Abstract

sMore than a decade ago – this would be prior to the Egyptian revolution of January 2011, when Hosni Mubarak was still in power, and it seemed likely that rule would pass to his sons – I was in Cairo thinking about potential new archaeological projects. I spent some time with an Egyptian colleague who was the chief inspector for the archaeological preserve that encompassed what remained of the undeveloped urban space that was once Fustat, the early Islamic precursor to metropolitan sprawl that is today’s Cairo. Walking the site together, I quickly understood what it meant to do heritage work in an under-funded, authoritarian system where non-monumental ruins held little value as easily exploitable resources. Instead, the site attracted dead-of-night visits by construction firms that would punch through its retaining walls to illegally deposit their building refuse rather than pay fees at ex-urban landfills. Elsewhere, government contractors bulldozed debris from neighbouring hills that were being graded to build a new museum, sporting club and park into the ever-shrinking archaeological reserve, despite efforts by the state-employed inspectors to use dummy excavations to mark and police the boundaries. However, it was the story of the pile of marble columns, carved