kroman 2007; Moritz 1954). A critical factor in analyzing
bone trauma is recognizing the gross characteristics of slow vs. rapid loading
of bone, which demonstrates the rate at which the kinetic energy associated
with impact was resisted by anatomical structures (Symes et al. 2012). In most
documented wounds to bone, plastic deformation indicates slow-load blunt
force injuries. Round-shaped beveled edge holes with little to no plastic
deformation indicate GSWs. However, not all injuries are amenable to
interpretations that seek to identify weapon type. For example, decelerated or
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 269

slow-moving projectiles can produce blunt injuries (LaGarde 1916; Otis

1870), and narrowly focused (i.e. small surface area) penetrating blunt injuries
(Perdekamp et al. 2010) with sheared entrance margins can resemble GSWs.
Such injuries are technically blunt (low-velocity) but conceptually somewhere
between traditional classifications of a blunt wound vs. a GSW. Situations
such as these demonstrate how implement characteristics can produce injuries
that do not conform with standard classifications based on weapon type.
A projectile with reduced or lost velocity, such as one from a historic
weapon or one that passes through an intermediary target, conveys lower
kinetic energy and therefore elicits less resistance from tissues, prolonging
deceleration time and decreasing the loading rate of impact when compared
with textbook GSWs. Such a situation may produce an injury indistinguishable
from a blunt force injury. Likewise, some smaller accelerated blunt objects
traveling at lower than gunshot velocities (for example, captive bolt guns used
to stun livestock) may produce internal beveling (Perdekamp et al. 2010).
Knowledge of special circumstances such as these demonstrates the need for
caution in the interpretation of skeletal injuries, particularly when dealing with
uncertain armament technologies.

15.6 Wound descriptions and comparisons

The characteristics of injuries from PH were analyzed and wounds were

classified using standard anthropological methods (Murphy et al. 2010).
The majority of perimortem injuries to the cranium were consistent with
the comminuted and circular depressed blunt force injuries previously
reported from the region (Andrushko and Torres 2011; Torres-Rouff and
Costa Junqueira 2006; Tung 2007, 2012). Notable exceptions, however, were
found in individuals from the site of 57AS03. Several of these individuals
demonstrated injuries that were more consistent with localized penetrating
injuries from projectiles and blunt-edged weapons rather than the broad
surface area impacts reported from perimortem injuries from previous investi-
gations of traumatic injuries in the pre-Hispanic Andes (Andrushko 2007;
Andrushko and Torres 2011; Torres-Rouff and Costa Junqueira 2006; Tung
2007, 2012).
Many individuals from the archaeological sample display depressed frac-
tures of the neurocranium coupled with extensive fracturing of the upper face
and mandible, often also displaying cranial base fractures. Multiple blunt force
injuries were observed in both cemeteries (Figure 15.1). The majority of these
blunt force injuries display fracture margins typical of non-penetrating
wounds, with some noteworthy exceptions. Individuals with penetrating
270 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Figure 15.1. Top panel: examples of typical blunt force injuries from Puruchuco-
Huaquerones (57AS03E048, HP01–76). Skull with multiple perimortem injuries on the
left parietal eminence with others on the occipital region and cranial base. Inset: close-
up of oval-shaped depressed fracture with a punched-in central hole with depressed
margins on parietal. Bottom panel: 57AS03E231. Ovoid defect of left frontal with
endocranial and ectocranial views of bone plug.

injuries were only found in 57AS03. Four individuals from this cemetery show
injuries that are penetrating (E123, E231, and E248) or have rectilinear
margins (E248 and E107) or both (E248) (Figures15.1–3).
57AS03E231 (female, 15–20 years) had an ovoid defect on the left frontal
(23.0  10.8 mm) (Figure 15.1). The anterior rim of the defect consisted of
roughly parallel terrace or stair-step fractures. The plug from this injury was
recovered from the anterior edge of the defect, hinging inside the cranium at
the time of its discovery. The defect exhibited internal beveling and the
endocranial surface of the plug was larger than the ectocranial surface (i.e.
funnel-shaped). No tension fractures were on the endocranial surface of the
plug (Murphy et al. 2010). The cranium had additional blunt force perimortem
injuries to the left frontal, left maxilla (tripod fracture), and the left parasym-
physeal region of the mandible and there was also a small, depressed ovoid
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 271

Figure 15.2. 57AS03E123. Clockwise from top right. Top right: superior view with
ovoid defect consistent with a perimortem penetrating injury. Right middle:
compressed ectocranial surface of the plug. Right bottom: endocranial surface of the
plug. Left lower: endocranial view. Left middle: close-up of defect on frontal. Top left:
defect with delamination, depressed edge, and radiating fractures on frontal.

defect on the occipital. Standard radiography did not detect any metal residues
on the cranium.
57AS03E123 (male, 20–34 years) had a circular injury on the left parietal
(15.5  17.1 mm) (Figure 15.2). The exterior margins of approximately
half of the defect’s circumference display parallel curvilinear “terraced” or
272 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Figure 15.3. Top left: 57AS03E248. Quadrangular defects to the left parietal and
occipital. Bottom left: close-up of quadrangular defect on occipital. Bottom right:
interior of the quadrangular defect on the occipital viewed from the foramen magnum.
Right: 57AS03E107. Anterior view of triangular defect to left frontal and extensive
perimortem trauma to the right zygoma, the parietal and temporal bones, the occipital,
and the mandible.

stair-step depressed fractures. The interior of the injury displayed internal

beveling of the inner table of the endocranium and a plug of bone was
recovered among the facial bone fragments with intact endocranial and
ectocranial surfaces. The ectocranial surface of this plug of bone is slightly
compressed, but no impact points are discernible. The endocranial surface of
the plug has four tension fractures in a stellate pattern, radiating from the
center and towards the edges of the plug. Standard radiography did not detect
any metal residues on the cranium. 57AS03E123 also has a smaller
(~5.0 mm) fracture on the right frontal with a single depressed edge and
adjacent delamination of the outer table. Several fractures surround this
defect. Multiple blunt injuries of the adjacent upper face preclude accurate
assessment of the association of fractures and the depressed fracture. The hole
superficially resembles an exit wound (Murphy et al. 2010), but as it possesses
a depressed edge it could also be consistent with a blunt force depressed
fracture (Saukko and Knight 2004). The adjacent injuries to the face may
account for the presence of delamination of the outer table (Berryman
and Symes 1998). Other fractures include separate blunt force injuries to the
left and right zygomaticofrontal regions and right parasymphyseal region of
the mandible and alveolar bone with crowns from anterior teeth sheared from
their roots.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 273

57AS03E248 (male, 18–20 years) displayed three rectangular-shaped

defects to the left parietal and occipital representing penetrating injuries
(Figure 15.3). The size and shape of all three defects were mutually consistent
and averaged approximately 8.0  5.25 mm. The angles of the margins of the
inferiormost parietal defect are approximately 90 , giving the appearance of a
nearly perfect rectangle. A small hinging fracture of the outer table of the
cranium was found on the superior edge of one of the defects on the left
parietal. Plastic deformation at the cruciform eminence of the occipital was
observed on the interior of the defect, indicating that the weapon did not
completely penetrate the inner table.
The cranium of 57AS03E107 (female, 20–34 years) has multiple blunt force
injuries, primarily to the left side, causing radiating fractures on the frontal,
parietals, occipital, mandible, and temporal bones. A depressed fracture of
particular interest is found on the left frontal bone just above the zygomatic
process (Figure 15.3). In the deepest portion of the injury the margin displays
two linear crushed margins at an approximately 90 angle. This punched-in
defect is triangular-shaped and measures 15.0  14.0  11.0 mm, with a
maximum depression depth of 3.0 mm.
To begin the comparison of the samples from PH with documented
samples from historic and modern cases, we examined the cranium AFIP
1000776, which shows a penetrating GSW of the left parietal from the
American Civil War entering around the approximate parietal eminence
with an incomplete exit in the right parietal above the temporal squama
(Figure 15.4, left top and bottom). The bullet traveled from the posterior to
anterior and from left to right. The skull shows a large ovoid entrance
wound with a single radiating fracture extending first to the frontal bone
and then across the frontal in the region of the frontal eminences, terminat-
ing on the right parietal just above the temporal squama where it meets with
the fractures of the incomplete “exit” wound in the form of a blunt force
injury on the opposite side (Figure 15.4, left bottom). The initial fracture
preceded the exit fractures and one of the fragments of bone was secured
with metal wire by museum staff.
Similarly, specimen AFIP 1002808, from the Mexican–American War,
shows a perforating GSW to the cranium (Figure 15.4, top right). This injury
is typical of mid-nineteenth-century rifles, showing extensive fracturing from
larger-caliber, unjacketed round ball lead projectiles. The slightly oblate
entrance on the right temporal varies between 19.0 and 22.0 mm in diameter
with several radiating fractures. The exit wound (not pictured) in the left
occipital is irregular, externally beveled, and measures 25.0  20.0 mm.
Cranium AFIP 1001829, from nineteenth-century Patagonia, sustained an
injury from a metal bola tied to a length of cord that was hurled. The skull has a
274 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Figure 15.4. Left top and bottom: AFIP 1000776. Cranium from the Civil War with a
penetrating gunshot injury to the left parietal and an incomplete exit wound of the right
parietal. Top right: AFIP 1002808. Cranium with gunshot injury from the Mexican-
American War. Bottom right: AFIP 1001829. Cranium, bola injury (metal ball),
nineteenth-century Patagonia.

roughly circular 30.0  38.0 mm depressed fracture near the anterior superior
angle of the right parietal. There are multiple concentric depressed fractures
within the main fracture. A jagged fracture bisects the injury to the right, of
which less than half of the injured bone is missing (Figure 15.4, bottom right).
Although fragments of bone are missing, this does not appear to be a penetrat-
ing injury.
A skullcap from a modern forensic case (1990.0003.1688) shows a non-
penetrating blunt force injury from the head of a ball peen hammer (rounded
hemispherical head). There is a depressed oval-shaped injury 10.0 mm above
the right parietal eminence measuring 30.0  25.0 mm, with a central area of
crushed and depressed bone consisting of comminuted bone within a concen-
tric fracture (Figure 15.5, top).
The skull section specimen PS 10074 has an injury from a rock thrown to
the head (Figure 15.5, bottom). The specimen shows a circular depressed
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 275

Figure 15.5. Top: 1990.0003.1688. Skullcap, injury from a ball peen hammer,
twentieth century. Bottom: PS 10074. Frontal bone struck by a thrown stone.

fracture of the frontal bone with comminuted bone, a crushed edge, and
fractures radiating to the face. The injury measures 20.0  20.0 mm. The
delaminated portion appears to be an artifact of the sawing of bone to remove
the specimen.
Specimen 1990.0003.1819 is a parietal bone of an adult male struck by
a subway train. The injury is a 27.0  22.0 mm circular defect with an angular
12.5-mm crushed edge with stair-step parallel fractures. The injury produced
276 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Figure 15.6. 1990.0003.1819. Cranium. Blunt force injury and bone plug from train.

a bone plug with both tables intact and having buckled internal margins
corresponding to the crushed external portion (Figure 15.6).
Specimen AFIP 1002456 (saber injury, nineteenth century, Chile) has
multiple sharp injuries with associated blunt force characteristics concentrated
in the left parietal area. Four separate blows can be seen in the photo with three
parallel cuts spaced roughly 45.0 mm apart with an inferior cut across the left
lambdoid suture (Figure 15.7). Each blow shows a clear polished appearance
of the edges of cut bone on one side, with chipped and fractured bone on the
opposite side. Areas with multiple blows have large blunt force fractures,
which removed large fragments of bone that were not recovered.
Specimen PS 5721 (suicide, jumped from window, 1870, Washington,
D.C.) is a cranium with extensive museum wiring of fractured bone and a
hinged left half skullcap for viewing the endocranium. On the right side of
the skull is a 9.0  10.0 cm depressed fracture comprised in large part by a
stellate fracture circumscribed by a concentric fracture. An additional adja-
cent 2.5-cm area of depressed bone is seen on the frontal bone just lateral to
the frontal eminence. A fracture of the right zygomatic process and LeFort
III fractures to the upper face are seen. Inferior to the stellate fracture is an
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 277

Figure 15.7. Top: AFIP 1002456. Saber injury, nineteenth century, Chile. Bottom:
PS 5721. Adult male cranium, blunt force injury, suicide. Jumped from window, 1870,
Washington, D.C.

area of comminuted temporal and sphenoid bone with a radiating fracture to

the right middle fossa (Figure 15.7).
During forensic examination of a skeletonized fragmentary cranium from
southeastern Wyoming in 2002, anthropologists from the University of
Wyoming identified multiple blunt force injuries caused by at least two
different weapons (modern crossbow injury, southeastern Wyoming)
278 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Figure 15.8. Crossbow injury, Albany County, Wyoming. Upper left: the location of
the entrance defect. Upper right: crossbow dart tip. Bottom right: endocranial view of
entrance defect and ectocranial view of entrance defect. Bottom left: endocranial and
ectocranial views of the bone plug.

(Figure 15.8). Subsequent criminal proceedings documented the two imple-

ments used in the attack.
The majority of the blunt force injuries were radiating fractures and impact
flutes originating in and near the superior eye orbits. According to statements
by the perpetrator, these injuries were caused by repeated blows from a metal
pipe directed into the face (Furgeson et al. 2009; Gill and Weathermon 2003;
Snyder 2008). An additional injury, a circular defect with a corresponding
bone plug, was noted on the left side of the occipital (Figure 15.8). This injury
was caused by a lightweight crossbow bolt released at a range of 3–4 m.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 279

The crossbow used was a small pistol-type (Furgeson 2008; Furgeson et al.
2009), which can produce velocities up to 50 m/s (Tremayne 2009: 28).
Photographs of bolts at the crime scene indicate that the puncture was caused
by an aluminum arrow shaft 33.0 cm with a solid metal ogive-tipped target
point (Figure 15.8) (Furgeson 2008). Dart mass has been estimated at between
17.8 and 21.1 g (274.7–325.6 grains), given the above. Maximum diameter of
the metal point is approximately 8.9 mm; the hollow shaft of the bolt is about
0.15 mm less. The ectocranial puncture has a maximum diameter of about
5.9 mm. Grellner and colleagues (2004) report that crossbow bolts at relatively
high velocities can completely transect human crania. In this case, the taper of
the projectile point and the external wound diameter indicate a penetration of
<6.0 mm into the bone, or about two-thirds the length of the ogive portion of
the tip. Deformed inward, the plug shows a crushed external surface with
compression of the diploe. The endocranial surface of the plug, measuring
approximately 1.5 cm in maximum dimension, exhibits radiating fractures with
wedge-shaped splinters of bone.
Using the information above, estimates of the bolt’s kinetic energy indicate
that a very low yield impact caused the trauma. The ballistic formula, kinetic
energy ¼ ½  mass  velocity2, is used to calculate the work (kinetic energy
in foot-pounds) of an object traveling at X velocity with Y mass (see Carlucci
2008). At 50 m (164 feet) per second and with a mass of 325.6 grains, the bolt
exerted a maximum of 19.45 foot-pounds at impact. At lower velocity and
lower mass, the kinetic energy is significantly less (see Table 15.2 for com-
parative velocities and foot-pounds at impact). Note that diameters of the .22
caliber and 5.56 NATO bullets are slightly smaller than the defect caused by
the ogive dart tip. The relatively low velocity and energy impact of the bolt
resulted in the formation of the bone plug. With the higher velocities and
energies of these bullets, the bone plug would probably have been shattered
into multiple and smaller fragments on impact.

