Oppidum Vocant, Quidvis cum Vallo Atque Fossa. Some thoughts on "Oppida", Central Places, and Social Complexity in the European Iron Age

SAMUEL NIÓN-ÁLVAREZ OPPIDUM VOCANT, QUIDVIS CUM VALLO ATQUE FOSSA.SOME THOUGHTS ON OPPIDA, CENTRAL PLACES, AND SOCIAL COMPLEXITY IN THE EUROPEAN IRON AGE Summary. The following paper presents an analysis of the term ‘oppidum’, discussing its value for understanding social complexity in Iron Age Europe. Throughout this paper, the most relevant debates regarding the oppida and their value are synthesized from a semiotic point of view. Key features such as urban planning, social hierarchies and political centralization are analysed to frame research in terms of Iron Age mentalities and cultural diversity. Accordingly, the ‘oppidum’is assessed as a conceptual tool, weighing its appropriateness as a wide-ranging concept in the European Iron Age. Several criteria, such as urban planning, the role of memory or religion, and the creation of large public and assembly places, among others, are explored as proxies of social legitimation. These key aspects aim to define some traits to set the oppidum as a useful and organic archaeological term without undermining cultural specificities. INTRODUCTION Since their dissemination in the academic world (Cunliffe and Rowley 1976; Collis 1984; Wells 1984), oppida have been the focus of many of the major discussions about the social structure of Late Iron Age communities. An exciting archaeological debate around them has emerged in recent years (Thurston 2009;Moore2011; Fernández-Götz 2014b) addressing issues such as the truly urban character of settlements, the extent of their ‘political centrality’and the legacy of old ideological and historiographical dogmas. Following this trend, this paper presents a systematic review of the oppidum as an archaeological concept, in order to assess whether it is still useful for the study of Iron Age societies. Focusing on recent archaeological, historical and anthropological studies, an approach to key elements like the emergence of inequality and/or social complexity, the value of the oppidum as a central place, or the existence of a true concept of urbanism is proffered. However, this work is not focused on identifying how or wherecomplex societies emerged, but on reflecting about how we are shaping these alleged complexities, embracing a semiotic and hermeneutic approach to historical and archaeological research (Tamm 2017;Lotmanand Tamm 2019). This paper deals with the use of terms as conceptual tools, considering that their scope is defined by certain proxies or symbols that give them significance, validity, and operability. OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 43(1) 61–76 2024 © 2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 61 This is an open access article under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial License, which permits use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited and is not used for commercial purposes. According to Anthony Giddens (1979,4–8), it is a matter of rationalizing the process of understanding past actions (hermeneutics) for our subsequent description of human activities (semiotics). Therefore, concepts, as a representation from past realities, have no real agency over past events, and reifying social entities should be avoided (Bourdieu 1992, 438) determined by strict laws drawn from the present. In this sense, this paper is not focused on how ancient communities saw oppida, but rather on how contemporary researchers see them and how we can reshape our knowledge. DIGGING THE FOUNDATIONS: OPPIDA IN OUR TIMES Archaeological research has witnessed countless changes since Joseph Déchelette (1914) unearthed an old term used by Julius Caesar to define several of the great Gaulish settlements. Oppida, since then, have strongly influenced Iron Age research. This section addresses the most relevant topics that underpin its use, with the aim of assessing their impact on studies of European protohistory. What does it mean to be urban? Theuseoftheterm‘urbanism’often triggers different opinions on its scope and accuracy (Marcus 2009; Creekmore and Fisher 2014). According to Michael Smith (2016,154–6), these issues arise mainly from a sociological conceptualization of urbanism, largely grounded in contemporary Western urban models. At an academic level, it is reflected in a certain reluctance to consider as ‘urban’contexts which, although showing signs of complex planning, do not conform to pre-established canons. In European protohistory, the ‘Western model’is embedded in the Mediterranean world and classical cities (Collis 2017, 265), as they are considered the bedrock of Western civilization and, therefore, the only form that can be labelled as urban. Those patterns that do not fit in our model of urbanism are nor perceived as ‘truly civilized’(Clastres 1989,15-16) and, subsequently, not considered urban. As a result, any ‘barbarian town planning’is usually compared to or described as an ‘imitation’or ‘residual influence’of Mediterranean patterns (Fernández-Götz 2017, 119), portraying a dichotomy between barbarian and civilized communities (Wolf 1982,6). Acknowledging the complexity of Iron Age urbanism has been a major concern of current research (Fernández-Götz 2017; Moore 2017a;Zamboni2021). It