When I teach my students field archaeology, I linger on the phrase in situ—“in place.” An artifact matters not only for what it is, but for where it rests. A chipped stone tool in one soil layer may tell of a hunting camp; in another, of a domestic production site. A clay pipe alongside a wine bottle suggests something very different than if the same pipe is found alone. Context is the difference between a mute object and a story waiting to be told.
This is why archaeologists take such painstaking care to document the exact position of every find—its orientation, its relationship to other objects and features, the qualities of the soil in which it is embedded. This is also why looting devastates archaeologists: a looted artifact becomes little more than decoration. An artifact without context is little more than a curiosity; with context, it becomes a chance to understand the lives once lived around it.
The same principle applies to our shared heritage. Who we are, where we come from, how we got here—these stories rest in the landscapes, buildings, traditions, and archaeological sites that surround us. Heritage only makes sense when kept in place, tied to the communities and histories that shaped it. Destroy the context, and we erase the story.
Heritage is not a renewable resource. Once it is gone, it is gone. Archaeology often gives voice to those whose stories were left out of written records: the poor, the displaced, the enslaved. These histories cut across lines of race, ethnicity, and class, reminding us that our nation has always been shaped by diverse hands and interwoven lives.
A solitary chimney stands near the banks of the Farmington River along the Farmington Heritage Bridge Trail. (Peter Marteka/Hartford Courant)
Heritage also unites. In a political climate where so much money is spent dividing us, historic places and traditions offer a rare common ground. Citizens of all backgrounds take pride in preserved courthouses, mills, and sacred landscapes. Heritage is the glue that can bind, not break, communities.
And yet, today, our heritage is being ripped from its surrounds—not by accident, but most often by commercial and for-profit development. Again and again, we lose when private gain outweighs collective good. In the present, that loss is being compounded by imminent cuts to the very funding designed to safeguard heritage resources, placing our shared past at even greater risk.
The Historic Preservation Fund, established in 1976, is the backbone of preservation work across the United States. It supports State Historic Preservation Offices, or SHPOs, and Tribal Historic Preservation Offices, funds surveys, nominations to the National Register of Historic Places, and the rehabilitation of historic buildings. It also backs projects tied to the upcoming 250th anniversary of the nation, the preservation of Civil Rights landmarks, and the revival of rural historic properties.
Here’s what few Americans know: the HPF doesn’t cost taxpayers a dime. It is funded from offshore oil lease revenues—a non-renewable natural resource helping to conserve non-renewable cultural ones.
Heritage preservation is not just about memory—it is also about economics. In 2021, Americans spent more than $119 billion on heritage tourism, a sector projected to grow 3.5% annually through 2030. This spending is not abstract: U.S. heritage tourists consistently outspend other travelers, averaging $300–400 per person per overnight trip, while international visitors spend more than three times that amount. From Washington to Virginia, state-level studies show that restaurants, hotels, and retail stores are among the biggest beneficiaries. Heritage tourism sustains tens of thousands of jobs and generates hundreds of millions in state and local tax revenue, demonstrating that preserving the past is also an investment in thriving communities.
And yet, in early 2025, the Executive Branch delayed funds that Congress had already approved, forcing cuts in heritage preservation staff and programs nationwide. The Fiscal Year 2026 budget goes even further, calling for the elimination of nearly all HPF funding. If enacted, this would gut SHPOs, Tribal Historic Preservation Offices, and grant programs across the country—programs that preserve our history, create jobs, and strengthen community life.
This is not a partisan issue. Heritage belongs to everyone. It is the fabric of our communities, rural and urban, red and blue. To destroy heritage is to destroy context. To cut preservation funding is to silence voices that remind us of our shared humanity—the lives, the struggles, the choices that brought us to the present.
Keep your eye on the ground on this one. Reach out to your representatives. Tell them heritage is not expendable. Tell them it is what binds us together. Without it, we cannot learn, we cannot remember, and we cannot fully know who we are. Tell them that you value in situ because you value understanding—not just the objects of the past, but the full stories they tell. Tell them to reauthorize the Historic Preservation Fund. This is the purview of Congress and Congress alone.
Dr. Anthony P. Graesch is college archaeologist and chair of the Anthropology Department at Connecticut College.