15.7 Discussion: comparing injuries of known cause

to the unknown injuries

Positive identification of weapons used in skeletal trauma cases may aid in the
interpretation of unknown bone injuries. However, identification of specific
implements is often not possible when blunt force trauma to the cranium is
evident in archaeological and forensic cases (Symes et al. 2012: 353). The
majority of wounds from the archaeological sample are consistent with exten-
sive multiple blunt force injuries to the face and head. Three broad types of
injuries can be seen in the archaeological samples from PH. The first type
280 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

comprises two subtypes and consists of the multiple broad and localized blunt
force injuries typical of the pre-conquest Peru (see E048 and HP01–76 in
Figure 15.1). Second are the penetrating circular and ovoid penetrating injuries
with terraced margins from 57AS03 (E231 [Figure 15.1] and E123 [Figure
15.2]). Third are penetrating localized injuries with rectilinear margins (E248,
E107 [Figure 15.3]).
Broad depressed fractures in the typical Peruvian samples were similar in
character to those from a documented impact with a broad surface (PS 5721)
with displayed characteristics of stellate and concentric fractures typical of
blunt force injury. Localized shallow depressed fractures such as those seen in
HP01–76 are similar to lower-velocity blunt objects with localized application
of force such as seen in reference samples for stone, metal bola, and ball peen
hammer, though each injury is expectedly influenced by differences in size and
shape of implement. Such comparisons are hardly unexpected and unremark-
able. However, the next two classes of specimens from four individuals in
57AS03 arguably possess injuries with unexpected penetrating and/or rectilin-
ear pattern characteristics that imply a different armament type from those seen
previously in other pre-Hispanic contexts.
Two specimens show round to oval penetrating depressed fractures with
internal beveling and terraced fracture margins (E123 and E231). The injuries
of the two examples of nineteenth-century GSWs do not have terraced fracture
margins and demonstrate radiating fractures. However, blunt force injuries
from firearms can and do occur under some circumstances (LaGarde 1916;
Otis 1870; Spatola in press). These injuries are consistent with the example
from that caused by the subway train (1990.0003.1819) to include plug forma-
tion without spalling, internal beveling, and marginal terracing. As a result, we
conclude that, although there is no conclusive evidence of a gunshot injury
(based on our comparative historic cases), a reduced-velocity gunshot
injury cannot be ruled out for the injury seen on E123, owing to its rounded
shape consistent with round ball ammunition. To a lesser degree, E123 also
shares characteristics of a slow-loading injury when compared with the cross-
bow injury (Figure 15.8), such as evidence of crushed margin and internal
beveling and a partial plug formation. Taken as a whole, these specimens
demonstrate that similar injuries can be produced from vastly different contexts,
but where the localization and magnitude of biomechanical forces are similar.
E248 and E107 show injuries with rectilinear patterns not documented
previously in pre-Hispanic contexts from the Central Andes. Penetrating
injuries from this context are rare. We believe the injuries on E248 in particular
are inconsistent with pre-Hispanic weapons as they are uniformly rectangular
on all sides and consistent across three separate impacts. Two of the three
impacts on E248 are penetrating injuries, while the third is incompletely
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 281

penetrating; however, we did not classify the injuries as arising from sharp
force as the rectilinear sides are not incised or polished. They are more
accurately described as BFT with an angular edged implement. Future experi-
mental investigations may illuminate why these injuries are distinct from the
majority of pre-Hispanic injuries from the Central Andes.
Using historic documented cases, we set out to demonstrate the broad range
of injuries that can be caused by slow-loading lower-velocity implements and
how the biomechanical continuum should be taken into account when exam-
ining injuries from unknown weapons, particularly from armaments without
exemplars. We do not advocate using documented cases to determine peri-
mortem traumatic injuries in bioarchaeological cases; however, appropriate
comparisons may provide more insights than those interpretations based solely
on textbook weapon-centered classifications.
Forensic analysis in the medicolegal context requires scientific and legally
defensible interpretations whereas archaeological investigations do not. To
avoid over-reaching interpretations we advise bioarchaeologists that, if the
injury demonstrates confounding characteristics (i.e. terraced or depressed
fractures in a suspected GSW), it might be best to follow forensic best
practices (SWGANTH 2011) and describe the injuries and defects in question
and provide these descriptions along with photos and accompanied by a
discussion of the various potential interpretations. This is particularly prudent
if the variation of injuries from a particular source is unknown or little studied,
such as in the case of sixteenth-century weapons or the discharge of rocks or
“branched balls” from sixteenth-century firearms. More replication studies are
needed to illuminate the variation of wounds caused by prehistoric and early
weapons. The atypical injuries from the archaeological samples in our study
indicate to us that a different milieu of armaments may have been present when
these individuals were killed. Exactly what these weapons were and who
wielded them is difficult to determine.
When the editors of the volume organized the symposium at the 2012
American Association of Physical Anthropologists (AAPA), they tasked the
participants with contextualizing “the skeletal data within the larger social,
political, economic, and historical context, specifically by examining the roles
of individual agents and groups and how they interact in a specific geopolitical
or geographical area” (Anderson and Martin 2012). As the authors point out,
by its very nature, bioarchaeological investigations of human skeletal remains
with traumatic injuries emphasize the victims of violence, with scant attention
to the initiators, perpetrators, or aggressors. Also potentially absent from these
investigations is the acknowledgment of the fluidity and instability of individ-
uals and groups in these roles of aggressor or victim and, therefore, the often
unconscious assumption of a dichotomy (i.e. one is either an aggressor or a
282 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

victim), rather than the inherent ambiguity and chaos attached to certain
contexts of violence, such as, as in this case, the European colonialism of
indigenous populations in the Americas. Along these lines, ethnohistoric and
historical sources indicate that not all native Andeans fought against the
Spanish during the Spanish Conquest of the Inca Empire, and that some
groups, including the local lord (curaca) of the chiefdom of Lima on the
central coast of Peru (Rostworowski 2002: 238), backed and supported Pizarro
and the Spanish (Rostworowski 2002; Spalding 1999). Therefore, discerning
the victims from aggressors and the exact roles of native Andeans in violence
after the Spanish Conquest and invasion is an extremely daunting task. Indi-
viduals and communities may have shifted their positions vis-á-vis the Spanish
and those that were formerly allies may have become enemies (or vice versa).
In the archaeological sample from 57AS03, there is an extraordinary degree
of multiple, lethal perimortem injuries (Murphy et al. 2010), which are par-
ticularly excessive and could be attributed to the brutality of the Spanish as
described by historical accounts. However, brutality, violence, sacrifice, and
corpse mutilation are not unknown from the Central Andes, so the Spaniards
were not the only perpetrators of violence and it could be that native Andeans
caused these injuries (e.g. Andrushko et al. 2011; Blom 2005; Klaus et al.
2010; Toyne 2009, 2011; Tung 2008; Tung and Knudson 2010; Verano 1986,
2001, 2007, 2008). The frequency of individuals from 57AS03 affected by
perimortem injuries is relatively high; men, women, and children possessed
these injuries and many individuals possessed multiple injuries. The frequency
and pattern of perimortem injuries coupled with their atypical mortuary treat-
ment distinguishes them from the other contexts of violence reported from the
pre-Hispanic Andes.
Unfortunately, the archaeological context and historical contexts cannot
definitively clarify the aggressors and their relationship to the victims.
Although the archaeological context of the burials is well understood, it is a
cemetery and not a battlefield or a battlefield cemetery, and the early accounts
of Spanish Conquest and invasion are extremely sparse and limited. These
victims may have been participants in the attack on the Spanish during the
siege of Lima, which was the second of two sieges that the Inca leader Manco
Inca organized and led against the Spaniards. The first uprising began in Cusco
and, based on its success, Manco Inca ordered one of his generals to surround
and attack the new Spanish capital at Lima (Del Busto Duthurburu 1978; Vega
1980). The Spanish routed the Inca forces and the survivors fled back to the
highlands (Del Busto Duthurburu 1978; Vega 1980). If these individuals were
participants, then they were interred alongside other native Andeans from the
central coast. The Spanish and their allies may have subjected these victims
to retributive violence after the siege or they could have been involved in
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 283

internecine violence (native vs. native violence) in the aftermath of the Spanish
Conquest, a phenomenon that has also been described in post-conquest con-
texts from North America (Stodder and Martin 1992).
From the bioarchaeological and forensic perspectives taken here, pinpoint-
ing the perpetrators is an extremely daunting task. With the archaeological
sample described, while we may be able to isolate an implement that may have
caused an atypical injury, we cannot identify the exact perpetrators of this
violence: the high frequency of blunt force injuries in the archaeological
sample is consistent with the use of blunt force implements. These injuries
could, however, have been caused by European maces or clubs wielded by the
Spanish or their native allies or the injuries could have been caused by
indigenous maces or clubs. It is widely known that the Spanish were allied
with native warriors who were armed with traditional weapons (Cieza de León
1998; Del Busto Duthurburu 1966; Hemming 1970; Lockhart 1972; Restall
2004). The injuries to E107, E248, and E123 could have been caused by
Spanish or by native Andeans armed with European weapons, but we cannot
ascertain whether they were allies or enemies of the Spanish.

Disclaimer
The opinions and assertions contained herein are those of the authors and do
not necessarily represent the views of the National Museum of Health and
Medicine or the Department of Defense (DoD), any of the military services or
other DoD components or any other government agencies, and do not consti-
tute an endorsement by the DoD of any of the opinions expressed, or any
information, products, or services contained therein.

Acknowledgments
Funding for this research (MSM) was provided by Bryn Mawr College, the
University of Wyoming, the National Science Foundation (grant #0618192),
and The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research (grant
#6791). We thank the anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments.
We are especially grateful to our editors, Debra Martin and Cheryl Anderson,
who graciously invited us to participate in the AAPA symposium and to
contribute to this volume. We thank them for their patience with our editorial
process. MSM would like to thank the curators and staff at the National
Museum of Health and Medicine for their assistance during her visit. Thanks
to Matthew Breitbart and Merissa Olmer for photography of the NMHM
specimens.
284 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

References
Alderney Maritime Trust. (2012). An Elizabethan Shipwreck Off the Island of Alderney
[Online]. Available: http://www.alderneywreck.com. [Accessed November 22,
2012.]
Anderson, C. P. & Martin, D. L. (2012). Bioarchaeology and forensic case studies of
sectarian violence, revolts, and small-scale warfare: reconstructing and explaining
complex human behavior. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, S54, 361
(Abstract).
Andrushko, V. (2007). The bioarchaeology of Inca imperialism in the heartland: An
analysis of prehistoric burials from the Cuzco region of Peru. University of
California Santa Barbara: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
Andrushko, V. & Torres, V. (2011). Skeletal evidence for Inca warfare from the Cuzco
region of Peru. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 146, 361–72.
Andrushko, V., Buzon, M., Gibaja, A., McEwan, G., Simonetti, A. & Creaser, R.
(2011). Investigating a child sacrifice event from the Inca heartland. Journal of
Archaeological Science, 38, 323–33.
Barnes, F. C. (1989). Cartridges of the World. Northfield, IL: DBI Books, Inc.
Berryman, H. E. & Symes, S. A. (1998). Recognizing gunshot and blunt cranial trauma
through fracture interpretation. In: Reichs, K. J. (ed.) Forensic Osteology:
Advances in the Identification of Human Remains, 2nd edn. Springfield: Charles
C. Thomas, 333–52.
Berryman, H. E., Shirley, N. R. & Lanfear, A. K. (2013). Low velocity trauma. In:
Tersigni-Tarrant, M. T. A. & Shirley, N. R. (eds.) Forensic Anthropology: An
Introduction. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 271–90.
Blom, D. E. (2005). Embodying borders: human body modification and diversity in
Tiwanaku Society. Journal of Anthropological Archaeology, 24, 1–24.
Carlucci, D. E. (2008). Ballistics: Theory and Design of Guns and Ammunition. Boca
Raton: CRC Press/Taylor & Francis Group.
Cieza de León, P. (1998). The Discovery and Conquest of Peru. Chapel Hill: Duke
University.
Cock, G. A. (2006). Proyecto De Recuperación De Contextos Funerarios En El
Cementerio 57as03 – Zona Arqueológica Puruchuco-Huaquerones. Lima: Insti-
tuto Nacional de Cultura.
Cock, G. A. & Goycochea, C. E. (2004). Puruchuco y el cementerio Inca de la quebrada
de huaquerones. In: Villacorta Ostolaza, L. F., Vetter Parodi, L. & Ausejo Castillo, C.
(eds.) Puruchuco Y La Sociedad De Lima: Un Homenaje a Arturo Jiménez Borja.
Lima: Concytec, 179–97.
Coe, J. I. (1982). External beveling of handgun wounds. American Journal of Forensic
Medicine and Pathology, 3, 215–19.
D’Altroy, T. (2002). The Incas. Malden: Blackwell.
Del Busto Duthurburu, J. A. (1966). Francisco Pizarro. El Marques Gobernador.
Madrid: Ediciones RIALP, S.A.
(1978). Peru Incaico. Lima: Libreria Studium.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 285

DiMaio, D. & DiMaio, V. (2001). Forensic Pathology, 2nd edn. Boca Raton: CRC Press.
DiMaio, V. J. M. (1985). Gunshot Wounds: Practical Aspects of Firearms, Ballistics
and Forensic Techniques. New York: Elsevier.
Fadala, S. (2005). Black Powder Handbook & Loading Manual, 2nd edn. Middletown:
Lyman Books.
Furgeson, T. A. (2008). Identification of multiple cranial traumas in a recently closed
homicide investigation. Paper presented at the Mountain, Desert & Coastal
Physical Anthropologists Annual Meeting, Echo Bay Resort, Nevada.
Furgeson, T. A., Gill, G. W. & Weathermon, R. L. (2009). Identification of multiple
cranial traumas in a recently closed homicide investigation. Paper presented at
American Academy of Forensic Sciences Annual Scientific Meeting, Denver, CO.
Gaither, C. & Murphy, M. S. (2012). Consequences of conquest? Subadult trauma at
Puruchuco-Huaquerones, Peru. Journal of Archaeological Science, 39, 467–78.
Galloway, A. (ed.) (1999). Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force
Trauma. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas.
Gill, G. W. & Weathermon, R. L. (2003). Forensic Case Reports on File, Anthropology
Department – Human Remains Repository. Laramie: University of Wyoming.
Gonzales, T. A., Vance, M., Helpern, M. & Umberger, C. J. (1954). Legal Medicine:
Pathology and Toxicology, 2nd edn. New York: Appleton, Century-Crofts, Inc.
Grellner, W., Buhmann, D., Giese, A., Gehrke, G., Koops, E. & Püschel, K. (2004).
Fatal and non-fatal injuries caused by crossbows. Forensic Science International,
142, 17–23.
Guilmartin, J. F. (1991). The cutting edge: an analysis of the Spanish invasion and
overthrow of the Inca Empire, 1532–1539. In: Andrien, K. & Adorno, R. (eds.)
Transatlantic Encounters: Europeans and Andeans in the Sixteenth Century.
Berkeley: University of California, 40–69.
Gurdjian, E. S. & Webster, J. E. (1958). Head Injuries: Mechanisms, Diagnosis and
Management. Boston: Little Brown and Co.
Hemming, J. (1970). The Conquest of the Incas. London: Macmillan.
Himmerich, Y. & Valencia, R. (1998). The 1536 siege of Cuzco: an analysis of Inca and
Spanish warfare. Colonial Latin American Historical Review, 7, 387–418.
Hollerman, J. J., Fackler, M., Coldwell, D. M. & Ben-Menachem, Y. (1990). Gunshot
wounds: 1. Bullets, ballistics, and mechanisms of injury. American Journal of
Roentgenology, 155, 685–90.
Humphrey, J. H. & Hutchinson, D. L. (2001). Macroscopic characteristics of hacking
trauma. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 46, 228–33.
Hutchinson, D. L. (1996). Brief encounters: Tatham Mound and the evidence for
Spanish and Native American confrontation. International Journal of Osteoarch-
aeology, 6, 51–65.
(2009). Tatham Mound and the Bioarchaeology of European Contact: Depopulation
in Central Gulf Coast Florida. Gainesville: University of Florida.
Itabashi, H., Andrews, J. M., Tomiyasu, U., Erlich, S.S. & Sathyavagiswaran, L.
(2007). Forensic Neuropathology. New York: Elsevier, Academic Press.
286 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