has been argued that it is perhaps more appropriate to understand urbanism from those places that played a central role (economic, political, or religious) in relation to their hinterland, following a medium-scale approach (Feinman 2018, 16). Accordingly, I believe it is appropriate to apply the term to any complex settlement that has been consistently structured, planned and executed under a common set of guidelines, and showing marked differences in comparison to rural landscapes. In this sense, it may be helpful to adjust urbanism to each context, as it is not possible to propose a universal and exclusive criterion to define what is ‘truly urban’(Cowgill 2004,526). OPPIDA AND SOCIAL COMPLEXITY IN THE EUROPEAN IRON AGE OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 62 ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License Centralization, decentralization, and regional variations: oppida as a wide-ranging tool Déchelette (1914) understood oppida as representative elements of the ‘great civilisation of the north of the Alps’. In some studies, this cultural-monolithic vision has survived to the present day (Fernández-Götz 2014a, 180), a position that has been called into question as undermining the analysis of social diversity (Woolf 1993, 223; Thurston 2009, 23; Moore 2012, 392). Indeed, this criticism seems reasonable: it is inappropriate to compare, let alone equate, different societies, such as Iberian or southern German, just because both built large fortified central sites. From this viewpoint, oppidum is not a proper term either to epitomize the only evidence of social aggregation and complexity in the Iron Age: phenomena such as the Fürstensitze of the late Hallstatt in southern Germany (Fernández-Götz 2017, 125) also represent a process of power concentration alien to the dynamics of the last centuries of the first millennium BC. Moreover, not all processes of urban and social complexity can be encompassed within the boundaries of the oppida: in some cases, certain key spaces are located outside the walls (Poux 2014, 159), not to mention the existence of large and complex settlements lacking an effective fortification, such as Němčice or Roseldorf (Holzer 2014;Salač2014). Although uncommon, other strategies of socio-political complexity can emerge apart from the fortified landscape. In addition, the emergence of strategies for political centralization also needs to be addressed. The development of central places can express many regional differences. In the Treveran region, a relatively uniform social landscape has been observed, defined by large settlements with complex urbanism and specific areas dedicated to religious and/or collective practices, each controlling its own network of small villages (Fernández-Götz 2014b,388–90). In the Lower Rhine, dynamics of social complexity were represented by prominent settlements structuring networks of influence, with non-architectural sanctuaries outside the walls (Roymans 2004; Gerritsen and Roymans 2006). Finally, the oppida of the north-west Iberian Rías Baixas show a particularly heterogeneous morphology and distribution, mainly focused on household compounds, but making it impossible to define the extent (or even the existence) of a real hinterland (González-Ruibal 2006–07,324–8). Other regions such as southern Britain (Garland 2020), Moravia (Danielisova 2019), or the Celtiberian area (Álvarez-Sanchís and Ruiz Zapatero 2019) also show different cultural, social and territorial patterns in which large fortified sites were involved, resulting in different strategies of social inequality and political centralization. Thus, several regions may have developed large settlements that can be labelled as oppida, but it does not seem appropriate to gather them all within the same social model. Hence, if talking about oppida hinders the analysis of social diversity, shall we perhaps dismiss the term altogether? In my opinion, the real value of the term lies when one discards its ‘social-cultural’content and employs it rather as a wide-ranging conceptual tool. Oppida may become a quite relevant and wide-ranging concept if we do not demand it is viewed as uniform in cultural and social traits. However, many problems can arise if the term is used as a semantic umbrella to investigate cultural specificities (Courault 2015, 260). In this way, oppidum might be understood as a ‘technology of power’(Foucault 2014,52–7) that helps to explain different contexts in which large fortified central places and processes of social inequality emerged (Fernández-Götz 2017, 145). Focusing on inequality and political centralization highlights a SAMUEL NIÓN-ÁLVAREZ OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 63 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License key difference between ‘conventional hillforts’and oppida, as it becomes essential to re-signify the latter as one of the most significant changes in the prehistoric landscape since the Neolithic (Collis 2017,266). Contesting hierarchies, heterarchies, and states Anthropological and archaeological views on sociopolitical models and hierarchy have experienced a substantial overhaul in recent years (Blanton and Fargher 2016;Scott2017; Thurston and Fernández-Götz 2021). In the same vein, Iron Age studies have undergone several shifts from the traditional models, based