homes in these sites are still very much a live presence in spiritual form.” The removal of artifacts for archaeological research has severed vital connections to their ancestors, Dongoske said.
Preserving and restoring access to sacred sites and artifacts has been a priority for Indigenous activists and elders who’ve fought for Tribal sovereignty and self-determination since the American Indian Movement of the 1960s and ’70s. As a result, laws such as 1979’s Archaeological Resources Protection Act and the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990 require federal agencies to formally consult Tribal governments and other descendant groups before excavating a site.
As archaeologists established working relationships with Tribal leaders, they began to realize that many of the answers they were seeking had been there all along. This shift in perspective made it harder for archaeologists in national parks to justify collecting objects in the name of research. “Certain descendant groups say, ‘There’s literally no question you could ask about that artifact that I couldn’t just tell you the answer to, so just leave it alone,’” said Elizabeth Hora, an archaeologist at the Utah State Historic Preservation Office, which consults with the Park Service on archaeological research in the state’s national park sites.
It goes without saying that you shouldn’t pocket artifacts, light a campfire in an archaeological site or scratch your name in a petroglyph panel. But is it OK to check out a secret spot you read about online? As smartphones have made it easier to collect and share information about sites off the beaten path, archaeologists say each visitor’s calculus matters more than ever. “If you see something on social media, and the park hasn’t built a trail to it, there’s probably a reason for that,” Josh Torres said. “It behooves all of us as stewards of our parks to not go out and try to find it.”
If you do stumble across an artifact, the Park Service implores you not to post about it online. And while r