Klaus, H. D., Centurión, J. & Curo, M. (2010). Bioarchaeology of human sacrifice: an

integrated study of health, identity, and ritual violence at Cerro Cerrillos, Peru.
Antiquity, 84, 1102–22.
Kroman, A. (2007). Fracture biomechanics of the human skeleton. University of
Tennessee: Unpublished PhD dissertation.
LaGarde, L. A. (1916). Gunshot Injuries: How They Are Inflicted; Their Complications
and Treatment, 2nd edn. New York: William Wood and Co.
Larsen, C. S., Huynh, H. P. & McEwan, B. G. (1996). Death by gunshot: biocultural
implications of trauma at Mission San Luis. International Journal of Osteoarch-
aeology, 6, 42–50.
Lockhart, J. (1972). The Men of Cajamarca. Austin: University of Texas.
Milner, G. R., Larsen, C. S., Hutchinson, D. L., Williamson, M. A. & Humpf, D. A.
(2000). Conquistadors, excavators or rodents: what damaged the King Site skel-
etons? American Antiquity, 65, 355–63.
Moritz, A. R. (1954). The Pathology of Trauma. Philadelphia: Lea and Febiger.
Mullins, P. (2012). Fortaleza de Quirihuac: a Chimú Fortress in the Middle
Moche Valley. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill: Unpublished Honors
Thesis.
Murphy, M. S., Gaither, C., Goycochea, E., Verano, J. W. & Cock, G. (2010). Violence
and weapon-related trauma at Puruchuco-Huaquerones, Peru. American Journal of
Physical Anthropology, 142, 636–49.
Otis, G. A. (1870). The Medical and Surgical History of the War of the Rebellion
(1861–65). Part 1. Vol. II. Surgical History. Washington, D.C.: Government
Printing Office.
Perdekamp, M. G., Kneubuehl, B. P., Ishikawa, T., Najdem, H., Kromeier, J., Pollak, S.,
& Thierauf, A. (2010). Secondary fractures in head wounds inflicted by captive bolt
guns: autopsy findings and experimental simulation. International Journal of Legal
Medicine, 124, 605–12.
Peterson, B. L. (1991). External beveling of gunshot entrance wounds. Journal of
Forensic Sciences, 36, 1592–5.
Pizarro, P. (1978). Relacion Del Descubrimiento Y Conquista Del Peru. Lima: Ponti-
ficia del Catolica del Peru.
Ragsdale, B. D. (1984). Gunshot wounds: a historical perspective. Military Medicine,
149, 301–15.
Restall, M. (2004). Seven Myths of the Spanish Conquest. NewYork: Oxford University
Press.
Richardson, T. (1998). The ballistics of the sling. Royal Armouries Yearbook, 3, 44–9.
Rostworowski, M. (1977). Etnia Y Sociedad. Costa Peruana Prehispánica. Lima:
Instituto de Estudios Peruanos.
(2002). Pachacamac. Obras Completas Ii. Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos.
Rowe, J. H. (1946). Inca culture at the time of the Spanish conquest. In: Steward, J. (ed.)
Handbook of South American Indians. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution,
Bureau of American Ethnology, 183–330.
 Melissa Scott Murphy et al. 287

(1957). The Incas under Spanish colonial institutions. Hispanic American Historical
Review, 37, 155–99.
Salas, A. M. (1950). Las Armas De La Conquista. Buenos Aires: Emecé Editores.
Saukko, P. J. & Knight, B. (2004). Knight’s Forensic Pathology, 3rd edn. Boca Raton:
CRC Press.
Shkrum, M. & Ramsay, D. (2007). Forensic Pathology of Trauma. New York: Humana
Press.
Snyder, C. (2008). Man pleads guilty to ’98 murder. Wyoming Tribune-Eagle, January
9, 2008.
Spalding, K. (1999). The crises and transformations of invaded societies: Andean Area
(1500–1580). In: Salomon, F. & Schawrtz, S. B. (eds.) The Cambridge History of
the Native Peoples of the Americas. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 904–72.
Spatola, B. S. (in press). Atypical gunshot and blunt force injuries: wounds along
the biomechanical continuum. In: Passalacqua, N. V. & Rainwater, C. W. (eds.)
Skeletal Trauma Analysis: Case Studies in Context. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-
Blackwell.
Spitz, W. (1993). Spitz and Fisher’s Medicolegal Investigation of Death: Guidelines for
the Application of Pathology to Crime Investigation, 3rd edn. Springfield: Charles
C. Thomas.
Stodder, A. L. W. & Martin, D. L. (1992). Native health and disease in the American
southwest before and after Spanish contact. In: Verano, J. W. & Ubelaker, D. H.
(eds.) Disease and Demography in the Americas. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian
Institution Press, 55–73.
SWGANTH. (2011). Trauma Analysis [Online]. Available: http://swganth.startlogic.
com/Trauma%20Rev0.pdf. [Accessed September 28, 2013.]
Symes, S. A., L’abbé, E., Chapman, E., Wolff, I. & Dirkmaat, D. (2012). Interpreting
traumatic injury to bone in medicolegal investigations. In: Dirkmaat, D. (ed.)
A Companion to Forensic Anthropology. Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 340–89.
Torres-Rouff, C. & Costa Junqueira, M. A. (2006). Interpersonal violence in prehistoric
San Pedro de Atacama, Chile: behavioral implications of environmental stress.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 130, 60–70.
Toyne, J. M. (2009). Offering their hearts and their heads: a bioarchaeological analysis
of ancient human sacrifice on the northern coast of Peru. Tulane University:
Unpublished PhD dissertation.
(2011). Cut mark analysis and activity signature interpretations of pre-hispanic ritual
violence in northern Peru. Latin American Antiquity, 22, 505–23.
Tremayne, V. (2009). Pistol crossbow injuries. Emergency Nurse, 17, 28–30.
Tung, T. A. (2007). Trauma and violence in the Wari Empire of the Peruvian Andes:
warfare, raids, and ritual fights. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 133,
941–56.
(2008). Dismembering bodies for display: a bioarchaeological study of trophy heads
from the Wari site of Conchopata, Peru. American Journal of Physical Anthropol-
ogy, 136, 294–308.
288 Perimortem injuries along the biomechanical continuum

(2012). Violence, Ritual, and the Wari Empire: A Social Bioarchaeology of Imperi-
alism in the Ancient Andes. Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
Tung, T. A. & Knudson, K. J. (2010). Childhood lost: abductions, sacrifice, and trophy
heads of children in the Wari Empire of the ancient Andes. Latin American
Antiquity, 21, 44–66.
Vega, J. J. (1980). Incas Contra Españoles. Lima: Pacific Press.
Verano, J. W. (1986). A mass burial of mutilated individuals at Pacatnamu. In: Donnan,
C. B. & Cock, G. A. (eds.) The Pacatnamu Papers, Volume 1. Los Angeles:
Museum of Cultural History, University of California, 117–38.
(2001). War and death in the Moche World: osteological evidence and visual
discourse. In: Pillsbury J. (ed.) Moche Art and Archaeology in Ancient Peru.
New Haven: Yale University, 111–26.
(2007). Conflict and conquest in pre-hispanic Andean South America. In: Chacon,
R. J. & Mendoza, R. G. (eds.) Latin American Indigenous Warfare and Ritual
Violence. Tucson: University of Arizona, 105–15.
(2008). Communality and diversity in Moche human sacrifice. In: Bourget, S. &
Jones, K. L. (eds.) The Art and Archaeology of the Moche: An Ancient Andean
Society of the Peruvian North Coast. Austin: University of Texas Press, 195–213.
Watson, D. R. (2009). Iolo’s First Book of Crossbows, 2nd edn. Austin: Gwasg Caeseg
Wen Press.
Williamson, M. A., Johnson, C. A., Symes, S. A. & Schultz, J. J. (2003). Interpersonal
violence between 18th century native Americans and Europeans in Ohio. Ameri-
can Journal of Physical Anthropology, 122, 113–22.
16 Interpreting gunshot trauma as
context clue: a case study from
historic North Las Vegas, Nevada
j o h n j . c r a n d a l l , ry a n p. h a r r o d ,
c h e r y l p . an d e r s o n , an d k a t h r y n
m. baus tian

16.1 Introduction

Traumatic injuries found on human skeletal remains, whether recently

deceased or from long ago, are a direct source of evidence for anthropologists
to generate information concerning the nature of violent human interactions
among victims, witnesses, and aggressors. An anthropological approach to
understanding instances of violence is important because it can help to advance
theories which explain the causes and common consequences of warfare and
violence among humans, as the bones offer data to validate or nullify hypoth-
eses about violent human behavior in the past (Walker 2001). However,
anthropology is not always simply a theoretical endeavor as the work done
by forensic anthropologists has practical applications and directly impacts the
living. Anthropological methods can also be used to identify traumatic injuries
to assist in reconstructing the circumstances around an individual’s death. In
cases where whole communities are suspected to have been violently
murdered, trauma data generated by forensic anthropologists can be invaluable
in advancing human rights action on behalf of victimized communities (Komar
and Buikstra 2008).
The intent of this chapter is to show how both of these goals can be
addressed when analyzing populations with skeletal trauma. The case study
used to accomplish this involves burials that represent a historic ranching
family living in the “Wild West” at the turn of the twentieth century. The
individuals were two brothers who were excavated from a small historic
cemetery in North Las Vegas in southern Nevada. The burials were disinterred

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

289
290 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

because of discontinued use of the Kiel Ranch where the cemetery was
located, as well as the economic and demographic growth of the Las Vegas
metropolitan area in the 1970s (Escobar 2005).
The Kiel Ranch burials offer an interesting case study because they repre-
sent one of the earliest pioneer settlements in southern Nevada. Additionally,
two of the burials were victims of lethal trauma involving two distinct fire-
arms. Skeletal injuries resulting from firearms or high-velocity projectile
weapons such as handguns, shotguns, and rifles are commonly seen by
forensic anthropologists working in a legal context as well as bioarchaeologists
working in historical contexts. In both circumstances, trauma data related to
gunshot wounds (GSWs) obtained from careful examination of human skeletal
remains can generate information regarding the details surrounding an indi-
vidual’s death as well as the setting in which they lived when carefully
contextualized against other data. When judiciously used, trauma data can be
integrated into anthropological hypotheses testing the role of violence among a
past group. For forensic experts, such information may help narrow down the
identity of unidentified injured remains or assist investigators in deciding the
cause and manner of death. For bioarchaeologists, this same dataset can
carefully be integrated into larger biohistorical analyses seeking to investigate
the political function of violence among past communities.
The focus of this chapter is the analysis of the ways that trauma related to
GSWs can be integrated into anthropological research. This could help
interpretations that at least partially identify the witnesses, victims, and
perpetrators of past violence. Using models and frameworks that integrate
osteological, archival, and archaeological data will greatly benefit the ability
to interpret how violence functions. This contextual information is key to
understanding the nature of past violence (Martin et al. 2012). This investi-
gation of lethal trauma associated with the Kiel Ranch brothers provides a
unique opportunity to demonstrate how trauma is key to a better understand-
ing of the context regarding the death of early frontier men in the growing
cities of the American West.

16.2 The context of the Kiel Ranch: violent frontiers

in the historic American West

In 1879, one of southern Nevada’s earliest frontiersmen, Octavius Decatur

Gass, made two decisions that changed southern Nevada and set the stage for
the formation of Las Vegas’ growth (Moehring and Green 2005). Pressured by
his unhappy family, the former Ohioan invited Conrad Kiel, his wife, and
children to move to southern Nevada and take over an experimental Paiute
 John J. Crandall et al. 291

farm near the Old Mormon fort that had been established in the 1850s. The
second decision Gass made in an attempt to please his family, who missed the
amenities of Ohio life, was a grave financial mistake. Gass, the owner of nearly
1000 acres of land (in what was at the time Arizona territory), had come into
debt. Between the taxes he owed the fledgling state of Nevada, the pressure of
nearby Army soldiers bartering for his produce, and lawsuits concerning land
south of Los Angeles, Gass mortgaged his property to manage his debt.
Turning to businessman Archibald Stewart in Pioche, a mining town north
of Las Vegas, Gass mortgaged his ranch for 5000 dollars in gold. Within 3
years, Gass defaulted on the mortgage and the ranch became Stewart’s prop-
erty (Moehring and Green 2005).
With both the Stewart and Kiel families now owning separate ranches in Las
Vegas, the small market of soldiers, settling pioneer families, and travelers
making their way to the Pacific coast began to compete. Strife between the
ranch families was exacerbated by two conflicts that erupted in 1884. First,
Kiel aggravated relationships with the Stewarts by accusing Archibald of
swindling his friend Gass out of land. Second, a Kiel family ranch hand by
the name of Schuyler Henry inflamed the conflict by allegedly spreading
gossip about Mrs. Stewart, his former employer. On June 13, 1884, Archibald
returned home and rode out with his gun to confront his former employee
about the gossip that he had heard. He never returned. Helen Stewart, a
debutante who played a key role in later developing Las Vegas, received a
note from Conrad Kiel that afternoon that her husband was dead. Burying him
on a hill in a coffin fashioned from two doors of their ranch house, Helen
Stewart forever blamed the Kiels for her husband’s death, noting that she
believed her neighbors and the gunslingers they associated with had ambushed
Archibald (Townley 1973).
Some say that Archibald’s death was what motivated additional violence
that erupted on the Kiel Ranch in 1899 (Martin 1988). That year, Conrad
Kiel’s nephews and heirs to his property, Edwin and William Kiel, assumed
management of the ranch. Edwin had just moved west and together the
brothers joined the list of neighbors with whom Helen refused to speak.
One morning in October 1900, Helen’s new suitor Frank Roger Stewart and
his son William went to the Kiel Ranch. Supposedly visiting to report the
arrival of wagon wheels in town, they found the two brothers’ bodies near
the adobe house that still stands in North Las Vegas today. A coroner
rapidly determined that the brothers had engaged in a murder–suicide and
the bodies were promptly buried. Edwin, accused of killing his brother
William with a shotgun and ending his own life with a handgun, was buried
facing east so that he would not face Christ on judgment day (Brooks and
Brooks 1984).
292 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

Archibald Stewart, William Kiel, and Edwin Kiel’s deaths are not the only
violent incidents that occurred around the Kiel Ranch, though they seem to be
the best remembered. Carrie Marie Townley, in writing the biography of Helen
Stewart, documented the everyday violence that appears to have been common
in frontier life (Townley 1973: 230–1). She writes:
. . .If Parish enjoyed the reputation of a gunslinger, the reputation of the Kiel Ranch
was not much better. It was not uncommon for a rough crowd to congregate there.
On December 1, 1894, a man named Gibbons was maimed when the side of his face
was shot off during a quarrel over a card game by two men with a price on their
heads, Gay and Butcher. Henry Hudson Lee, long time resident of Lincoln County
and one-time county recorder, remembered that Jack Longstreet, another gunslinger
residing in Lincoln County was known to hang out frequently at the Kiels.
According to Lee, the Kiel Family did not enjoy a good reputation; people did not
speak well of them.

This account of “rough crowds” congregating around the ranch seems accurate
given the way in which tension erupted in fatal shootouts such as the ones in
which both Stewart and Kiel blood was spilled between 1894 and 1900. One
can only wonder how commonly such violence may also have affected the
Paiute and other Native American laborers working in and around these North
Las Vegas ranches (see Blackhawk 2006).