on ‘triangular’structures (Hill 1995), towards a new conceptualization of power relations. However, even more recent approaches have taken on board more diverse forms of sociopolitical organization, focusing on more Foucauldian/power to positions that strive to ‘flatten the triangle’(Álvarez-Sanchís and Ruiz Zapatero 2019,226;MooreandGonzález- Álvarez 2021, 127). However, admitting some ‘interpretative excesses’of traditional Celtic/triangular models should not diminish the importance of hierarchization or inequality in the past. It is not a matter of utterly dismantling or abandoning a discourse, but of reconstructing a more precise one and clarifying concepts having particularly blurred boundaries. An example of this may be the subtle differences between social inequality and hierarchy. Often considered as synonyms, unequal societies are defined by the presence of certain families or groups that structurally hold greater prestige, even if they required strategies to legitimize their role. However, the presence of inequalities does not necessarily imply a hierarchical or centralized model. Social hierarchization may be considered as the existence of a structural collective that holds certain privileges by their very condition; this does not imply the existence of centralized power in a single lineage or individual, but rather a context of potentially inheritable structural inequality (see Godelier 1986). Therefore, if we renounce those approaches based exclusively on power centralisation and class domination, identifying Iron Age inequalities should not be a problem (Thurston 2009,14–15). Merging other distinct concepts can pose some difficulties. In terms of hierarchization and centralization, political centrality can be defined as the control over the communities of the immediate hinterland, regardless of the strategies of achieving the concentration of power or economic centralization (Collis 2014, 21). Thus, decentralized societies with a high degree of hierarchization can be found (e.g. the Scandinavian Iron Age: Thurston 2019). Accordingly, heterarchy and hierarchy may be compatible in terms of the political strategies they involve. Although heterarchy has been understood from exclusively egalitarian focuses (cf. Currás Refojos and Sastre 2019), the term, in fact, concerns how power can be managed through collective actions, and it may be consistent with different degrees of inequality (Crumley 1995). Indeed, assemblies and collective decision-making may coexist with deeply hierarchical societies, as was the case in Scandinavia (Semple and Sanmark 2013). In a similar way, the emergence of markedly hierarchical models (or even state-like ones, as happened in Iron Age Greek city-states: Polignac 1995,150–5) may have arisen to legitimize and reinforce the authority of certain power collectives and their strategies of intra-group solidarity. OPPIDA AND SOCIAL COMPLEXITY IN THE EUROPEAN IRON AGE OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 64 ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License In this sense of the term, tracing heterarchical strategies in the archaeological record may be particularly difficult (Feinman et al.2000, 450). However, clarifying different ways of funnelling social relations permits us to understand different ways of legitimizing and enforcing power, helping to draw a multifaceted portrait of the oppida. WHAT IT MEANS TO BE AN OPPIDUM: REBUILDING LARGE FORTIFIED CENTRAL PLACES This section analyses and classifies the most significant elements constituting an oppidum. The results should not be surprising to any Iron Age researcher. They do not suggest ground-breaking keys to understand processes of social inequality and complexity, but collect and raise the most relevant matters related to the emergence of complex fortified settlements across the European Iron Age, so refashioning the oppida as a wide-ranging and multi-layered concept. Urban planning and public buildings Town planning may be the most representative element of central places. Apart from being walled, oppida require the settlement to be built as a unit and under well-defined parameters. As mentioned above, these parameters may differ from our conception of urban, and it may be necessary to explore pre-capitalist views of urban to contextualize and ponder its emergence. An apparently straightforward and measurable issue as size, for instance, depends wholly on scale: settlements such as San Cibrao de Lás (about 11–12 ha: Álvarez González et al.2018)maystand as a prime example of the north-west Iberian central place (where settlements usually do not exceed 1–2 ha: Parcero-Oubiña and Nión-Álvarez 2021, 10), although it may seem secondary in comparison to the 500 hectares of Bibracte (Rieckhoff 2014) or Manching (Wendling and Winger 2014). Irrespective of which was the biggest or most powerful, the question is to identify the existence of central places and to assess their influence across their hinterlands. Urban planning can be analysed using multiple strategies, but identifying the agency of power collectives (or ‘top-down’processes: Smith 2010,150–2) through constructive strategies may be particularly rewarding. In contrast to an ‘organic and neighbourhood-related’bottom-up processes, top-down ones reflect pre-determined urban patterns in planning. Some