In his debate piece ‘The Brexit hypothesis and prehistory’, Kenneth Brophy (Reference Brophy2018) foregrounds some of the possible consequences of archaeology's media and public exposure. While recognising that (mis)appropriations of research for political purposes are nothing new, he stresses that these instrumental uses might have been amplified by a more interconnected web. Brophy emphasises that people are frequently presented with, and consume, archaeological findings in ways that often inappropriately relate the latter to contemporary social issues, such as Brexit. His proposed solution to the problem is twofold. On the one hand, he recommends that archaeologists should ‘push back’ against erroneous and hyperbolic accounts of their work featuring in the media and in public online discussions. On the other hand, he encourages archaeologists to ‘pre-empt’ such interpretations, drawing on insights derived from social research aimed at understanding how modern individuals and groups interact with the past. While I agree with the author that these measures are welcome and valuable, I believe that they cannot provide, on their own, a ‘solution’. They are laudable from a deontological point of view—in principle, they can be viewed as responsible and ethical practice—but do not consider the full reality of the world of media and communications, nor the ways in which people actually leverage the past when making sense of situations that concern them. Here, I briefly expand on both of these points and argue that the dynamics of generating impact are complex and lengthy. Influencing public opinion requires more substantial and profound public engagement on the part of ‘public intellectuals’, as Brophy calls them, than is suggested in his paper.

Previously, I have advocated for a ‘sociological turn’ in public archaeology (Bonacchi Reference Bonacchi2014) to acquire greater and deeper knowledge of public perceptions and experiences of archaeology. This agenda has been taken forward with research that includes the study cited by Brophy, which examines uses of the Iron Age, the Roman period and the early medieval past in political activism about Brexit on social media (Bonacchi et al. Reference Bonacchi, Altaweel and Krzyzanska2018). This study shows that when people invoke the past to relate to present-day issues, they mostly do so by referring to simple images and myths, such as a parallel between the European Union and the Roman Empire. Additionally, pro-remain and pro-leave camps often utilise the same repertoires to support opposing positions (Bonacchi et al. Reference Bonacchi, Altaweel and Krzyzanska2018). Moreover, reference to ‘expert’ opinion and academic publications is virtually absent from the Brexit-related Facebook discussions analysed, even though the legacy of scholarly work from previous decades does emerge. This highlights the longue durée of the public impact of expertise, and how this is filtered first through education and, thereafter, via mass media and televised narratives particularly (Hingley et al. Reference Hingley, Bonacchi and Sharpe2018). Those who are not professionally trained in archaeology or history can draw on consolidated and yet potentially sketchy ideas of certain past events or phenomena. ‘Official’ pasts can be variously amalgamated with ‘personal’ and ‘family’ pasts, forming the overall background experience that is leveraged in individual meaning-making. Such experience changes over time and may, of course, be influenced by academic research, but not through relatively superficial and isolated interventions. As Brophy also argues, archaeologists should not abdicate their responsibilities and “retreat back to [their] ivory towers” (Reference Hingley, Bonacchi and Sharpe2018: 1655), but, when ‘pushing back’, it is prudent not to expect any rapid changes in audiences’ understanding, attitudes or values.

Furthermore, Brophy states that “problems emerge when we reheat old ideas, simplify arguments, produce clickbait headlines and fail to predict and pre-empt how all of this [archaeological findings] will be consumed” (Reference Hingley, Bonacchi and Sharpe2018: 1653). If the noun behind the collective ‘we’ is archaeologists and researchers more generally, I believe that this statement does not entirely reflect how institutional media communications are structured and put to use. While it is crucial to make every effort to ensure that journalists report the results of research accurately, there are mechanisms that simply escape our control. Headlines in national newspaper articles, for example, cannot be negotiated by either journalists or archaeologists, as editors usually choose them independently and with precise marketing aims. Yet these titles can orientate the focus of readers towards specific interpretations of a piece, turning what was a marginal aspect into a central point. The article mentioned above, ‘The heritage of Brexit’, for instance, was reviewed in The Times (Bridge Reference Bridge2018). Following careful exchanges with my (then) institutional media office at University College London, I personally liaised with the journalist, who ensured that no political spin would be given to the story. Although this promise was kept, the editor released the piece with the title of ‘Farage is Boudica to Europe's emperors, say cyberwarriors’. A photograph of Nigel Farage—who was in no way key to the research agenda and findings—was also added, together with an inaccurate and improbable incipit:

As a result, a high number of the comments left by readers below the online version of the article concerned the person of Nigel Farage.

Communicating via the national press brings the risk of skewed syntheses. The alternatives are to opt for other channels or to publish newspaper articles that we author personally—a scenario probably available to only a few. Regardless of the route we choose, it is vital to remember that the public will interpret what we say based on their own experience, knowledge and inclinations. The processes through which different people understand and live the past are much more complex than the sum of the reception of individual news items. If we truly wish to study these processes, as Brophy rightly invites us to do, then it is important to examine the interplay of sociocultural context, with dimensions such as family background, education, personal interests and attitudes, as well as the combined effect of long-term media exposure. Influencing public opinion is possible, but not fast or easy. It entails being involved from the ground up, for example by reviewing school curricula, which sometimes are preferentially focused on certain periods and rely on simplistic binary concepts (Hingley et al. Reference Hingley, Bonacchi and Sharpe2018; on the notion of ‘insistent duality’, see Beard & Henderson Reference Beard, Henderson and Merriman1999).

Public archaeology is not Minerva's owl and cannot just fly at dusk. If we want to make a difference, we should seek multi-dimensional and coordinated types of societal engagement: from education practice to policy and communication. Although not straightforward, there are successful examples that we can build upon and organisations that can support these efforts, such as the All Party Parliamentary Archaeology Group or the Heritage Alliance. Beyond rhetoric and wishful thinking, it would also be helpful to explore in greater depth the relationship between academic research and evidence-based policy-making, and the role of archaeology in this context, in order to establish how best to produce concrete outcomes. This work, however, takes us beyond the scope of a short response and invites future discussion.