16.2.1 The fate of the Kiel family

William and Edwin’s deaths signaled the formal close of the Kiel tenure in Las
Vegas. Conrad’s wife passed away in 1899 and this left no one invested in the
farm, general store, and small estate, consisting of about 250 acres of land, one
horse, and cattle left behind by the brothers (Townley 1974: 11). The
remaining Kiel heirs sold the ranch to the Utah, Nevada, and California
Railroad Company in 1901. The ranch passed through many hands, ending
with the City of North Las Vegas. In 1975, the City of North Las Vegas
contacted anthropologists at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, to remove a
small cemetery on the land associated with the historical Kiel Ranch. The city
had acquired the property in preparation for a 1976 Bicentennial project in
which the city would transform the Kiel Ranch into a historic site that would
honor the history of American expansion, patriotism, and the formation of the
state of Nevada. However, the violent deaths of two long-forgotten brothers
would rewrite this history. The bodies of William and Edwin revealed the
violence that occurred in the 1890s on the ranch. These skeletonized bodies
were not found until 1976 when they were excavated (ranch history up until
1980s provided in Martin 1988).
 John J. Crandall et al. 293

16.2.2 The Brooks’ analysis of the burials

With consent of the relatives at the time of exhumation, the remains recovered
from Kiel Ranch were analyzed and described by Sheilagh and Richard
Brooks, anthropologists at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas (for a full
description of this analysis see Brooks and Brooks 1984).
Using a backhoe, five burials were excavated from the small plot. With
student volunteers, all four adult burials and one infant burial were carefully
excavated, photographed, inventoried, and analyzed. Using historic dental
records, former coroner’s reports, archival research, and forensic osteological
techniques, each burial was positively identified as a member of the Kiel
family. Brooks and Brooks (1984) noted that two of the four adult burials
(identified as Edward and William Kiel using dental records and historical
context) exhibited evidence of gunshot-related trauma to the crania. One of
these two individuals also exhibited a possible injury to the bones of the left
forearm. This injury is not identified as being associated with the gunshot
trauma.
In their analysis, the Brooks suggest that the brothers did not die of a
murder–suicide but more likely were victims of a double homicide. Their
discussion of cause of death, however, was based only on the osteological
information and did not consider weapons found with the burials, broader
context of the crime scene as documented in a 1900 coroner’s report, or
broader comparative data regarding GSWs throughout the historic West.
Additionally, given that the analysis was conducted a number of decades
ago, much of the information about GSWs has changed as forensic anthropolo-
gists have continued to refine the techniques of identifying and interpreting
trauma related to projectiles fired from firearms.

16.2.3 A reanalysis of the Kiel brothers

After government funded excavation in 1976 and reanalysis by the Brooks,

the bones of William and Edwin Kiel remained curated at the University of
Nevada, Las Vegas, and were all but lost in the archives for over three
decades. However, in light of new techniques in osteological analysis and
forensic science related to GSWs, as well as a greater emphasis on context
and integration of multiple lines of evidence in bioarchaeology (Martin et al.
2012), a partially blind reanalysis was conducted. The analysis is considered
partially blind because the investigators analyzed the adult remains without
matching them up to the previous information provided by the Brooks.
The goal of the reanalysis was to generate additional information regarding
294 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

the lives and deaths of the individuals interred at the ranch and to see if
contextualization of gunshot-related trauma into broader bioarchaeological
and historical literature could further shed light on why these individuals
died violently.

16.3 Methods

The reanalysis of the human remains from Kiel Ranch was performed using
osteological techniques widely applied in both bioarchaeological and forensic
contexts. Biological profiles, including estimation of age at death and sex,
were established macroscopically using the pubic symphysis, cranial suture
closure, and visual assessment of skeletal morphology in conjunction with sex
estimation metric analyses (Brooks and Suchey 1990; Buikstra and Mielke
1985; Buikstra and Ubelaker 1994; Lovejoy et al. 1985; Meindl and Lovejoy
1985; Phenice 1969). Living stature was estimated through the use of the
FORDISC 3.0 computer software (Ousley and Jantz 2005). All of the individ-
uals from this site were examined for signs of bony pathology and antemortem
and perimortem trauma, and, when present, this was recorded. Trauma was
identified as perimortem or antemortem based on fracture morphology and
whether or not signs of healing were observed (Galloway 1999; Lovell 2008).
Pathological conditions were identified by unusual bone formation or destruc-
tion as well as abnormal bone shape, size, or density (Ortner 2003). Detailed
descriptions of any pathological bone were recorded during the analysis. The
information was then compared to paleopathological reference texts (Aufder-
heide and Rodríguez-Martin 2003; Ortner 2003).
The interpretation of gunshot injuries in bioarchaeology is largely mani-
fested in the literature as case studies. These case studies have greatly
advanced careful analysis and remain useful given the paucity of large histor-
ical skeletal assemblages rich in contextual information. It is key, however,
that scholars begin to present data objectively so that comparative analyses,
such as the one presented by Crist (2006), can be advanced and used to test
theories regarding the function and consequences of violence in an anthropo-
logical context. Discussion of fracture pattern analysis in an osteological
context is presented in Berryman and Symes (1998). Novak and Kopp
(2003) present an excellent population-level analysis of GSW trauma in a
fragmentary, commingled skeletal assemblage derived from the Mountain
Meadows massacre. Their research and the subsequent biohistory of the
massacre, which situated trauma data in the context of American history and
culture (Novak 2008), provide an excellent model for future bioarchaeological
research.
 John J. Crandall et al. 295

16.3.1 Interpreting gunshot wounds in the skeletal record

Traditionally, skeletal trauma resulting from projectiles has been seen as a

unique category of traumatic injury separate from sharp force or blunt force
injuries. Recently, however, experimental research, as well as reflection
on increasing forensic anthropology casework, has emphasized that trauma
caused by GSWs is simply a specialized form of blunt force injury and should
be interpreted in a similar manner (Kroman and Symes 2012). This approach,
informed by injury biomechanics, skeletal biology, and field research, is a
holistic approach to trauma analysis that may advance the accurate collection
of skeletal trauma data in both bioarchaeological and forensic contexts.
The reason that GSWs are always considered different from other forms of
blunt force trauma is because of the way the bone reacts to the impact. An
extensive review of bone structure and biomechanics can be found in Currey
(2002), but what is of importance is to understand that, because of its structure,
bone can only react in a limited number of ways. Bone is defined as a hard
tissue, but, in reality, it is rich in collagen and other organics that make it quite
elastic or flexible while an organism is alive. Additionally, bones within the
body and between different organisms have notable variability in structural
density, integrity, and composition. The result is that bone is often quite
dynamic, making differential diagnosis of changes to its structure challenging.
With most instances of blunt force trauma, forensics experts can only approxi-
mate the force involved because the low velocity of the impact allows the bone
time to absorb some of the force, causing deformation prior to fracture, which
can be difficult to reconstruct. However, with GSWs, the velocity of the impact
is much greater and the bone does not have time to deform (Passalacqua and
Fenton 2012: 400–1). The result is that the reconstruction of the skull is
generally easier than in cases where blunt force injuries have caused great
plastic deformation of the remains (Berryman and Symes 1998). Thus, because
of the great force used to launch projectiles and the way that such concentrated
force impacts skeletal tissue, it is possible to differentiate high-velocity pro-
jectile (i.e. gunshot) wounds from trauma caused by some other mechanism.
Just as when reporting pathological lesions in human remains, trauma
analysis is best begun with a thorough description that avoids determining
whether a wound resulted from a rifle or handgun, for example, and simply
describes injuries in such a way that future scholars and other forensic experts
can adequately evaluate the interpretations made from such data. It is important
to document the size, shape, location, and placement of all injuries and related
fractures. It is most common to begin the identification of skeletal trauma by
examining the present remains for taphonomic changes. Key to the interpret-
ation of skeletal injuries is determining whether an injury is truly antemortem
296 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

or perimortem in nature and, more importantly, whether an injury is caused by

a human agent rather than being the result of an animal or some other non-
human force. These topics have been addressed elsewhere (Lovell 1997, 2008;
Ortner 2008; Sauer 1998; Spencer 2012). The most obvious sign of gunshot-
related trauma is the presence of an entrance and exit wound. These wounds are
generally circular with fractures relative to the surface of bone first struck by
the projectile and beveling on the opposite surface. These injuries, because
great force strikes the bone rapidly in a smaller area of application, are different
in morphology from other blunt force injuries (Berryman and Haun 1996).
Because of the variable preservation of human remains, particularly in
prehistory, it is important not to look solely for evidence of entrance or exit
wounds when collecting trauma data in any skeletal assemblage. Entry wounds
are generally more variable in their morphology than exit wounds (Kimmerle
and Baraybar 2008: Table 7.2). Examination of beveling, the sequence of
fracturing, and comparison of wounds can help to identify which are entrance
wounds and which are the result of a projectile exiting the body.
A secondary characteristic associated with GSWs is fractures with smooth
edges that radiate out from such wounds at very high velocities. In fact, the
fractures spread at such a rapid rate that they often reach the other side of the
bone before the bullet, resulting in a hidden or missing exit wound (Smith et al.
1987). Thus, the possibility that bullets could ricochet, exit without injuring
bone, or become lodged in the body and then move should the individual have
momentarily survived the trauma was considered.

16.3.2 Recording and quantifying gunshot wounds

For the Kiel brothers the following data were collected from the available
bones: anatomical location of the wound, number of wounds, wound size,
wound morphology, and direction of wounds. This information allows an
estimation of range of fire, caliber, and projectile type to be made (Komar
and Buikstra 2008: 176).
Once all data were collected, the kinds of projectile, the nature of each
wound, and the relative range and force of the injury were carefully estimated.
First, entry and exit wounds should be differentiated based on the nature of the
defects observed. To determine the anatomical location and number of
wounds, the bones were rearticulated, even if only temporarily, to enable the
reconstruction of the fracture pattern and identify missing bone. While recon-
structed, the remains were photographed and drawn to provide others with data
from which they can consider the interpretations presented in this chapter.
Collectively these data allowed for the reconstruction of the wound track or the
 John J. Crandall et al. 297

Table 16.1. Biological profile of the Kiel brothers.

Biological profile

Known age at death Osteological estimation of age

William Kiel Edwin Kiel KHUR 4 KHUR 3

53 years old 51 years old 50–60 years old 45–55 years old

Known age at death information from Brooks and Brooks (1984).

path the projectiles took through the body, the direction in which the projectile
was fired, as well as the anatomical position the individual was in when shot.
The path taken by a projectile, as well as the order of injuries (in cases of
multiple injury), was estimated by reconstructing the radiating direction of
fractures, the nature of the beveling around the edges of the wound, and the
orientation of exit and entry wounds to the anatomical position of the body in
different postures.
Finally, to analyze the injuries associated with the projectiles fired from the
shotgun, special consideration was needed because of the nature of the project-
iles, as these consist of small pellets in a casing that are designed to spread out
when shot. Given that they fire differently than the projectiles fired from a
handgun or rifle, the effect is that subsequent injuries are more or less severe
depending on the extent of the spread (Nag and Sinha 1992). Using these
criteria and ethnohistoric information about the type of ammunition and
firearms available during a particular period of time, it was possible to narrow
down the possible kinds of projectiles and weapons that might have been
involved in the shooting of the Kiel brothers.

16.4 Results

The results of the skeletal analysis demonstrated that the burials designated
KHUR 3 and KHUR 4 in the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, osteological
collection are consistent with both the findings for the known age at death
records for the two Kiel brothers, Edwin and William, as well as the 1976
analysis performed by Brooks and Brooks (1984). In terms of the biological
profile, both individuals are middle-aged adult males of European ancestry.
Furthermore, the burial designated as KHUR 3 is slightly younger than the
burial designated as KHUR 4, which is consistent with the fact that William
Kiel was slightly older than his brother Edwin Kiel (see Table 16.1).
The patterning of trauma found on both burials is consistent with the injuries
noted on the bodies in the coroner’s report in 1900 as well as the trauma recorded
298 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

Figure 16.1. KHUR 3 – Edwin Kiel: cranial gunshot trauma. Left: entrance wound
located on the inferior occipital. Right: extensive facial fracturing where bullet exited.

by Brooks and Brooks (1984). KHUR 3/Edwin Kiel has a perimortem GSW on
the skull. The entrance wound for this gunshot is located on the inferior occipital.
The distance from major bony landmarks was measured with a tape measure and
this defect was found to be 94.0 mm inferior and to the left of lambda and
43.0 mm inferior and to the left of the inion. The exit wound from the gunshot
is located in the face, with much of the face broken away during the bullet exit.
This defect is shown in Figure 16.1. KHUR 4/William Kiel also has evidence of
perimortem gunshot trauma. The cranium is extensively fractured and has pitting
on the endocranial surface, which is shown in Figure 16.2.

16.5 Discussion

The two KHUR burials at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, are the long-
forgotten bodies of William and Edwin Kiel, who died at their ranch in Nevada
at the turn of the twentieth century. The importance of this analysis is that it
supports the previous analysis and interpretation of the death of these two
brothers provided by Brooks and Brooks (1984). Additionally, this analysis
identified a previously undocumented traumatic injury that may suggest a
different reconstruction of the events that occurred on the day that Edwin
and William Kiel were killed.
 John J. Crandall et al. 299

Figure 16.2. KHUR 4 – William Kiel: cranial gunshot trauma. Left: shotgun trauma
evidenced by a fractured skull with pits on the endocranial surface. Right: two shotgun
entrance wounds.

Looking first at Edwin Kiel, the size of the entrance wound in addition to the
extensive fracturing (see Figure 16.1) suggests that the GSW was the result of
either a large-caliber bullet or a high-velocity bullet (i.e. a rifle). The import-
ance of wound size is that it has been known to be useful for identifying what
type of weapon may have been used to cause a given wound (Ross 1996).
While size alone cannot differentiate the caliber of the bullet or identify a
specific gun (because of significant overlap in the size of injuries resulting
from bullets of differing calibers [Berryman et al. 1995]), it can provide a
general idea of whether or not it was a smaller or larger caliber bullet. For
example, it is possible to differentiate between a .44-caliber and a .22-caliber
bullet.
Analysis of radiating fracture lines is useful because the extent of fracturing
can help to determine the type of firearm that was used. Clinical literature
demonstrates that the patterning of fractures is variable, and is based on the
biomechanics of the tissue where it impacts, the velocity at which it was fired,
and the composition and mass of the bullet (Courtney and Courtney 2012;
Hofbauer et al. 2010; Nunamaker and Berg 1985; Smith et al. 1987). A second
benefit of analyzing the extent of fracturing is that it can help determine the
general range or distance at which the gun was fired. Range can also be
determined by the presence of soot, abrasion rings, and other unique kinds
of wound morphology assist in interpreting whether an injury occurred at close
contact, intermediate, or distant range. The problem with this burial is that the
lack of soft tissue made it very difficult to identify if a gun was used at close or
long range. One possible solution is to look for soot staining and periosteal
lifting on the bone. Unfortunately, preservation is an issue as both natural and
300 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

laboratory taphonomy have made it difficult to determine if soot staining is

present. Therefore, simply considering the size of the entrance wound and the
extent of fracturing, it is likely that either a high-velocity rifle or large-caliber
handgun was used to murder Edwin Kiel.
The results of the analysis of the cranial wounds on William Kiel were
consistent with those reported by Brooks and Brooks (1984), which suggests
two shotgun blasts to the head. The first shotgun wound likely entered through
the face and the second shot entered on the right side of the skull (Brooks and
Brooks 1984). The cranium was destroyed by two shotgun blasts, which
caused the dimples found on the endocranial surface of the skull (see Figure
16.2). The depressions left by the shot on the inside of the skull cannot be used
to determine the distance at which William was shot. Given that spread is a
product of both the weight of the pellets and the distance at which they are
fired (Kimmerle and Baraybar 2008), it is likely, given the depth of these
depressions, that he was shot at close range. However, care must be taken to
ensure that the impact of the “billiard ball” effect does not disrupt accurate
interpretation of the distance at which the gun was fired. In skeletonized
remains, it is difficult to know if soft tissue inhibited the initial pellets that
entered the body and therefore enabled later pellets to strike these farther
throughout bony tissues. One more indication that William was shot at close
range is the fact that the left radius and ulna were fractured by one of the shots.
This is interpreted here to indicate that William Kiel attempted to block one of
the shots with his forearm. However, new findings not reported during the
analysis by Brooks and Brooks (1984) indicate that he was likely shot at some
distance before being shot at close range. This analysis revealed that there was
lead shotgun pellet lodged in the spinous process of the sixth thoracic vertebra
(see Figure 16.3). Given the location of the shot at a spot in the body that
would not occur from a shot to the head, this pellet either represents a third
GSW or is the result of ricochet. The latter is less likely given the depth to
which the pellet is embedded in the vertebra.
Based on the morphology and location of the trauma on these two individ-
uals, possible scenarios were considered to explain the events that occurred on
the Kiel Ranch. The results of this study confirm the interpretation made by
Brooks and Brooks (1984): these two individuals represent victims of a double
homicide instead of a murder–suicide. While it is difficult to reconstruct the
exact sequence of events, it is suggested here that some sort of ambush or
shootout may have occurred. It seems likely that at least two perpetrators were
involved as two types of weapons were used. Also, it would have been difficult
for one perpetrator to ambush both brothers, who were also possibly armed,
successfully using two different weapons. If the shotgun pellet in the spine of
William Kiel is the result of a long-distance shot and not ricochet, then it is
 John J. Crandall et al. 301