strategies may be traced through elements such as the delimitation of the town layout in districts; the structuring of predefined and clearly differentiated uses of the space; or the articulation of public, assembly, civic or ceremonial spaces (Peel 2000;Smith2008). These elements, as already suggested in oppida of north-west Iberia, such as Elviña or San Cibrao (Nión-Álvarez 2021, 445), hint at a greater agency in establishing control over the community. ‘Connective infrastructures’(Smith 2016,160–1), such as urban and inter-urban interconnections, water canals or large irrigation structures, may often be an interesting marker of top-down processes. Among these, defence and access systems hold a primary role in the development of oppida. In addition to showing a definite capacity to organize and mobilize the workforce, their symbolic influence demonstrating a clear community ethos must also be considered as a key element (Ralston 2006; Fichtl 2010), without taking away from, of course, their defensive role (Armit 2007). This symbolism can be enhanced through expressions such as ritual deposits, usually found in transit or access areas. These deposits are usually defined by the accumulation of livestock remains (especially, horses, a particularly symbolic animal in the European Iron Age: Green 1992,20–1), weapons and/or damaged ornaments. These deposits are common in regions SAMUEL NIÓN-ÁLVAREZ OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 65 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License such as eastern Iberia (see La Bastida de Les Alcusses: Vives-Ferrándiz Sánchez et al.2015)or Germany (see Manching: Von Nicolai 2014). Furthermore, as suggested by the Bibracte entrances (Rieckhoff 2014), the symbolism embedded in its very architectural structuring should also be considered. Likewise, large public spaces for collective/cultural use have been understood as key elements for the legitimation ofpower andthe structuring of collective identities (Metzleret al.2006; Fernández-Götz and Roymans 2015). Collective spaces are common in oppida of many regions: Corent or Bibracte in Gaul (Poux 2014), Martberg or Manching in Southern Germany (Wendling 2013), Titelberg in the Mosel region (Metzler et al.2016), and San Cibrao in north-west Iberia (Álvarez González et al.2018). These examples show a remarkable capacity to mobilize and manage work forces in activities of socio-political interests, in addition to their value as aggregation places (see below). A last noteworthy feature concerns the household. Despite some exceptions (Gerritsen 2007), the study of the domestic sphere of the oppida has been mainly focused on anthropological or textual approaches (Fernández-Götz 2014a,228–30). Household archaeology has played a minor role, which is understandable considering the existence of several examples of ‘low-density urbanism’(Moore 2017b) that hint at a lesser presence of stable domestic activity (Fig. 1). Accordingly, it may not be surprising that most of the studies regarding the domestic sphere were carried out in settlements of the Iberian peninsula (Vives-Ferrándiz Sánchez 2013; González-Ruibal and Ruiz-Gálvez Priego 2016) or south-east Gaul (Dietler et al.2008), where a higher population pressure seems to be present. In any case, the analysis of the domestic space FIGURE 1 Comparing ‘low-density’(Bibracte: Moore 2017b,293)with‘high-density’urbanism (San Cibrao de Lás: Prieto Martínez et al.2017,402). OPPIDA AND SOCIAL COMPLEXITY IN THE EUROPEAN IRON AGE OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 66 ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License has great potential to identify strategies of internal differentiation, as it becomes the ‘basic cell’of socio-political organization (Steadman 2015). A joint analysis of all architectural expressions may be key to deciphering different ways of inhabiting fortified landscapes. A representative example can be assessed through two contemporary and nearby sites from north-west Iberia: Borneiro and Elviña. Although both display similar expressions within the domestic sphere (Nión-Álvarez 2023b), they show several differences in town planning. Borneiro provides some signs of internal inequality among households, but its organic layout and the lack of public spaces reflects representative features of a ‘equally shared’ hillfort; Elviña, however, suggests well-structured planning through top-down strategies, displaying a clearly hierarchical and directed perception of public space (Nión-Álvarez 2023a). This pair define the difference between a ‘common’fortified village and a real oppidum. Collective identities, religion, and political structure The value of religion and collective memory have been recently reassessed as a key phenomenon in structuring societies (Assmann 2011; Godelier 2014; Feinman 2016). Religion, as Maurice Bloch (2008) stated, may not be ‘special’, but it is always central in the social and political sphere. Mark Aldenderfer (2010,87–92) argues that religion operates as an ‘enabler’, legitimating social dynamics oriented towards a structurally unequal system, strengthening the position of power collectives and promoting client-patron networks and institutions (Feinman and Douglas Price 2010, 4). In this sense, religion may not be a coercive agent, but a ‘social adhesive’, essential