The transport of antiquities and cultural objects is hardly new, but recent international cases are bringing new attention to antiquities of questionable provenance. Who should own cultural artifacts? And when should artifacts be returned to their countries of origin?
The opinions expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of GHF.
What do the Rosetta Stone, Bust of Nefertiti, and Elgin Marbles all have in common? In addition to being internationally renowned objects from antiquity, these cultural artifacts are just a few of the many items that currently reside outside of their countries of origin. Yet, centuries after they were removed from their original homelands, governments are demanding the return of these and many other cultural treasures.
The transport of antiquities and cultural objects is hardly new. Whether as the spoils of war or the trophies of cultural aficionados, cultural artifacts have been transported across international borders for millennia. Recently however, much attention has been paid to the illegal transport of so-called “protected” artifacts, such as ancient statues, carvings, masks, tools, and other archaeological items. New laws restrict the movement of these artifacts, but in areas where oversight is lax, corruption is rife, or conflict is endemic, cultural items have proven relatively easy to pilfer before being sold illicitly. Cases involving antiquities from Syria and Iraq continually make international headlines, as the media decries the theft and international sale of these artifacts as key sources of financing for extremist organizations such as Daesh.
It is impossible to deny that the smuggling of historical artifacts generates enormous profits. Take the recent arrests in Italy of an international gang thought to have smuggled more than €40 million worth of archaeological artifacts to European collectors and auction houses over the past few decades. These are far from the only criminals profiting from the illegal sale of antiquities. Reports of terrorist organizations receiving extensive funding from antiquities sales prompted new European Union regulations in 2017 to reduce the illegal trade in looted cultural artifacts. The Manhattan District Attorney’s office has made headlines this year with prominent crackdowns on illegal sales of antiquities. Clearly, international demand for antiquities is still high, and the unfortunate reality is that both collectors and auctioneers are not always scrupulous about establishing a legal paper trail for the artifacts they buy and sell.
Some purchasers claim ignorance, arguing they cannot know the provenance of every cultural item that passes through the market. Even in instances of good-faith efforts to establish the legitimacy of historical artifacts, bills of sale and certificates of authenticity are all too easy to forge. Time and again, cultural items vanish from archaeological sites only to resurface abroad under suspicious circumstances. These instances are often cited as proof that certain nations are unable to effectively safeguard their cultural heritage from looting or destruction and so have forfeited the right to try. With these fears in mind, some argue in favor of removing items from areas of conflict and turmoil to keep them safe from harm. For example, a New York Times journalist recently removed nearly 16,000 documents from Iraq in order authenticate, translate, and professionally document the fragile records. Undoubtedly, recent videos of extremists destroying museums, detonating ancient monuments, and beheading conservation officials factored into her decision.
Her intention may have been to save these documents from destruction, but the ethics behind her decision are quite a bit murkier. When news of the documents’ removal – some say theft – reached the public, many pointed out her actions severed Iraq from important evidence of its recent history. Removing such historical items under the guise of safeguarding them does more than rob countries and regions of their irreplaceable historical records, however. These actions also remove agency for populations to control their own narratives and history, and this may pose a problem graver than the destruction of cultural evidence.
Cultural items are best understood in their original context. Of course, it can be difficult to determine that original context, and it is often overly simplistic to ignore the countless layers of history that constitute the full stories of many cultural items. For example, eight Egyptian obelisks have stood in Rome since they were moved there in antiquity as early as 10 BCE. Their historical significance is now as bound up in the story of the Roman Republic and its incorporation of Pharaonic Egypt as in their first, Egyptian context. How can the “original context” of these obelisks be fairly determined? Where does the “original” end and the “fabricated” begin?
Further complicating these considerations of origin and historic records are questions of reconstruction. New and emerging technologies have greatly enhanced our ability to reconstruct ancient monuments, but just because a monument can be reconstructed does not necessarily mean it should be reconstructed — especially if that reconstruction fails to include important aspects of a monument’s history. After all, reconstructing a historic monument in its original condition is often an impossible task, with no unanimous agreement on which version is truly “original.” Disguising a monument’s changes and even damages by presenting a subjective “original” state can easily obscure that monument’s unique historical record. Thus, even with the best of intentions, reconstructing a historic object can sever it from its historical record, inadvertently doing a disservice to that artifact and its history.
Despite complicated histories and questions of origins, some cases for the return of cultural artifacts are relatively straightforward. Consider the repatriation of human remains in situations that have clearly identified communities of origin; we are universally—and understandably—sensitive about how we treat our ancestors and their remains. Internationally, Australia and Canada stand out as leaders in the repatriation of indigenous remains and cultural items. In ongoing cases, authorities in Germany are returning ancestral artifacts, including Alaskan burial items and a tattooed Maori skull from New Zealand, where authorities are working to identify the appropriate tribe of origin.
But what about more ancient treasures, or those removed hundreds of years ago? Egypt again provides a particularly poignant example, as its treasures have been plundered repeatedly over the centuries. The aforementioned Nefertiti Bust has resided in Germany for over 100 years, while the Rosetta Stone followed a tempestuous route from Egyptian to French to English possession and is currently housed in the British Museum. Also in the British Museum are the Elgin Marbles, removed from Greece in the early 19th century during Ottoman rule and now the cause of constant diplomatic tensions between the United Kingdom and the Hellenic Republic. Debates about these ancient artifacts are as passionate as they are unending. As recently as this year, the Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn pledged to return the Elgin Marbles if he is elected as British prime minster.
Besides the age of an artifact and when it was removed from its country of origin, the environment of a cultural item adds yet another layer to debates. Take the questions posed by cultural treasures discovered in shipwrecks: should the findings be returned to the country that owns the waters? The country of the ship’s origin? The country that found the artifacts?
International provisions, such as the 2001 UNESCO Convention on the Protection of the Underwater Cultural Heritage, attempt to address these situations. However, modern cases continue to be highly controversial and difficult to resolve. Consider the San José, a Spanish galleon lost 300 years ago off the coast of Colombia with as much as $22 billion in treasure aboard. Colombia claims the San Jose for itself, while the Spanish government argues that treasures should belong to Spain as the ship’s country of origin. Further complicating matters, many cultural items aboard the ship originated in South American countries such as Venezuela, Peru, and Bolivia. This single shipwreck highlights just how complicated issues of ownership can really be when transported from the world of theory to the real world.
It is all too easy for seemingly unsolvable questions over artifact ownership to discourage even the most optimistic of culture lovers. However, take heart — a little digging reveals abundant positive updates about the repatriation of cultural artifacts. Perhaps less controversial and therefore less publicized, such reports shine hope into the muddled field of heritage ownership:
International investigations are cracking down on Syrian artifacts smuggled out of the country and sold on the global art market.
Since 2007, the US has returned more than 7,800 artifacts to over 30 countries, including over 1,200 items to Iraq alone.
World leaders, such as French President Emmanuel Macron, have prioritized the return of African artifacts, recognizing that “African heritage can’t just be in European private collections and museums.”
Acting on their own volition, authorities from the Metropolitan Museum in New York investigated statues in their collection and, having found them to be illegally obtained, began their return to India and Nepal.
And those documents from the New York Times? The paper has announced that it is returning the Iraqi documents removed by its own journalist.
Although the ultimate future of such cultural items remains to be seen, their returns are heartening steps in the right direction.