Figure 16.3. KHUR 3 – William Kiel: gunshot trauma on the vertebra. Left: lead shot
embedded in the sixth thoracic vertebra. Right: X-ray of the vertebra and lead shot.

possible that he was attacked first from a distance, injured, and then
approached by the perpetrator who shot him at close range. Again, it is
unlikely that the bullet ricocheted as it entered the back of the body and was
clearly lodged in the lamina of the vertebra, showing no sign of having entered
via the neural canal or through the vertebral body. No other injuries to the
thoracic region of the body suggest shotgun injuries from the sides or front of
the body. Edwin Kiel, perhaps after hearing the sound of gunshots on his
ranch, appears to have been ambushed at close range and shot in the back of
the head by the second perpetrator. This just represents one of the many
possible scenarios that could explain the trauma, however, and no definite
conclusions can be made.
Interpreting traumatic injuries in the historic skeletal record is difficult.
Skeletal data, paired with historical information and contextual clues derived
from the 1900 crime scene investigation, permit us to posit that the Kiel
brothers were the victims of a double homicide involving at least two perpet-
rators. The pattern of skeletal injuries identified in this study suggests a
conflict that began at distance, with the perpetrators closing in on the brothers.
Wounds to William’s arm and the presence of jammed weaponry at the crime
scene suggest that the brothers attempted to defend themselves. These findings
302 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

allow us to suggest that perhaps the brothers were the victims of an ambush.
We are not likely ever to know the true identity of the perpetrators; however,
the tension between the Kiel and Stewart families certainly provides support
for possible revenge by the Stewarts. Alternatively, the high prevalence
of violence on the frontier and reported "gunslinger" activity around the
Kiel Ranch may simply have put the brothers at increased risk of violent death
for a series of other reasons that frontiersmen faced (see Courtwright 1998;
White 1981).
Determining whether a violent event could have been foreseen by the
victims is difficult in both archaeological and forensic contexts. For bioarch-
aeologists, such information could help to understand the nature of violence as
it might be linked to political struggles. Yet, no method has to our knowledge
been proposed by which to determine whether projectile trauma came as a
surprise or was part of a planned "shootout." Bioarchaeological comparison to
a growing body of literature documenting historical gunshot injuries should be
useful in assisting in such interpretation.

16.5.1 Comparative analysis

A systematic, comparative analysis of historical gunshot injuries has not yet

been attempted for the American West. Crist (2006), however, has compiled a
list of 36 case studies of historic gunshot victims in a discussion of the modern
gun culture debate. Expanding on his analysis, we documented the location of
entry and exit wounds in each individual profiled by Crist (2006: Table 1).
Using contextual information present in some cases, we could identify whether
victims chose to engage in armed conflict (i.e. were part of a formal army or
sought out a gunfight) or whether individuals were the victims of an ambush.
In sum, the 36 individuals who were the victims of gunshots in the historic
USA present 43 separate injuries as the result of gunshots. Of these, only two
groups of individuals (n ¼ 10; 27.7% of the victims profiled in Crist [2006])
are noted to present both contextual and bony evidence of having suffered
injuries that have been interpreted as “point-blank execution” (Novak 2008:
161): Edwin and William Kiel and the eight individuals noted by Crist to have
been killed as part of the 1857 Mountain Meadows massacre. Comparison to
the victims of the Mountain Meadows massacre supports our interpretation
that the Kiel brothers were ambushed, and provides a framework for formulat-
ing the osteological criteria of ambush.
In September 1857, some 120 men, women, and children migrating towards
California were murdered in the Southern Utah Valley of Mountain Meadows.
In 1999, the fragmentary remains of a mass grave comprised of many of these
 John J. Crandall et al. 303

victims were reanalyzed by Shannon Novak and colleagues and have since
been the subject of a number of bioarchaeological publications (e.g. Novak
2008; Novak and Kopp 2003). Projectile trauma, analyzed in Novak and Kopp
(2003), provides useful comparison for interpreting the context of the Kiel
brothers’ deaths for a number of reasons. First, the Mountain Meadows
massacre seems quite politically motivated (see Novak 2008; Novak and
Rodseth 2006 for discussion), with the likely perpetrators defending what they
saw as their sovereignty and livelihood through the event. If the Kiels were the
victims of a revenge killing that stems from the strains of similar political or
economic competition (see Moehring and Green 2005 on political competition
in early southern Nevada), we might expect similar injury patterns. Second, the
Mountain Meadows massacre yielded survivors whose recollections inform
the interpretation of the violent events that occurred. Finally, the analyses
conducted were thorough, and much information regarding the injuries of each
victim is available for comparison.
The Mountain Meadows assemblage included some 1400 fragments of
cranial bone. Of these, 25% exhibited radiating fractures, indicating perimor-
tem trauma caused by blunt or projectile injuries. Gunshot entrance and exit
wounds were also the most common lesions observed in the cranial remains.
Of the five injuries for which locations of entrance and trajectory could be
reconstructed, four consisted of injuries entering the back of the skull and
exiting through the face (Novak and Kopp 2003: Figure 7). These injuries
appear similar to those suffered by Edwin Kiel.
In interpreting the violent events at Mountain Meadows, Novak (2008: 161)
notes that “the pattern of trauma is consistent with point-blank, execution-style
shooting as opposed to a long-distance killing under battlefield conditions.”
Unlike injuries sustained in warfare, the wounds seen in Mountain Meadows
largely occur at close range, are execution-style in many cases, and are not
irregular or the result of long-distance shots. When considered alongside the
blunt force trauma found at the massacre site, it is also clear that the assailants
rapidly closed in on their victims and used rifle butts or other objects to
bludgeon victims. The individuals appear to have been shot in the front of
their bodies first at a distance and then, later, the victims were killed at close
range.
This pattern of wounds (starting at a distance and ending in execution style)
is seen at Kiel Ranch as well. William Kiel exhibits injuries to the back and
arm that suggest some distance between his assailant(s?) and himself at the
start of the fire fight. Yet, the final traumatic event that likely ended his life was
a point-blank style injury from a shotgun to the side of his face. Edwin also
exhibits a point-blank execution style shot to the back of the head that is
similar to those documented by Novak and Kopp (2003).
304 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

This comparison, taken in the context of broader patterns of gunshot injury

seen in the historic USA (Crist 2006), suggests that the Kiel brothers were
ambushed and supports the interpretation of violent events that we posit above.
Further, this comparative analysis suggests that ambush, or surprise attacks
such as massacres, might yield an osteological signature. First, in both cases,
initial injuries are sustained at a distance. These represent assailants rapidly
closing in on unsuspecting victims. These injuries can be sustained across the
body and from various angles such that many varieties of entrance wound
morphology might be documented. As the victims are cornered, injuries
change patterning. First, victims may attempt to defend themselves, using
objects, nearby architecture, or their body positioning to shield against
further injury. This is seen in the injuries to the arm sustained by William
Kiel. Second, injuries become less random in how they are distributed across
the body. Assailants attempt to kill their victims quickly so they can escape
the scene of the crime in many cases. Injuries, in both the Mountain
Meadows and Kiel Ranch chases, thus become focused on the head as rapid
execution is the goal after the victims have been cornered or otherwise
debilitated. Finally, point-blank execution seems to close out these ambush
events. Unlike massacres, where political destruction of an “other” is the
goal, in these contexts, perpetrators may seek to avoid signaling their identity
in the crime and flee the scene without greatly mutilating the bodies, and may
even attempt to make it difficult to interpret who caused the conflict by
altering the crime scene.

16.6 Conclusion

Data obtained from GSWs can be judiciously used to contextualize human

skeletal remains and aid both forensic anthropologists and bioarchaeologists in
reconstructing violence in the past on many scales. As seen in the case of both
the Kiel Ranch deaths as well as the Mountain Meadows massacre, trauma can
be used to assist in reconstructing violence experienced first at the level of the
individual. Here, skeletal trauma data are used to infer cause of death or
generate data that other forensic experts may use to formally determine cause
of death. At the level of the violent event, skeletal data assist in identifying the
perpetrators, witnesses, and victims involved. The specific morphology of
gunshot injuries can be used to reconstruct positioning of these actors. When
partnered with contextual information, these kinds of reconstructions help
formulate scenarios that other data can be used to test, thus allowing for the
violent event to be reconstructed. Finally, and more broadly, skeletal trauma
data can be used comparatively to begin to model the osteological signatures of
 John J. Crandall et al. 305

various forms of violent conflict. In comparing Mountain Meadows and Kiel

Ranch, we have suggested some preliminary osteological signatures of ambush
that can be tested against additional forensic and historic cases and refined for
use. Such kinds of models, generated from bioarchaeological and contextual-
ized forensic data, are useful to bioarchaeology and forensic scholars
attempting to establish the context of violence (for example, in human rights
cases), where it is essential that ambush or massacre can be reliably identified.
These kinds of models are also useful as they enable patterns of violence, such
as ambushes, to be explored in a cultural context. Such investigations help link
patterns of violence with social behavior and help us to understand how
various types of violence, used by social groups to resolve power struggles
on the frontier, manifest skeletally.

Acknowledgments
Funding to present preliminary versions of this work was provided by the
Graduate and Professional Student Association of the University of Nevada,
Las Vegas. We would also like to acknowledge the assistance of Dr. William
Bauer and Dr. Debra Martin and attendees of the 2012 Mountain, Desert, and
Coastal Forensic Anthropologists meeting for helpful comments and guidance
in completing this project. Finally, we wish to acknowledge the late Drs.
Sheilagh and Richard Brooks, whose notes, work, guidance, and insights led
us to this project.

References
Aufderheide, A. C. & Rodríguez-Martin, C. (2003). The Cambridge Encyclopedia of
Human Paleopathology, Reprint edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Berryman, H. E. & Haun, S. J. (1996). Applying forensic techniques to interpret cranial
fracture patterns in an archaeological specimen. International Journal of
Osteoarchaeology, 6, 2–9.
Berryman, H. E. & Symes, S. A. (1998). Recognizing gunshot and blunt cranial trauma
through fracture interpretation. In: Reichs, K. J. (ed.) Forensic Osteology:
Advances in the Identification of Human Remains, 2nd edn. Springfield: Charles
C. Thomas, 333–52.
Berryman, H. E., Smith, O. C. & Symes, S. A. (1995). Diameter of cranial gunshot
wounds as a function of bullet caliber. Journal of Forensic Sciences, 40, 751–4.
Blackhawk, N. (2006). Violence over the Land: Indians and Empires in the Early
American West. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Brooks, S. & Suchey, J. (1990). Skeletal age determination based on the os pubis: a
comparison of the Acsadi-Nemskeri and Suchey-Brooks methods. Human Evolu-
tion, 5, 227–38.
306 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

Brooks, S. T. & Brooks, R. H. (1984). Problems of burial exhumation, historical and

forensic aspects. In: Brathbun, T. A. & Buikstra, J. E. (eds.) Human Identification:
Case Studies in Forensic Anthropology. Springfield: Charles C. Thomas, 64–86.
Buikstra, J. E. & Mielke, J. H. (1985). Demography, diet, and health. In: Gilbert, R. I. &
Mielke, J. H. (eds.) The Analysis of Prehistoric Diets. Orlando: Academic Press,
359–422.
Buikstra, J. E. & Ubelaker, D. H. (eds.) (1994). Standards for Data Collection from
Human Skeletal Remains. Fayetteville: Arkansas Archeological Survey, Research
Series, No. 44. A copy of Standards is required to fill out these forms accurately. It
may be obtained from the Arkansas Archeological Survey, 2475 N. Hatch Ave.,
Fayetteville, AR 72704, http://www.uark.edu/campus-resources/archinfo/.
Courtney, A. & Courtney, M. (2012). Physical Mechanisms of Soft Tissue Injury from
Penetrating Ballistic Impact. Colorado Springs: Air Force Academy, Report No.
A408075. Published by Storming Media.
Courtwright, D. T. (1998). Violent Land: Single Men and Social Disorder from the
Frontier to the Inner City. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Crist, T. A. (2006). The good, the bad, and the ugly: bioarchaeology and the modern
gun culture debate. Historical Archaeology, 40, 109–30.
Currey, J. D. (2002). Bones: Structure and Mechanics. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
Escobar, C. (2005). The Status of Kiel Ranch: The City of North Las Vegas has Killed
but Not yet Buried the Oldest Historic Site in the State. Las Vegas: PACC, October
2005, Preservation Association of Clark County.
Galloway, A. (1999). The biomechanics of fracture production. In: Galloway, A. (ed.)
Broken Bones: Anthropological Analysis of Blunt Force Trauma. Springfield:
Charles C. Thomas, 35–62.
Hofbauer, M., Kdolsky, R., Figl, M., Grünauer, J., Aldrian, S., Ostermann, R. C. &
Vècsei, V. (2010). Predictive factors influencing the outcome after gunshot injur-
ies to the head – a retrospective cohort study. Journal of Trauma, 69, 770–5.
Kimmerle, E. H. & Baraybar, J. P. (eds.) (2008). Skeletal Trauma: Identification of
Injuries Resulting from Human Remains Abuse and Armed Conflict. Boca Raton:
CRC Press.
Komar, D. A. & Buikstra, J. E. (2008). Forensic Anthropology: Contemporary Theory
and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Kroman, A. M. & Symes, S. A. (2012). Investigation of skeletal trauma. In: Digangi,
E. A. & Moore, M. K. (eds.) Research Methods in Human Skeletal Biology.
Oxford: Academic Press, 219–40.
Lovejoy, C. O., Meindl, R. S., Pryzbeck, T. R. & Mensforth, R. P. (1985). Chrono-
logical metamorphosis of the auricular surface of the ilium: a new method for the
determination of adult skeletal age at death. American Journal of Physical Anthro-
pology, 68, 15–28.
Lovell, N. C. (1997). Trauma analysis in paleopathology. Yearbook of Physical Anthro-
pology, 40, 139–70.
 John J. Crandall et al. 307