to develop strategies of self-adscription, cohesion and legitimation of power (Whitehouse 2012). The connection between religion and power has been emphasized in the study of oppida in recent years (Fernández-Götz and Roymans 2015; Stegmaier 2017; López-Mondéjar 2018). Manuel Fernández-Götz (2017,184–6) has suggested that the genesis of settlement of multiple European oppida was founded on spaces previously used as cult or assembly areas. This association of these kind of spaces and their key role in the structure of oppida hasbeenreportedinregionssuchasthe Lower Rhine (Gerritsen and Roymans 2006), southern Germania (Stegmaier 2017), the Gaulish Arvernii (Poux 2006) and south-east Gaul (Golosetti 2014). Although religion may have played a similar role, its expressions varied among regions: in the Mosel region, large collective spaces were also used for performing rituals (Fernández-Götz 2014b,290–3); in south-east Gaul, the reoccupation and reinterpretation of old stelae temples, previously ‘destroyed and desacralized’ (Golosetti 2014, 61), has been observed; in the Lower Rhine, cult places defined and shaped identities following the necessities of new elite groups (Roymans 2004,18–22). These differences show notable inter-regional variations in their physical expression, tracing diverse interactions between religion, power, and culture. Worship and assembly places were also related to collective memory in order to strengthen social cohesion. As a collective identity encompasses a set of people professing common perceptions (Assmann, 2011,123–5), it is prone to be reshaped by any power collective that constructs an integrative cultural framework through an ethno-political identity (Assmann 2011, 136–8). Thus, religion emerges as a key element: it fuels strategies of self-adscription by setting up an antagonism and so provides a framework to identify who is part of your community and who is not. In this way is highlighted both the symbolic constructive nature of the community (Cohen 1985,97–9) with a strong input from its past identity, and the key role of religion and memory as agents of collective self-ascription and social cohesion. The reappropriation and SAMUEL NIÓN-ÁLVAREZ OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 67 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License management of the collective past may be particularly difficult to identify from material sources. It has been mostly traced from holistic approaches involving multiple lines of evidence (Gerritsen and Roymans 2006; Fernández-Götz and Roymans 2015;Zamboni2021). In this sense, understanding the role of collective identities is of great help in delineating strategies of social domination and enhancing the role of religion as a key agent of cultural adscription. Structuring power and economy As discussed above, religion has recently begun to displace economy as a key factor in defining the beginning and structuring of oppida (Fichtl et al.2000; Fernández-Götz 2014b; Fernández-Götz and Roymans 2015). However, this does not remove the role of economy, but counters any tendency to impose its present conceptualization on the past (Giddens 1979, 110–14). An economy is built on its social context (Bourdieu 1992,64–6), not propelled by universal rules or economic rationalities based on present perceptions (Sahlins, 1972, 288). In many cases, socio-economic development is not an enabler of hierarchies and central places, but a consequence of them (Graeber 2001,9). As mentioned above, economic evidence suggests the existence of settlements with a high political agency. Several oppida show considerable economic activity with specialized production areas (Roymans 2004,23–4; Buchsenschutz and Ralston 2012; Fernández-Götz 2014a,305–8). Also noteworthy is the development of economic centres, such as those that mint coins, as well as the creation, dissemination, and standardization of certain products, like vitreous bracelets (Roymans et al.2014). Though not all oppida operated as production centres, this does not mean that they were ‘less central’. The presence of production areas is not as relevant as the capacity to control the social and economic capital generated in the hinterland. Thus, regions such as Bohemia show a higher concentration of prestige goods in open settlements than in central locations (Salač2014). Central places also tend to manage those aspects essential for controlling client networks: in the Lower Rhine, there is a wide dispersion of coinage in rural areas, although they were only minted in a few urban centres (Gerritsen and Roymans 2006, 264), probably as a consequence of the comitatus social system (Roymans 2004,12–22). On the other hand, the Celtiberian Vaccean case illustrates the compatibility of the oppida with apparently ‘simple’economic strategies. According to the writings of Diodorus Siculus, the distribution of land in the Vaccean settlements was collective with no control exercised over its use or access (Sánchez Moreno 1998, 83); even so, this does not preclude the presence of evidence suggesting social differentiation (Álvarez-Sanchís and Ruiz Zapatero 2019). As Alain Testart (2004, 81–109) argues, the control and distribution of land is not a universal factor in the structuring of inequalities: in some cases, it is irrelevant, even within stratified societies. These