American Archaeology magazine sent a reporter, Charles Poling, to cover the controversy. He interviewed Begley and several other signers. Begley expanded at length on the accusations in the letter. He said the publicity attending the discovery was not justified. He told Poling: “This site is not actually any different from what archaeologists have found there for years, either in size, or the stone artifacts on the surface. What merits the publicity?” He objected to the involvement of filmmakers in the discovery and called it a “B movie fantasy” that was resurrecting the “trope” of “the big hero explorer.” He said that, while he was not privy to the location of the site, he was nevertheless “certain that local folks know about the site and the area”—and he also suggested that he, himself, had probably explored the ruins. Other signatories were equally dismissive. Joyce told American Archaeology that in her view the expedition was an “adventure fantasy trip.” Mark Bonta, an ethnobotanist and cultural geographer at Penn State University who specializes in Honduras, said about the expedition: “One day it’s this, the next day it’s Atlantis. It’s almost like it’s a reality show.” Another letter signer, John Hoopes, chair of the Department of Anthropology at the University of Kansas and an authority on ancient Honduran culture, posted on his Facebook page a lidar image of a section of T1 that had been released by UTL, and ridiculed its small size. “Are the ‘lost cities’ in Honduras actually Lilliputian in scale?” he asked sarcastically. Begley and others joined in posting mocking comments on the small size of the site—until Juan Carlos pointed out to Hoopes that he had misread the scale bars on the lidar image by a factor of ten: What he thought was a hundred meters was actually a kilometer.
The American Archaeology reporter pointed out that Begley himself had for years been leading filmmakers and celebrities to sites in Mosquitia, that he had earlier publicized his own search for Ciudad Blanca and the “Lost City,” and that an article on his website referred to him as the “Indiana Jones of archaeology.” How was that any different? Begley responded: “I am not against popular media. I do it, but I do it differently.” He said about the expedition: “That kind of treasure-hunting, lost-city-finding mentality puts archaeological resources at risk.” Begley went on to complain about the expedition in his blog, comparing it to “children playing out a movie fantasy” and saying that “most scholars are disgusted” by the “colonialist discourse.”
The ten PhD scientists who had taken part in the expedition were stunned. The vociferousness of the criticism went far beyond the usual academic tiff or a dispute over language, and they were amazed that these scholars, who had never been to the site and had no idea where it was, would make claims like these with such certainty. But they understood that a letter signed by two dozen professors and students, including respected scholars like Joyce and Hoopes, had to be taken seriously. Seeing that the letter contained errors of fact, Juan Carlos, Chris Fisher, and Alicia González drafted a FAQ about the expedition, trying to respond to their critics. “The ultimate goal of our work is to highlight the rich cultural and ecological patrimony of this endangered region so that international cooperation and resources can be brought to bear to help initiate effective conservation… The team urges those archaeologists and others concerned about Honduras and its unique cultural patrimony to please join us in this crucial effort, which will take the synergy of collaboration and goodwill among all involved.” The letter noted that none of the sites found in T1 or T3 had been “previously registered with the Honduran Government in its database of cultural patrimony.”
A number of news outlets, including the Washington Post and the Guardian (UK) ran articles on the controversy that repeated the charges and quoted Begley and others questioning the significance—and even the very existence—of the find. “Interestingly,” Chris wrote me, “many reporters, after I made them aware of the FAQ, were uninterested in reading it. They only wanted salacious quotes from everyone involved to help ‘fuel’ a controversy.”
“I feel as though we’re on trial,” Alicia González wrote me. “How dare they? Rubbish!”
Chris Fisher told American Archaeology that the charges were “ridiculous.” “Our work has resulted in protection for the area. We’re preparing academic publications on the material. The map digitizes the archaeological features we saw. The overarching goal was to confirm what we saw on the lidar. I don’t think that’s adventuring.” He was particularly dismayed that Begley had called him a “treasure hunter,” the dirtiest insult in archaeology. Chris said to me, “Where are Begley’s peer-reviewed publications? Where’s his scholarship? I can’t find a single peer-reviewed article he’s published. And if he claims he’s visited these ruins, where’s the map? Where’s the site report?” Chris continued: “When you do archaeology, you survey, you make maps, you take photos, notes, et cetera. If he [Begley] had those locations they should have been turned over to the IHAH, as it is their cultural patrimony. To not do so is colonial and unethical.” But in the past twenty years, according to IHAH, Begley had not deposited any reports of his work, in violation of Honduran regulations.
The National Geographic Society posted the expedition’s response: “We hope our colleagues will realize the enormous contribution and attention that this project has brought, not only to the academic community working in the area but to the people and government of Honduras, and we hope that together we will be able to foster and encourage greater academic research in the area.”
Virgilio Paredes, in his capacity as director of IHAH, wrote a letter of support that the expedition posted with the FAQ. In private he was upset at the academic attacks. He told me that he had checked IHAH records and they showed that, indeed, Begley hadn’t pulled an archaeological permit in Honduras since 1996, even though he continued to “illegally” conduct research and exploration, as well as guide celebrities, filmmakers, journalists, and adventure-tourists to remote archaeological sites for pay. When I gave Begley an opportunity to refute that serious charge, in an exchange of e-mails he was unwilling or unable to do so, saying only that I was “being misled.” He wrote in his defense: “All of my trips to Honduras have either had necessary permission or they did not involve any activities that legally or by the regulations of the IHAH would require a permit.” He declined to provide any specifics, and he would not clarify the nature of his work in Honduras since 1996—whether it was archaeological, commercial, or touristic. He shut down our e-mail correspondence by writing: “I hope that this can put an end to this line of inquiry… That is really all I have to say on this matter.”
“They criticized,” Virgilio said to me, “because they were not involved. Come on! They should be saying, ‘How can we get involved and help?’ This is a project for my country, Honduras—for my children’s children.”
Juan Carlos Fernández mused, drily: “They’re upset because we invaded their sandbox.”
Originally it seemed that the contretemps came from a concern about academic purity and incorrect assumptions, whether willful or not, about where the site was located. But I eventually learned that there were deeper reasons for the academic rhubarb, unwittingly revealed to me by one of the letter signers, who asked to remain anonymous. Many of the signatories had been supporters of the Zelaya administration. After Zelaya was deposed in the 2009 military coup, the new government removed the previous director of IHAH, Dario Euraque, and replaced him with Virgilio Paredes. The source complained to me that, because of the coup, the present government of Honduras is illegitimate and Virgilio Paredes “is in charge illegally” and “I will not work with him.” Euraque, who teaches at Trinity College in Connecticut, was one of the leading critics and complained to the Guardian that the expedition was “irrelevant,” a publicity stunt, and he claimed it had “no archaeologists of any name.”
All this made it clear that the protest letter was, in part, a proxy attack on the present Honduran government, an example of how the coup and its aftermath left the Honduran archaeological community angry and divided. We would see more evidence of this when excavations began the following year, reigniting the controversy. Many of the letter signers have found it difficult to let go of the dispute and continue to disparage the project.
CHAPTER 20
The key in tying together the Americas