(2008). Analysis and interpretation of skeletal trauma. In: Katzenberg, M. A. &

Saunders, S. R. (eds.) Biological Anthropology of the Human Skeleton, 2nd edn.
Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 341–86.
Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (2012). Introduction: bioarchaeology and the
study of violence. In: Martin, D. L., Harrod, R. P. & Pérez, V. R. (eds.) The
Bioarchaeology of Violence. Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1–10.
Martin, P. T. (1988). Historic American Buildings Survey: Kiel Ranch, North Las Vegas,
Nevada, HABS No. NV-19. San Francisco: National Park Service, Western Region.
Meindl, R. S. & Lovejoy, C. O. (1985). Ectocranial suture closure: a revised method for
the determination of skeletal age at death based on the lateral-anterior sutures.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 68, 57–66.
Moehring, E. P. & Green, M. S. (2005). Las Vegas: A Centennial History. Reno:
University of Nevada Press.
Nag, N. K. & Sinha, P. (1992). A note on assessability of firing distance from gunshot
residues. Forensic Science International, 56, 1–17.
Novak, S. A. (2008). House of Mourning: A Biocultural History of the Mountain
Meadows Massacre. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press.
Novak, S. A. & Kopp, D. (2003). To feed a tree in Zion: osteological analysis of the 185
Mountain Meadows Massacre. Historical Archaeology, 37, 85–108.
Novak, S. A. & Rodseth, A. (2006). Remembering Mountain Meadows: collective
violence and the manipulation of social boundaries. Journal of Anthropological
Research, 62, 1–25.
Nunamaker, D. M. & Berg, P. (1985). Open fractures and gunshot injuries. In: Newton,
C. D. & Nunamaker, D. M. (eds.) Textbook of Small Animal Orthopaedics. Phila-
delphia: JB Lippincott, 481–97.
Ortner, D. J. (2003). Identification of Pathological Conditions in Human Skeletal
Remains. London: Academic Press.
(2008). Differential diagnosis of skeletal injuries. In: Kimmerle, E. H. & Baraybar,
J. P. (eds.) Skeletal Trauma: Identification of Injuries Resulting from Human
Remains Abuse and Armed Conflict. Boca Raton: CRC Press, 21–93.
Ousley, S. D. & Jantz, R. L. (2005). Fordisc 3.0: Personal Computer Forensic Dis-
criminant Functions. Knoxville: University of Tennessee.
Passalacqua, N. V. & Fenton, T. W. (2012). Developments in skeletal trauma: blunt-
force trauma. In: Dirkmaat, D. C. (ed.) A Companion to Forensic Anthropology.
Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, Ltd, 400–12.
Phenice, T. W. (1969). A newly developed visual method of sexing the os pubis.
American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 30, 297–301.
Ross, A. H. (1996). Caliber estimation from cranial entrance defect measurements.
Forensic Science International, 41, 629–33.
Sauer, N. J. (1998). The timing of injuries and manner of death: distinguishing among
antemortem, perimortem, and postmortem trauma. In: Reichs, K. J. (ed.) Forensic
Osteology: Advances in the Identification of Human Remains, 2nd edn. Spring-
field: Charles C. Thomas, 321–32.
308 Interpreting gunshot trauma as context clue

Smith, O. C., Berryman, H. E. & Lahren, C. H. (1987). Cranial fracture patterns and
estimate of direction from low velocity gunshot wounds. Journal of Forensic
Sciences, 32, 1416–21.
Spencer, S. D. (2012). Detecting violence in the archaeological record: clarifying the
timing of trauma and manner of death in cases of cranial blunt force trauma among
pre-Columbian Amerindians of West-Central Illinois. International Journal of
Paleopathology, 2, 112–22.
Townley, C. M. (1973). Helen J. Stewart: first lady of Las Vegas, Part I. Nevada
Historical Society Quarterly, 16, 214–44.
(1974). Helen J. Stewart: first lady of Las Vegas, Part II. Nevada Historical Society
Quarterly, 17, 2–32.
Walker, P. L. (2001). A bioarchaeological perspective on the history of violence.
Annual Review of Anthropology, 30, 573–96.
White, R. (1981). Outlaw gangs of the Middle Border: American social bandits. The
Western Historical Quarterly, 12, 387–408.
 Part V
Concluding thoughts
17 Living on the sidelines of death:
anthropologists and violence
al ison g a l l o w a y

17.1 Introduction

One of the most frequent questions I am asked at public presentations on

forensic anthropology is how do I feel about death, having worked in this field
for three decades. I respond by agreeing that exposure to death, dead bodies,
and the consequences of violence has greatly changed the way in which I look
at death. I value how precious life is and how quickly it can be snatched
from us. I also know how desperately people cling to life as we see the
evidence of people fighting to live and undergoing torture prior to their death.
When I was given the opportunity to provide a contribution for this volume,
I sorted through the usual formats such as a case report or results of a research
project. However, as I began writing, the current topic quickly spilled onto the
page. I would attribute that to a number of factors: my own age and consider-
ations of retirement; seeing my students embark on their own careers in
forensic anthropology and bioarchaeology; and the loss of colleagues, family
members, and friends. However, the most powerful factor is the sight of the
many victims whose bodies we have examined and the opportunity we have to
experience, in our minds, their last moments on earth.
The bioarchaeologist and forensic anthropologist experience death across a
wide range of formats. For those of us working on contemporary material, we
often participate in recovery efforts after mass disasters. During these times,
we may see the bodies or body parts within the context of the death. This series
of images is overlain by the sense of shock and dismay felt more broadly by
the community/nation suffering the loss. It is accompanied by the strain of
long hours and loss of our own support environment.

Bioarchaeological and Forensic Perspectives on Violence: How Violent Death is Interpreted from
Skeletal Remains, ed. D. L. Martin and C. P. Anderson. Published by Cambridge University Press.
© Cambridge University Press 2014.

311
312 Anthropologists and violence

For osteologists who specialize in examination of violence, we also spend

long hours in the laboratory examining individual skeletons, identifying indi-
vidual instances of damage to the bones, determining the means by which that
damage occurred and when it occurred in relation to the individual’s demise,
and finally determining the sequence of events, if possible, from the remains
and our knowledge of anatomy and human movement. The victims have come
to us from situations in which the cause and manner of death may be unclear –
suicide, homicide, accidental, or natural causes. The body is removed from
the context but this act also exposes the vulnerability of the person. The
cleaned bones are laid out on our table to be scrutinized, photographed, and
documented. Stripped of context, all attention is focused on the evidence
of violence.
In this chapter, I want to examine several aspects of how our examination of
death also points inward. How does this change our own attitudes to death and
dying? I will briefly discuss five specific aspects: (1) the isolation of our
professional lives; (2) the lasting memories that this work produces; (3) the
use of humor, specifically gallows or dark humor; (4) how the remains reveal
information about the killer and how that knowledge is incorporated into our
understanding of human nature; and (5) the potential for post-traumatic stress
disorder (PTSD).

17.2 A professional life in isolation

Anthropologists who deal with death and violence often do so on an erratic

schedule. Forensic anthropologists get cases intermittently – often going long
periods without any work and then having multiple cases arriving within a
week. Thrown into this mix are the fortunately less frequent events of mass
disasters/multiple fatality incidents. These large-scale events may require
many hours of work, often on 10–12-hour shifts, for weeks at a time, with
the rest of one’s life set to the side. Bioarchaeologists are more able to
schedule the field season but not when and how bodies will be recovered.
Often remains are uncovered at the close of a season, making recovery
difficult and with little time to mentally process the more obvious evidence
of violence. Only when remains are transported back to the laboratory do we
have a chance to examine cases more closely. This uneven exposure, the need
often to work at a quick pace, and the length of time that we will spend with
the dead are part of the career choice we have made – but one that comes with
other considerations.
One of the difficulties of working with forensic cases, in particular, is the
inability to discuss these cases with the people who are the normal outlets one
 Alison Galloway 313

has for tension. While people may find working on forensic cases an intriguing
topic of conversation, there is less willingness to hear the details – the
maggots, the smell, the decomposed organs within the body cavity. Chills
run up the spine when we say that we “cook the body,” but visualizing a pot in
which nail-polished hands bob up and down is a bit more than people want to
know.
Family members often tire of hearing about cases in all the, often gory,
detail. The choice of subject matter for work was ours, and not necessarily that
of our families. This reticence to speak openly to family members about cases
increases when there are younger children present. I stopped bringing my
young daughter to the laboratory when she began asking if the stab wounds
in the spine of a victim had hurt him. She did not return to the lab for many
years after that, although she is now rather matter-of-fact about dead bodies.
The other factor that limits what we, as forensic anthropologists, can say to
others is the problem of dealing with forensic evidence. Active cases require
careful regulation of the release of information. Press coverage of cases will
publicize certain details but often many intimate details are not included and
may not be known beyond a small circle of investigators until the case goes to
trial. Many cases never go to trial so this information remains concealed. While
the wartime saying of “loose lips sink ships” now better applies to cyberspace,
inappropriate talk can sink a legal case.
We are known to our colleagues, often in anthropology departments, for
being a bit different. My colleagues in campus administration will acknow-
ledge that something is odd about my response to bodies. I have been known to
sit up sharply when a “burn pit” is mentioned in a campus planning activity –
only to slump when it was evident that I could not use it for experimentation on
thermal damage to remains. I also have a large number of non-human skeletal
elements and El Dia de los Muertos artifacts in my office. It has become
standard practice to give me skeleton cards, calendars, trinkets – anything as
long as it has bones. Even my family has succumbed to the tradition and
stopped trying to convert my décor to more acceptable designs of flowers or
geometric patterns.
However, to revel too much in the dead is not appropriate and shows an
indifference of the respect due to all individuals, living or dead. Our livelihood
does, in part, depend on the deaths of others. So, we must temper our almost
gleeful anticipation of a “good case” with the knowledge that, for a case to
come our way, someone died.
So, how do we cope? We find ways to breach the boundaries of the isolation
by reaching out to colleagues beyond our immediate circle. Some are fortunate
to work in coroners’ or medical examiners’ units with colleagues who share
the same experiences. However, many of us work in academia. These
314 Anthropologists and violence

conversations are often not ones to share with our departmental colleagues.
Our students share a part of this life, but until they have come to understand the
world in which they are immersing themselves, we often do not confide fully
in them. Revealing excessive vulnerability can also be problematic for a
mentor to a mentee. Many of us hold things inside until we have the chance
to share with like-minded colleagues.
The public often see professional conferences as a place where the latest
information, processes, and practices are exchanged. Equally important for
those of us who work with the dead is the opportunity to talk with others
whose experience is comparable. Much of the time is spent “out-grossing”
each other – an important release valve for the types of things we experience.
I often spend some of the time with the entomologists since one of my areas of
research has been decomposition. While we happily discuss the various attri-
butes and accomplishments of maggots and other larvae, the neighboring
tables begin to empty.

17.3 Lasting memories

Ask any forensic anthropologist or bioarchaeologist who deals with violence if

they have any lasting memories of their victims and almost all will say yes.
Many of these come from instances of mass disaster. It may be the image of the
large “head-sized” impact marks on the underside of the folding trays after an
airplane crash – especially when you have to fly the same type of plane on the
same route; it may be seeing children getting on a plane, having just worked on
a crash. In my case it was realizing that I was lifting a dead infant recovered
from a plane crash just as I had lifted my own daughter – lifting the legs
slightly and sliding my arm under the body to steady the head. In this case,
there was no head.
Many of us also have specific cases that haunt us. Often it is where the
complex pattern of defects seen on the bones can be matched to a story – either
from an informant or the defendant. In one such case, we were able to identify
blunt force blows to the head, multiple stab wounds in the lower back and
ribcage, and linear cuts on the cervical vertebrae. As we found out after
completing our analysis, the informant told of the victim being hit over the
head, bound, and tortured before having his throat slit.
Then there are the bodies that are not even ours to examine. Since we often
work in morgues, other remains pass before us. With each comes a story of
how and where they died, with whom they were at the time. Many coroner
cases are accidental deaths, often from drug or alcohol abuse, or suicides.
I turned around from a skeletonized case once to see the body of a young man,
 Alison Galloway 315

with carefully sculpted and purple-dyed hair. He had been looking forward to a
weekend of partying just hours before the heroin overdose claimed his life.
I remember the hair.
Bioarchaeologists who work with victims of violence also capture images.
The flesh may be long gone but the ages, the poses, the cut marks or blows are
clearly visible. In these settings the reasoning behind why the people were
killed and why they were placed as they were in death cannot be fully known.
The investigator is left trying to reconstruct the unfathomable.

17.4 Seeing the funny side of death

Gary Larson has a lot of admirers among anthropologists – especially those

who work with human bodies. It was a sad day when he retired in 1995.
Fortunately his cartoons live on. I use them often in teaching, strongly favoring
those that poke fun at death, decay, and scavenging. There are times when
I relate particularly with his depiction of the child who brought in the head in a
pickle jar for classroom “show and tell.”
Humor is often used to break stressful situations but there are many
unspoken rules about the use of such jokes. In general, joking about specific
victims or attributing the cause of their death to their behavior or lifestyle is
less acceptable than jokes that target death itself or the current circumstances,
such as being in a roomful of decomposing bodies.
Gallows humor treats serious, even deadly, subjects as topics for satirical or
light conversation (Watson 2011). Watson points out that gallows humor
among physicians is often misunderstood as callousness and unprofessional
behavior. Instead, she insists that we must recognize the humanity of those
facing the stressful situation. About gallows humor among physicians, she
states: “Moments when health care providers suddenly see the enormous gulf
they’re straddling between medical and lay culture are one source of gallows
humor. Being off-balance can make us laugh, and sometimes laughing is what
keeps us from falling over.”
In a similar vein, Kuhlman (1988) describes humor used in a maximum
security criminal mental health facility. The situations in which such humor
surfaces share common features of unremitting or inescapable stressors and
a sense of “existential incongruity.” As anthropologists working on the
dead, we cannot escape the task at hand without jeopardizing our careers
and reputations. It has to be faced but we end up doing often socially
unacceptable things (defleshing, dismemberment) to the dead while investi-
gating what unspeakable things were done to get them that way in the first
place.
316 Anthropologists and violence

The right to participate in gallows humor also marks the acceptance into a
professional community. Students who overly joke about the bodies are eyed
with suspicion, and senior practitioners either address the behavior or may
decline to continue the association. It is often the mentor’s role to initiate
and set the level of humor for the students.

17.5 People less than human

For killers to be able to kill, they see their victims as less than human. Levin
and Fox (2007) suggest that many sadistic killers do not fit the well-publicized
stereotype of having an extreme personality disorder. Instead they argue that
the killer is able to overcome his/her very normal forces of conscience by
compartmentalizing his/her activities and by dehumanizing the victim.
For the anthropologist dealing with the remains of the victim, we witness the
results of the dehumanization while simultaneously needing to dehumanize the
victim so that we can conduct our studies. In order to perform our work, we
must continue the desecration of the remains to reveal the information they
contain. We strip the bones of their flesh, examine each bone microscopically,
photograph it from every angle, and intrude into all the private areas of the
remains. We, too, compartmentalize these activities away from the rest of our
lives, and we must enter our scientific mode to remove the full humanity from
the deceased individual.
In modern society, the murder of certain categories of people is considered
more reprehensible. These include those individuals who are unable to provide
even some level of defense – children, the severely handicapped, the elderly.
Yet these are often the victims of violent crime, of mass disasters, and of
genocide. In the bioarchaeology context, the discovery of the bodies of
children as victims of either massacre or sacrifice is noted throughout the
world. Again, as the osteologists, we can adopt the approach that these are
scientific data as we complete the examinations and analyze the data. How-
ever, always lurking behind the screen we have mentally established is the
understanding that other humans deliberately murdered people who we would
now consider as innocent and harmless.