matters provide new challenges in the recognition of economic priorities and their expression and influence how we shape social inequalities. Large votive deposits or piles of luxurious items may not be witness to an exercise of mere accumulation, but the result of a strategy of investment and exhibition in terms of proving and asserting status. Giving away prestige objects can indicate a preference for recognition and reputation over a desire to accumulate wealth, just as the Tlingit and Haida peoples do when they burn and destroy their potlatch blankets as a sign of ostentation (Godelier 1996,147–61). OPPIDA AND SOCIAL COMPLEXITY IN THE EUROPEAN IRON AGE OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY 68 ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. See the Terms and Conditions (https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/terms-and-conditions) on Wiley Online Library for rules of use; OA articles are governed by the applicable Creative Commons License Management of interaction and exchange networks in medium and long-term distances Finally, the capacity to control interaction networks on a medium and large scale should be mentioned. Many oppida demonstrate a remarkable capacity for channelling materials and ideas from the Mediterranean world. This ability has been usually understood from a Greco-Roman rather than indigenous perspective. Before the Roman conquest, foreign objects are not an expression of any cultural overlapping with the Mediterranean model, but the outcome of Iron Age populations selecting the objects that interested them and discarding others (Dietler 2010,56–7). This is perfectly exemplified in Gaul, where imports of wine was particularly widespread, while products such as olive oil were turned down (Dietler 2010,206). In fact, accepting or rejecting Mediterranean products can also be an interesting criterion by which to identify social strategies on a local scale. The spread of imported goods and wine amphorae may be particularly coincident with processes of social inequality. In north-west Iberia, the vast majority of Mediterranean goods are spread along the coast, especially in the south (Naveiro López 1991), matching areas of greater sociopolitical complexity (González-Ruibal 2012,260–2) and the presence of oppida (Nión-Álvarez et al.2021, 130) (Fig. 2), while they are completely absent in most inland regions, defined more by their undivided ethos and autarchic economy (González García 2017, 298). A similar phenomenon can be seen with the Nervii of north Gaul, whose indifference to wine and foreignmanners was noted by Julius Caesar (Fernández-Götz 2014a, 260). In fact, the archaeological record reflects a higher density of wine amphorae in regions with greater socio-political complexity (Loughton 2003). The specifics of consumption, in this sense, are potentially representative of certain cultural dynamics and social organization. Material evidence of interaction networks, especially in terms of alcohol and prestige goods, is also representative of the fabric of many large, fortified sites. However, the dimension of material interactions is not an exclusively economic issue. Émile Benveniste (1983,90–5) stressed that economic terms such as ‘trade’do not exist in the Indo-European language, as they were conceived of later in the context of states and institutionalized societies. The existence of riverine and coastal networks might be useful to map potential influences, but it does not explain per se why some goods are accepted while others are not. Other different and secondary possibilities are worth exploring: the ability to control and manage interaction networks bestows an ‘added value’(Helms 1988,123–4) on the prestige of owning exotic objects, and ideas. Finally, the role of wine as a tool for social control and political legitimation cannot be passed over. In protohistoric communities, wine has been acknowledged as a key factor of social differentiation both in classical (Woolf 1998, 77) and material sources (Poux 2004). Alcohol has been commonly used as a tool for social control: obtaining it and offering it to a mobilized workforce engaged in specific activities that promote prestige and power (Dietler 1990,380–90). The similar employment of alcohol in the community should be considered, beyond its symbolic use in specific feast and collective events (Dietler and Hayden 2001;Hayden2018). Alcohol presents a remarkable potential as a tool for legitimating power asymmetries, being usually related to unequal dynamics throughout the European Iron Age (Fig. 3). DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS Oppida have been a key element in the research of the Early Iron Age since its beginning. Despite some flaws and concerns, I consider it to be a useful historical and archaeological concept, but it is essential to be aware of some reservations. From a semiotic point of view, careful choice of SAMUEL NIÓN-ÁLVAREZ OXFORD JOURNAL OF ARCHAEOLOGY ©2023 The Authors. Oxford Journal of Archaeology published by John Wiley & Sons Ltd on behalf of University of Oxford. 69 14680092, 2024, 1, Downloaded from https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/ojoa.12283 by Universidade de Santiago de Compostela, Wiley Online Library on [22/02/2024]. 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