Dr. Lindsay M. Montgomery is a respected anthropologist, archaeologist, and advocate for community-centered research practices. With a career rooted in collaboration, innovation, and ethical scholarship, she provides strategic guidance to institutions and organizations seeking to create meaningful, sustainable partnerships with Indigenous and descendant communities.
Currently serving as an Associate Professor at the University of Toronto, Dr. Montgomery’s work focuses on the intersections of archaeology, colonialism, and mobility across North America. She holds a Ph.D. from Stanford University and has spent over a decade leading fieldwork initiatives, community-based projects, and multidisciplinary research efforts that emphasize Indigenous methodologies and leadership.
Dr. Montgomery has a proven track record of securing major research grants, including awards from the Wenner-Gren Foundation, National Science Foundation, and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC). Her deep understanding of cultural heritage management, coupled with her commitment to decolonizing and anti-racist research frameworks, makes her a trusted advisor for museums, universities, nonprofits, and governmental agencies alike.
Beyond academia, Dr. Montgomery provides consulting services designed to help organizations build culturally responsible programs, implement ethical research practices, and engage communities with transparency and respect. Her consulting work is informed by real-world experience and a passion for creating projects that are not only academically rigorous but also socially impactful.
As a public scholar, Dr. Montgomery frequently shares her expertise through interviews, public lectures, and digital platforms. She was recently featured in the University of Toronto’s “Getting to Know Professor Lindsay M. Montgomery” series and has been profiled by IdeaMensch for her leadership and innovative thinking.
Dr. Montgomery remains committed to fostering education, mentorship, and structural change in the fields of anthropology and archaeology.
How do you describe the focus of your research today, and how has it shifted since the beginning of your career?
At its core, my research focuses on how archaeology can be transformed into a practice rooted in social justice, accountability, and relationship-building. When I first entered the field of anthropology, I was drawn to the idea of exploring different cultures. But the deeper I got into the discipline, the more I began to recognize how archaeological practices, as they’re traditionally structured, often exclude or harm the very communities they claim to represent. That realization reshaped everything for me. Today, I focus on collaborative, community-engaged work, particularly with Indigenous nations, where research is shaped by their priorities, protocols, and knowledge systems. My work now isn’t just about understanding different societies or interpreting the past; it’s about contributing to futures that are more just and reciprocal.
Can you tell us about the values that guide your collaborative projects with Indigenous communities?
Respect, reciprocity, and responsibility are the foundations. Collaborative work is not a method—it’s a relationship, and like all relationships, it requires time, humility, and trust. In projects like the Picuris Pueblo Archaeological Research Project, everything begins with listening. We ask what the community wants to learn, how they want the research to unfold, and how we can support their goals—not ours. That means co-developing research questions, ensuring cultural protocols are followed, and establishing clear agreements about data sovereignty and authorship. We also revisit those agreements regularly. Ultimately, this work is about building long-term partnerships where archaeology serves the community, not the other way around.
What does reclamation mean in your work, and how does it differ from restitution or reconciliation?
Reclamation, to me, goes deeper than restitution or reconciliation. Restitution often focuses on returning something that was taken, and reconciliation can sometimes remain symbolic. Reclamation is about taking back control—not just over objects or sites, but over narratives, institutions, and processes. In archaeology, it means shifting power from universities, museums, and government agencies to the people whose heritage is being studied. It’s about centering non-dominant knowledge systems, restoring authority to communities, and creating space for them to define how their histories are told and by whom. Reclamation is not a one-time act—it’s a practice that requires continual reflection, restructuring, and accountability.
Your work has helped shape the emerging conversation around undisciplining archaeology. What does “undisciplining” look like in a practical sense?
Undisciplining means loosening the rigid structures that define how knowledge is made, validated, and shared in archaeology. Practically, that looks like broadening what we consider evidence—recognizing oral history, community memory, and cultural practice as legitimate sources of knowledge. It also involves challenging the authority of the archaeologist as the sole interpreter of the past. In the classroom, it means teaching students to question disciplinary assumptions, to understand power dynamics, and to engage with communities as equal partners. In research, it’s about creating ethical frameworks that are shaped by communities, not just institutions. It’s not about abandoning rigor—it’s about redefining it.
How do you ensure your work is accountable to the communities you collaborate with, not just the academy?
Accountability starts with relationships. Before any research begins, I spend time building trust—sitting with community representatives, understanding their priorities, and developing shared goals. Once the work is underway, I maintain transparency at every stage. That includes regular check-ins, co-authorship where appropriate, shared decision-making about how findings are archived or shared, and ensuring that data remains with the community. Importantly, accountability doesn’t end when a given project is over. Instead, I take a long-term approach that involves consistently showing up and responding to the changing needs, goals, and interests of the community.
You’ve co-authored a forthcoming article on archaeological reclamation. What was the motivation behind that project, and what do you hope readers take away from it?
That article grew out of collective conversations with scholars who were wrestling with the same questions: What does it mean to do archaeology differently? How do we move beyond critique and into action? The motivation was to offer a framework for reclamation that didn’t just call out problems, but also provided real, grounded examples of how to do the work based on our own experiences working in dialogue with communities. I hope readers walk away understanding that reclamation is not abstract. It’s possible. It’s happening. And it requires each of us to be brave enough to let go of what we’ve been taught in order to build something better.
How do you think graduate education in archaeology needs to change to better reflect ethical, community-centered practices?
Graduate education often replicates the very hierarchies we say we want to dismantle. If we’re serious about ethical, community-centered archaeology, our training programs need to reflect that. That starts with de-centering the “lone expert” model and emphasizing collaborative learning. We need to teach students how to build relationships, navigate informed consent, respect Indigenous governance structures, and understand their own positionality. Importantly, mentorship must extend beyond career advancement to include care through emotional support and an openness to listening. We’re not just training scholars—we’re shaping the future culture of archaeology as a discipline.
What role do museums and heritage institutions play in this work, and how do you approach partnerships with them?
Museums hold enormous power in shaping public narratives about history. That power comes with responsibility—especially given their colonial legacies. When I partner with museums, I approach the work with a clear understanding that repatriation, transparency, and shared authority must be central. That means revisiting collections with community members, questioning how artifacts were acquired, and changing the types of narratives centred in exhibitions. It also means thinking about who gets to speak in those spaces—not just as subjects, but as curators, educators, and decision-makers. I’ve seen some powerful shifts when museums commit to community co-curation and Indigenous leadership. But there’s still a lot of work to do.
There’s been increased public scrutiny around identity and representation in academia. How do you stay grounded and responsive in moments of public or institutional pressure?
I try to stay grounded in the relationships that matter most—the ones with communities I work with, with students, and with colleagues who are committed to care and justice. Public scrutiny can be difficult, especially when it challenges your intentions or your integrity. But I believe in being transparent, in being willing to reflect, and in correcting courses when needed. I’ve had to have hard conversations—with myself and with others—and I’ve learned a lot from them. What keeps me going is the understanding that this work isn’t about me. It’s about the people I’m accountable to and the values I carry with me.
What gives you hope in the field of archaeology today?
The students. The emerging scholars. The community researchers reclaim their histories on their own terms. I see so much energy, so much courage, and so much imagination in the next generation. They’re not waiting for institutions to change—they’re building new ways of doing this work from the ground up. I also find hope in the fact that more and more conversations are happening across disciplines. People are asking better questions, and they’re not afraid to rethink everything. That spirit of possibility—that insistence that we can do better and be better—reminds me every day why this work matters.