17.6 Post-traumatic stress

While post-traumatic stress may occur, most forensic anthropologists do not

claim to suffer the classic symptoms, or, if they do, they do not find them as
distressing. What we see are changes that are more subtle yet equally powerful.
 Alison Galloway 317

These changes usually do not reach the level where symptoms become debili-
tating but they can interact with other aspects of our lives.
PTSD is an anxiety disorder commonly associated with those who have
experienced life-threatening events, such as military combat or physical or
sexual assaults. However, it can also be experienced by those who encounter
death on a repeated basis, such as coroners, death investigators, and forensic
experts. While the etiology is unknown, it is believed that the extreme expos-
ure changes the biochemistry by which the person deals with emotions in the
future. Changes in the transmission of neurotransmitters possibly underlie the
symptoms.
Symptoms fall roughly into three categories. The first is the “reliving” of the
event. Sufferers report flashbacks or dreams in which the events are repeated.
Many of us in the field also experience dreams that have images most would
find unpleasant. Decomposing bodies, skeletons, and evidence of terror may
litter the dreams but not cause particular distress. However, there are times
when circumstances do bring to mind the power of what we have witnessed.
If I were to dream of a rotting corpse, I do not become distressed; however,
if I dreamt of being murdered, or, worse, doing the murder, it is time to
re-evaluate the situation.
The second major group of symptoms involves avoidance. This cluster
includes an overall numbing of emotions and a retraction from circumstances
that would trigger images. Many symptoms in this group are similar to those of
depression. Finally, there is a cluster of symptoms around arousal in which
those who suffer from PTSD have difficulty concentrating and are easily
startled, constantly alert, irritable, and have difficulty sleeping.
Considerable work has been done on first responders, which may include
anthropologists, especially in multifatality incidents. Brondolo and colleagues
(2007) worked with the body handlers from the 9/11 incidents and noted that
many were overwhelmed not only by the volume of remains but by the
duration of the investigation that dragged on for over 4 years. In the immediate
aftermath of the World Trade Center disaster, there was an airline crash with
275 victims, which overlapped with the other analyses. People whose profes-
sional work usually kept them separated from the survivors were thrust into
roles of collecting antemortem data from families. Despite these circum-
stances, Brondolo notes that other studies show that the rates of PTSD are
relatively low amongst World Trade Center workers. The incidence of acute
stress disorder among those responding to air crashes may be as high as 25%
(Fullerton et al. 2004), while officers involved with the World Trade Center
showed rates of PTSD or partial PTSD up to 15% (Marmar et al. 2006).
Much of the psychological damage to workers on mass disasters can be
avoided by preparation (Brondolo et al. 2007). While the events are
318 Anthropologists and violence

unpredictable, training and practice sessions make the response more predict-
able. Mechanisms to provide information on progress and supporting perform-
ance are also beneficial. While mental health professionals would appreciate
greater involvement in the support of body handlers, there is reluctance to seek
these services. Much of this may lie in the perception of the isolated profes-
sional life (see above).
Less information is available about the effects on those who repeatedly
see the results of violence over a long period of time, such as medical
examiners, death investigators, autopsy technicians, and anthropologists.
Probably the best to date is a study of volunteer workers in Israel who
recover bodies and body parts after explosions, often perpetrated by suicide
bombers (Solomon et al. 2007). Surprisingly, these individuals showed
lower rates of PTSD than the general population. Furthermore, those
individuals who employed a “repressive coping strategy,” as defined by
Weinberger et al. (1979), were better protected than others. Such body
handlers report lower anxiety although they often exhibit higher levels of
physiological anxiety (heart rate and blood pressure), a response pattern
more fully explored by Mendolia et al. (1996) and Sparks et al. (1999).
In other words, their anxieties are repressed. Solomon and associates (2007)
noted that these individuals also reported a lower sense of danger in their
work, although their sense of safety was no better than the other, non-
repressive, individuals.
Self-selection may play a role in the relatively low incidence of mental
health issues. As a professor, I have many students who express the intense
desire to become forensic anthropologists – until their first experience with a
decomposing body. Because the anxiety must be “put aside” when working on
remains, those who choose to make it a career may be biased towards those
whose coping strategies are, in general, better matched. As one matures in the
field, the feeling of competence makes situations more controllable even
though every case presents new circumstances.
There comes a time, however, when one gets tired of seeing dead bodies. It
is not the dead themselves that cause the problem, it is the implication of what
humans can do to each other. For each homicide we see as a corpse, there was
someone or a group of people who were capable of putting aside their shared
humanity to kill. It is not the death we seek to avoid seeing but the killing.
I have known people in the field who have gotten so weary of death that they
have given up the sport of hunting, which they previously enjoyed. I am
addicted to a good murder mystery, whether in text or film, but routinely skip
over any reference to the actual act of killing. My ability to repress only works
so far and I make conscious choices to avoid situations that threaten to
overwhelm my abilities to accommodate.
 Alison Galloway 319

17.7 Conclusions

People ask me what it takes to be a good forensic anthropologist and I usually

respond that it requires a weak nose and a strong stomach. In a sense, these are
helpful traits but they also symbolize the broader qualities that it takes to work
in this field. We have the responsibility to bear the burden of these deaths
while also trying to protect ourselves so that the scent of death does not
overwhelm us. We must remove ourselves emotionally from the immediate
scene. I refer to this as going into “science mode” in which the analysis of the
body takes priority over comprehending how the person died. The reality of
the violence, however, does catch up to us. The sense of loss for a life cut
short, the knowledge of the terror they experienced knowing that they would
soon die, and the privilege of telling the story the victims can no longer speak
require the anthropologist to be able and willing to bear the burden that comes
with this knowledge.
What keeps those of us in the field is our sense of discovery, resolution, and
contribution. When we examine a body, we are party to information about how
that person spent their last moments. We become the mouthpiece through
which that story can be told long after the decedent passed away. The ability to
balance the emotion of knowing this very private information with the scien-
tific investigation is key for a successful and lengthy career in the field.
A good colleague, a fellow forensic anthropologist, died recently. He left his
body to the University of Tennessee decay facility and the skeletal remains,
once cleaned, to the Smithsonian Institution. While we study death frequently,
we know we will, at some time in the future, also be the remains subject to
someone else’s handling.

References
Brondolo, E., Wellington, R., Brady, N., Libby, D. & Brondolo, T. J. (2007). Mechan-
ism and strategies for preventing post-traumatic stress disorder in forensic workers
responding to mass fatality incidents. Journal of Forensic and Legal Medicine, 15,
78–88.
Fullerton, C. S., Ursano, R. J. & Wang, L. (2004). Acute stress disorder, posttraumatic
stress disorder, and depression in disaster or rescue workers. American Journal of
Psychiatry, 161, 1370–6.
Kuhlman, T. L. (1988). Gallows humor for a scaffold setting: managing aggressive
patients on a maximum-security forensic uni. Hospital and Community Psychiatry,
39, 1085–90.
Levin, J. & Fox, J. A. (2007). Normalcy in behavioral characteristics of the sadistic
serial killer. In: Kocsis, R. N. (ed.) Serial Murder and the Psychology of Violent
Crimes. Totowa: Humana Press Inc., 3–14.
320 Anthropologists and violence

Marmar, C. R., Metzler, T., Chemtob, C., Delucchi, K., Liberman, A., Fagan, J. et al.
(2006) Impact of the World Trade Center Attacks on the New York City Police
Department: A Prospective Study. New York Academy of Sciences Conference
Psychobiology of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: A Decade of Progress. New
York, NY: New York Academy of Sciences.
Mendolia, M., Moore, J. & Tesser, A. (1996). Dispositional and situational determin-
ants of repression. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 70, 856–67.
Solomon, Z., Berger, R. & Ginzburg, K. (2007). Resilience of Israeli body handlers:
implications of repressive coping style. Traumatology, 13, 64–74.
Sparks, G. G., Pellechia, M. & Irvine, C. (1999). The repressive coping style and fright
reactions to mass media. Communication Research, 26, 176–92.
Watson, K. (2011). “Gallows Humor in Medicine.” Hastings Center Report, 41, 37–45.
Weinberger, D. A., Schwartz, G. E. & Davidson, R. J. (1979). Low-anxious, high-
anxious and repressive coping styles: psychometric patterns and behavioral and
physiological responses to stress. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 88, 369–80.
 Index

Page numbers in bold indicate – figures/tables

9/11 disaster, 317 Andrews, J. M., 77

antemortem defects, see also perimortem
Acaxee culture (Mexico), 89 defects, postmortem defects
Acropolis (site), 128–30, 130 and cranial modification, 246, 247–50, 248,
age 250
and CDF, 205 from Kronan sinking, 44
and injury recidivism, 113 Yaqui culture, 181
age estimation anthropology
in bioarchaeology, 20, 30–1, 138, 142, 157, and reconstucting death circumstances,
180 289–90
in dismemberment cases, 77 as glue for forensic and archaeological
in Kiel Ranch, 297, 297 approaches, 12, 155–63, 156
of Patio 29 victims, 225, 227 biological, 3–4
aggressors, see also captivity, see also victims archaeology, see bioarchaeology
identifying patterns of, 11–12 Austria, 22–6, 23
identity through perimortem defects, 261–83 ayllus, 138, 242
in homicides, 75–9, 316 Aylwin, P., 221, 224, 231
lack of emphasis in bioarchaeology, 281 Aztec Ruins (site), 112–13, see also Chaco
relationship to victims, 8–9, 130–2 Phenomenon
Allen, W., 209
Allende, I., 230 Bachelet, M., 232
Allende, S., 216, 218–20, 229–30 Bales, K., 115
American Association of Physical Bandelier, A., 142
Anthropologists, 3, 281 Barr, J., 105, 107
American Museum of Natural History, 109, Battle of Öland, 35–6, 36
177, 179, 184–6 battle victim hypothesis, 20–1
analysis battlefield, see warfare
body mass, 21–2, 26, 27 Bauer-Clapp, H., 10
CT-scanning, 21–2, 23 Baustian, K., 10, 12, 196
genetic testing, 225–6 Beals, R., 90
intersample variation, 23, 23, 25, 289–304, Benjamin, W., 160–1
297 Berger, R., 318
taphonomy, 8, 19, 37–8, 47–8, 157–8 Berner, M., 22
ancestor veneration, 92–3 Berryman, H., 77, 294
ancient analysis, see bioarchaeology Betanzos, J., 238
Andahuaylas (site), 236–55 Billeb, E., 57
Anderson, B., 217, 222 bioarchaeology, see also forensic
Anderson, C., 8, 12 anthropology, see also skeletons (human)

321
322 Index

bioarchaeology (cont.) Cachi (site), 241–2, 245

and aggressor identity, 261, 263–7, 264, 266 Caesar, A., 30
and artifact influence on general public, Caldwell, S., 154
148–63 calvaria, 150–8, 152, 154, see also skulls
and cultural understanding of violence, 7, cannibalism, 89
9, 134–45, 139, 192–211, 194, 197, cannon recovery, 36–7, 47–8
198, 206 cannonization, see sainthood
and ritual Mayan violence, 9, 120–32, 121, captivity, see also aggressors, see also victims
125, 130 evidence in modern society, 103, 115–16
and Yaqui cultural identity, 171–88, 172, gender roles of skeletal remains in, 9
179, 182, 183, 185, 187 in pre-state indigeneous groups, 103–5, 208–9
as complement to forensic anthropology, in Pueblo groups, 105–13
4–6, 293–7 multiple forms of violence related to, 109,
distinctions between populations, 18, 113–15, 115
236–55 skeletal evidence of, 9
evidence of captivity and slavery in, 9, Caracol (site), 128
103–16, 115 Catholic Church, 150, 155, 158, 160–1
importance of in interpreting violence, 3–4, CDFs, see cranial depression fractures (CDFs)
90–2 Chaco Phenomenon, 105, 109–10,
biohistory, see historical forensics see also Aztec Ruins (site), see also La
biological anthropology, 3–4 Plata (Pueblo site), see also Kin Bineola (site)
Birkby, W., 209 Chanka culture
Black III, T. K., 29 archaeology site descriptions, 236–40
blunt force trauma, 182–3, 246–9, 267, as victims of violence, 11
279–81, see also sharp force trauma emergence of cranial modification in,
body mass determinations, 21–2, 26, 27 238–40
Bolechala, F., 65, 77 ethnohistoric research, 238
Bolivia, 142 excavation methods, 237–44
bone, see skeletons (human) trauma and violence in, 244–50, 245, 246,
Bowe, J., 115 247, 248, 250
Brady, N., 317–18 Cherryson, A., 149
Brinker, U., 7 Chichén Itzá (site), 121, 125
Brinkmann, B., 57, 77 Chile
Broberg, M., 64, 77 face-to-face conflict in, 134–45, 139
Brondolo, E., 317–18 forensic anthropology in, 216–33
Brondolo, T., 317–18 Chumash culture, 208
Brooks, J., 105, 107 Cieza de Leon, P., 238
Brooks, R., 83–4, 293, 297–8, 300 Clark, T., 88
Brooks, S., 83–4, 293, 297–8, 300 Clewlow Jr., C., 89, 91
Brues, A., 157 contemporary analysis, see forensic
Buhmann, D., 279 anthropology
Buikstra, J., 195 context
burial and captivity, 107–13, 109
Chanka practices, 236–41 burial, 52, 52
context, 52, 52 Contreras, M., 232
exhumations, 224 Copán (site), 128–30
Mayan, 84–6, 85, 90–2, 121, 121–8, 125 Corpa, Pedro de, 10, 154–8, 160–2
movement of considered violence, 162 corto-contundente trauma, see sharp force
Rarámuri culture (Mexico), 87–8 trauma
treatment and local interest, 148–63 Costantinides, F., 77
burning (ritual), 123–5, 125 Crandall, J. J., 12
 Index 323

cranial depression fractures (CDFs), 196–206, economic autopsies, see Patio 29 grave
197, 198 education (for understanding violence), 6,
cranial modification 311–19
and captivity, 110–11 Ellis, F., 86
and social identity, 11, 238–40 Erkol, Z., 77
and trauma, 246, 247–50, 248, 250, 252–4 Esther (mummy), 150
depression fractures, 196–206, 197, 198 ethnogenesis, 239–40, 254
craniosynostosis, 157 ethnographic data, see also ethnohistoric data
Creutz, Lorentz, 36 and interpretation affecting local culture,
Crist, T., 294, 297, 302 148–63
Cromwell, O., 149 importance of in interpreting violence,
crossbow, 278–9 86–8
CT-scanning, 21–2 ethnohistoric data, see also ethnographic data
culture and aggressor identity, 261–3
and injury recidivism, 114 and captivity, 107–8
and violence for resolving problems, 9–10, and ritualized battles, 142–3
134–45, 139 and victim aggressor interchange, 281–2
Currey, J., 295 importance of in interpreting violence,
88–90
Darling, A., 86, 186 Kiel Ranch, 290–3, 301–2
Darrien Bluff (site), 153–5 of Fort King George “skull”, 151–8
Davidson, R., 318 of governmental violence in Chile,
defacement, 158–60 219–22
defect timing, 43–5 of Yaqui culture, 186–7, 187
Delabarde, T., 77 Europe
Demirci, S., 77 Austria, 22–6, 23
demography, see also population data Finland, 75–6
and captivity, 109 Poland, 65, 74
based on skeletal remains, 36–7 Spain, 151–2, 152, 172–3, 261–3, 265,
in bioarchaeology, 29–31 282–3
of Kronan battleship, 39 Sweden, 34–48, 36, 38, 40
problems identifying due to comingling of TBI in, 114
remains, 20–1 exhumations (burial), 224
Deniz, I., 77 Ezzo, J., 195, 197, 207, 209
Derechos Humanos Identificación, see Servico
Medico Legal (SML) face-to-face conflict, 134–45, 139
DeVisser, E., 11 FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation), 4
Di Nunno, C., 77 femora
Di Nunno, N., 77 as most frequently found skeletal remain, 19
Díaz, Porfirio, 174, 177 comparison between archaeology sites, 23,
DiMaio, V. J., 57 23–7, 25, 26, 27
dismemberment for gender identification, 29–31, 36–7
cases, 8, 68–75, 69, 73 for testing battle victim hypothesis, 21–3
classification, 64–5, 66 femur, see femora
forensic protocols in, 65–7, 67 Finland, 75–6
Dittrick, J., 29 firearms, see gunshot
diving bells (maritime salvage), 36–7, 47–8 Fish, S., 88
Dogan, K. H., 77 Flohr, S., 7
Druid, H., 57 forensic anthropology
Duncan, W., 10, 88, 92 and dismemberment, 8, 63–80, 66, 67,
During, E. M., 35, 39 69, 73
324 Index

forensic anthropology (cont.) Chile, 11, 134–45, 139, 216–33

and gunshot wounds, 51–61, 52, 58, 281, in Mexico, 10, 149, 171–88
294–7 in Peru, 253
and national identity, 216–33 Grasshopper Pueblo (site), 10, 192–211
and underwater remains, 8, 34–48, 36, Great Kiva, see Grasshopper Pueblo (site)
38, 40 Grellner, W., 279
as complement to bioarchaeology, 4–6, Guasco (Chanka lord), 241
83–96, 85 gunshot
importance of in interpreting violence, 3–4 forensic analysis results, 281
forensics from US Civil and Spanish Wars, 265,
and beginning of biological anthropology, 4 273, 274
classification of trauma, 267–9 in Kiel Ranch, 289–304, 297
historical, 150–1, 158–60 Gusinde, M., 159–60
issues in, 5, 311–19 Gutiérrez, R., 105
Fort King George (site), 150–5 Guzmán, Diego de, 173
Fort King George Museum, 154, 161
Fort King George “skull”, see calvaria haciendas (Mexican), 175–6
fractures, see blunt force trauma Häkkänen-Nyholm, H., 76
Franciscan Order, see Catholic Church Hamilton, M., 7
Franzén, A., 34 Harrod, R., 12, 105, 107, 112, 196
Franzhausen, see Austria Hawkey, D., 100
Fulginiti, L., 8 health
Furutani, A., 77 mental, 316–19
population, 106, 124, 175, 181, 193,
Galloway, A., 196 208–9
gallows humor, 315–16 Hedionda cave (site), 91, 96
Garcilasco de la Vega, I., 238 historical forensics, 150–1, 158–60
Gass, O., 290–1 homicide
gender gender considerations in, 75–9
and face-to-face conflict, 9–10 in Chile during Pinochet, 221
and violence in Chanka society, 245, 246, of children, 252
254 homicide criteria
in dismemberment cases, 77–9 and dismemberment, 63–80, 66, 67,
perimortem defects in Incan society, 264 69, 73
gender identification burial context, 52, 52
importance of femora in, 29–31, 36–7 in gunshot trauma, 8, 55–8, 58, 301
in bioarchaeology, 20, 22–7, 23, 25, Hrdlička, A., 4, 111, 171, 176–9, 183–4
26, 27 Hu-DeHart, E., 175
of CDFs, 197, 197, 198 human sacrifice, 90
General Cemetary, see Patio 29 grave humor (gallows), 315–16
general public Hyma, B. A., 77
impact of bioarchaeological and forensic
research on, 10 identity
perceptions of forensic anthropology, and cranial modification, 238–40
311–19 and violence, 10–12
genetic testing, 225–6 national (Chilean), 216–33
Georgia martyrs, 150–8, 160 Inca culture
Germany, 7, 18–29, 23, 26 lethal perimortem injuries, 282–3
Giese, A., 279 weaponry, 262
Ginzberg, K., 318 Instituto de Invetigaciones Arqueógicas y
governmental violence Museo R. P. Le Paige, 137
 Index 325

intersample variation analysis Magaña, R., 149

and population demographics, 23, 23, 25 Martin, D., 107, 112, 196
of gunshot wounds, 289–304, 297 massacre
Intriago Leiva, M., 11 gender roles of skeletal remains in, 17–18
Irvine, C., 318 Mountain Meadows Massacre (site),
Izumi, M., 77 302–4
Yaqui culture, 174, 176–7, 183–4
Japan, 65, 75 Mayan culture, 120–32, 121, 125, 130
Jara, V., 221 Mayo culture, 174
Juanillo Revolt (1597), 151–2 men
Judd, M., 114 and captivity, 105, 112
Junta (Chilean), 220–1 and face-to-face combat, 139, 142
and homicide, 75–9, 157, 225
Kahaha, T., 77 and warfare, 9–10, 17, 30, 130–2
Karger, B, 57, 77 in Selk’nam society, 158–60
Kenya, 114 Mendolia, M., 318
Kiel Ranch (site), 289–304, 297 Mendonça de Souza, S., 142
Kierdorf, U., 7 mental health (of investigators), 316–19
Kin Bineola (site), 111–12, see also Chaco Merbs, C., 209
Phenomenon Mesa Verde National Park, 150
King Charles XI (Sweden), 35 methodology, see also osteology analysis
King, L., 9 forensic anthropology, 41–5
Kjellström, A., 7 in bioarchaeology, 21–3
Kohler, T., 107 innovative, 7–9
Konopka, T., 65, 77 Mexico
Koops, E., 57, 279 bioarchaeology in, 8, 10, 83–96
Kopp, D., 294, 302–4 governmental violence in, 10, 149,
Kronan (battleship), 34–48 171–88
Kuhlman, T., 315 missionaries (Spanish), 151–2, 172–3
Kunz, J., 65, 77 Molina, D. K., 57
Kurin, D., 11 Moore, J., 318
Morgan, M., 106
La Cueva de Dos Cuchillos (archaeology site), Morris, E., 112–13
83–6, 85, 91–7 Mountain Meadows Massacre (site), 302–4
La Plata (Pueblo site), 105, 110–11, murder, see homicide
see also Chaco Phenomenon Murphy, M. S., 11
Larson, G., 315 musculoskeletal stress markers (MSMs), 196,
Latham, K., 11 205
Le Paige, G., 137 mutilation, see dismemberment
Lessa, A., 142
Libben site, see United States NAGPRA, see Native American Graves
Libby, D., 317–18 Protection and Repatriation Act
Lidberg, L., 64, 77 (NAGPRA)
Lindberg, N., 76 nasal fractures, 9–10, 137–44, 139
Lindquist, O., 64, 77 national identity
Long, Huey, 150 definition, 217–18
Lovell, N., 196 trauma affecting, 218–19
Lowell, J., 209 National Institute of Anthropology and History
Ludes, B., 77 (Mexico), 184–6
Lumholtz, C., 87 National Museum of Health and Medicine
Lundström, M., 64, 77 (US), 265
326 Index

National Truth and Reconciliation Pérez, V., 10, 186

Commisssion (Chile), 221–2, 231 perimortem defects, see also antemortem
Native American Graves Protection and defects, see also postmortem defects
Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), 149, 162, and aggressor identity, 261–83, 264,
186 266
Native Americans (United States), 162 and cranial modification, 246, 247–50, 248,
Natividad Museum (Chanka collection), 241, 250
245 Chanka culture, 244
Neumann, J., 93 from gunshot, 51–61, 52, 58, 181, 183
New York Times (newspaper), 176–7 from Kronan sinking, 44
Noda, H., 77 in cave burials, 91–2, 95–6
Novak, S., 294, 302–4 in Yaqui massacre, 181
perpetrators, see aggressors
Orschiedt, J., 7 Perry, E., 205
Osteoarchaeological Research Laboratory, 41 Peru
osteology analysis, see also methodology bioarchaeology in, 11, 261–83
and kinetic energy, 268–9, 279 trauma patterning and identity, 11–12,
innovative methodologies in, 7–9 236–55
maritime, 34–5 physical anthropology, see biological
of cranial modification, 237–44 anthropology
of Grasshopper Pueblo, 195–206, 197, Piedras Negras (site), 128
198, 206 Pinochet, A., 216, 218, 220–3, 229–30, 232
of Incan and Spanish injuries, 269–73, Plutarch, 30
270 Poland, 65, 74
of Mayan archaeology site, 85, 85–6 politics, see governmental violence
of Yaqui culture, 178–84, 179, 182, 183 population data, see also demography
osteology analysis of violence at Grasshopper Pueblo, 193–5, 194
and gunshot wounds, 296–304, 297, 300 Chilean ayllus, 138
dismemberent, 65–8, 67 in archaeological methodology, 6, 105–7
of captivity, 105, 109, 113–15, 115 to access ancestry, 157
of face-to-face conflict, 138–43 population health
sharp force trauma, 41–3, 42, 156 and bioarchaeology, 106, 124
Osterholtz, A., 196 at Grasshopper Pueblo, 193, 208–9
Yaqui culture, 175, 181
Pakal Na (Mayan site), 121, 121–8, 125 postmortem defects, see also antemortem
Palkovich, A., 106 defects, see also perimortem defects
participants in violence, 4 and cultural heritage, 186–7, 187
Pastron, A., 89, 91 dismemberment, 63–80, 66, 67, 69, 73
Patio 29 grave from Kronan sinking, 44–5
and change in Chilean national identity, post-traumatic stress (PTSD), 316–18
229–33 Price, T., 207, 209
ethnohistoric data, 222–3, 223 Pueblo culture, 105–13, 109
forensic investigations, 225–9, 228 Puruchuco-Huaqueros (site), 262–3, 269–73,
history of violence at, 216–17 270
patterning of violence Püschel, K., 279
and captivity, 109–13
and identity, 11–12, 236–55 Rainey, K., 88
and intergroup violence, 253–4 Rajs, J., 64, 77
and relationship between victim and Rand, S. P., 77
aggressor, 192–211, 194, 197, 198, 206 Randall, B., 77
and type of firearm, 298–300 Ranracancha (site), 236–42, 245
 Index 327

Rao, V. J., 77 and why some are more important than

Rarámuri culture (Mexico) others, 10, 148–63
ethnographic data on, 84, 87–8 commingled assemblages, 29–30, 34, 84–6,
ethnohistoric data on, 88–90 85, 94
Ratkay, Juan María, 93 context of burial, 52, 52
recidivism, 255 defacement as sacred, 10
Reddy, K., 77 differences in approaches to, 6
Reichs, K., 77 issues in dealing with, 311–19
Reid, J., 207 skulls, see also calvaria
Repo-Tiihonen, E., 76 for gender identification, 18
repressive coping strategy, 318 trophy, 89, 112–13, 125, 125–32
Rettig Commisssion, see National Truth and Sládek, V., 22
Reconciliation Commisssion (Chile) slavery, see captivity
Ribas, A. de, 89 Smith, O., 77
ring fractures, 246–9, 253 Solomon, Z., 318
ritual violence Sonora, see Sierra de Mazatán (site)
ancestor veneration, 92–3 Spain
burning, 123–5, 125 and Incan culture, 282–3
cannibalism, 89 expansion in Mexico, 172–3
during conflicts, 142–3, 251 occupation in southeastern United States,
human sacrifice, 90 151–2, 152
performative, 9–10, 112–13, 121, 130, weaponry, 261–3, 265
134–45, 139 Spanagel, E., 7
scalping, 10–11, 89, 206, 209–10 Sparks, G., 318
Romanovs (Russian czar), 150 Spatola, B., 11
Spielmann, K., 88
Sailer, R., 22 Stefan, V., 8
sainthood, 153, 155, 160–1 Stewart, A., 290–2
Salenius, S., 76 Stewart, H., 291
San Pedro de Atacama (site), 9, 135–8 Stockholm University (Sweden), 41
scalping, 10–11, 89, 206, 209–10 Stodder, A., 106
Scanian War, 35–6, 36 Stojanowski, C., 10, 311–19
Schramm, A., 7 Stone, P., 112, 207
Schwartz, G., 318 Storey, R., 9
Seidel, A., 8 Strona, M., 65, 77
Selk’nam culture, 158–60 Suchey, J. M., 29
Servico Medico Legal (SML), 216, 225–9, Sugiyama, S., 77
228, 231 suicide criteria
sharp blunt trauma, see sharp force trauma burial context, 52
sharp force trauma, see also blunt force in gunshot trauma, 8, 56–8, 58
trauma Sweden, 34–48, 36, 38, 40
analysis protocol in, 41–3, 42 Symes, S., 77, 294
and face-to-face combat, 39–41
forensic analysis results, 40, 45–8 Tacitus, 30
timing of defects, 43–5 takanakuy (ritual conflict), 251
Sheldon, F., 35 Tamura, M., 75
Sibun Valley (Belize), 121, 121–8, 125 taphonomy
Sierra de Mazatán (site), 172, 172, 176–8 and skeletal trauma, 8, 19, 37–8, 47
skeletons (human), see also bioarchaeology, of Georgia calvaria, 157–8
see also forensic anthropology Tarlaw, S., 149
and external violence, 10–11, 171–88 Tatsumi, S., 77
328 Index

Taussig, M., 150, 158–60 Valencia, R., 184–5

TBI, see traumatic brain injury (TBI) Vicariate of Solidarity, 224
Tesser, A., 318 victims, see also aggressors, see also captivity
Texas State University-San Marcos bioarchaeology emphasis in, 281
(United States), 41 Chanka culture as, 11
Thomas, D., 155 defensive wounds, 55
Tierra del Fuego, 158–60 dehumanizing of, 316
timing (of defects), 43–5, 143 gunshot, 290–3, 302–4
tinku (ritual battle), 142–3 in mass atrocities, 219, 222–8, 223, 228
Tollense River, see Germany in Mayan warfare, 9, 83–96, 131
Torres, Luis, 174, 176–7 relationship to aggressors, 8–9, 130–2
Torres-Rouff, C., 9 Villa Grimaldi (detention camp), 221, 232
Townley, C. M., 292 violence, see also warfare
trauma and cultural identity, 10, 171–88, 172, 179,
affecting national identity, 218–19 182, 183, 185, 187
blunt force, 182–3, 246–9, 267, 279–81 as way to sacralize objects, 150, 153,
cranial modification, 11, 238–40 158–60
cranial wounds, 237–44, 269–79, 270, 274, definition, 94–5
275, 276, 278 movement of burials considered, 162
during captivity, 9, 113–15 ritual and performative, 112–13, 134–45,
frequency in war sites, 19 139
gunshot, 8, 51–61, 52, 58, 227, 228, 268 used to solve social problems, 9–10
non-lethal, 196–206, 197, 198, 206, 210–11,
244, 250–1 Walker, C., 91–2
sharp force, 40–8, 182–3, 206, 267 Walker, P., 110, 208, 210
traumatic brain injury (TBI), 111, 114–15, 115 Wantanabe, K., 75
trophies (skull), 9, 113, 120, 125, 125–32, 130 warfare
Tuggle, H., 207 analysis of victims and attackers in, 5,
Tung, T., 251 17–18, 30–1
Turkana culture, 114 and mortuary assemblages, 241
Turner, K., 107 in Grasshopper Pueblo, 207, 209
Turpo site, 240–1, 245, 250–1 Mayan, 9, 83–96, 85, 120–32, 121, 125,
130
Ubelaker, D. H., 4, 195 naval, 8, 34–6, 36
Unidad Popular (socialist party), 219–20, 229 women in, 9–10, 17, 30
United States Wari culture, 11, 236–7, 240–1, 250–1,
bioarchaeology in, 10, 29, 192–211, 194, 254
197, 198, 206 Waterfall Cave (site), 90
captivity in, 103–16, 109, 115 Watson, K., 315
dismemberment cases in, 68–74, 69, 73 weaponry
forensic anthropology in, 12, 289–304, crossbow, 278–9
297 guns, 265, 273, 274, 281, 289–304, 297
homicide in, 76 Spanish, 261–3, 265
NAGPRA legislation, 149 Weathermon, R., 11
TBI in, 114 Weinberger, D., 318
University of Nevada (Las Vegas), 83, 293, Weiss, Carl Austin, 150
297 Weizmann-Henelius, G., 76
Unterwölbling Culture, see Austria Wellington, R., 317–18
Whittlesey, S., 194
Vacca, M., 77 women
Valech Report (2004), 231 and captivity, 105–7, 110–13
 Index 329

and homicide, 75–9 bioarchaeology research, 178–84, 179,

and warfare, 9–10, 17, 30 182, 183
World Trade Center (NY), 158 heritage, 186–7, 187
Wurmann, A., 230 historical context, 172, 172–8
Wyse, A., 155 repatriation of remains, 184–6,
185
Yamaguchi, M., 77
Yaqui culture Zalaquett, J., 222