Vanishing Ancestors: Museums & Human Remains

Preserved human bodies are one of the most powerful storytellers of the past. Whether preserved in ice, peat, or desert sand, these ancient remains speak across millennia. And, for prehistoric peoples who left no written records, preserved bodies are among the best sources of information for understanding their ways of life.

From their remains we can learn what they ate, how far they traveled, the images they tattooed on their skin, and the ways they styled their hair. We can see the illnesses they endured, the injuries they suffered, and even the remedies they attempted. In this way, their bodies serve as ambassadors from the past, offering insights that no arrowhead or shard of pottery could ever provide. No artifact or artwork quite replicates the shock of recognition that comes from seeing a human face from history. It is a reminder that the people who came before us were not abstractions in a textbook, but individuals of flesh and bone.

And, with every new scientific breakthrough, these stories grow richer. New technologies, from genetic sequencing to isotopic analysis, allow researchers to extract more information while simultaneously reducing the need for destructive or invasive methods. What once would have required dissection can today be achieved more efficiently with imaging and scanning.

Yet, even while science advances, the public presence of these ancient remains is receding. In recent decades, museums and educational institutions have been facing growing pressure to remove human remains from view. Displays which were once common fixtures in archaeology and anthropology exhibits are now often criticized as culturally insensitive and disrespectful, and institutions once seen as sanctuaries of preservation and learning are being recast as symbols of colonial plunder. As a result, mummies and skeletons are steadily vanishing from museum cases around the globe. Many are being placed in storage, repatriated to indigenous communities, and, in some cases, even reburied.

In August 2023, the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in Pittsburgh removed all human remains from display. Just a few months later, the American Museum of Natural History in New York followed suit. Others, like the Penn Museum in Philadelphia and the Chau Chak Wing Museum at the University of Sydney, decided to remove "exposed" remains from exhibits, though still allowing for wrapped mummies or other enclosed remains to be seen.

This phenomenon has not been limited only to human bodies. Last year in the United States, updates to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) prompted some museums to withdraw Native American funerary items and other cultural artifacts from display.

In other cases, even the publication of photographs depicting human remains or funerary objects have been met with outcry. The impossible question museums now face is not just how to display the past, but whether they can or should display certain aspects of it at all.

Repatriation and Reburial

One of the primary forces behind the removal of human bones and mummies from museums has been the growing demand for repatriation and reburial, particularly from Indigenous communities. While these efforts are often viewed as acts of justice or restoration, the decision to rebury remains—particularly those of significant research value—has caused concern within the scientific community.

In some cases, these remains are laid to rest in secure facilities where the bodies can remain preserved and accessible for study. In the Altai Mountains of Siberia, the famous Siberian Ice Maiden, a 2,500-year-old tattooed Scythian mummy preserved by permafrost, was reburied in a specially built mausoleum after years of debate between archaeologists and the Altaian people.

In other instances, however, remains have been buried directly in the ground, likely beyond the reach of science forever. Two prominent examples are Kennewick Man, a roughly 8,400 year old skeleton found in North America, and Mungo Man, a 42,000 year-old skeleton found in Australia. Both were among the oldest remains found on their respective continents, and therefore crucial to understanding early human migrations. Despite this, both were repatriated to indigenous communities for reburial.

Kennewick Man was transferred to a coalition of tribes in 2016, and the following year he was reburied in an undisclosed site along the Columbia River. In the case of Mungo Man, traditional owners were divided on how to lay the remains to rest: some members of the community advocated a “keeping place,” similar to that used for the Siberian Ice Maiden. But this compromise was ultimately rejected, and in 2022, Mungo Man was buried in a secret, unmarked grave in the Willandra Lakes region where he had been discovered.

These cases highlight cultural and spiritual ties to ancient remains now often outweigh scientific claims to their study. Reburial may be well intentioned, but it is also a loss: it permanently severs future generations from all of the knowledge that such significant finds can provide. In prioritizing spiritual gestures, we risk losing irreplaceable opportunities to understand human origins, both now and in the future.

The instinct to treat ancient remains with the same sensitivity we grant our recently departed is noble. But equally noble is the impulse to preserve, to study, and to pass knowledge forward to future generations. Must these two instincts be at odds? Can reverence and the pursuit of knowledge not coexist?

The United Kingdom

A similar revolution is sweeping through museums and universities in the United Kingdom. In 2020, Oxford’s Pitt Rivers Museum removed roughly 120 human remains—including skulls, Egyptian mummies, and shrunken heads—from public view, placing them instead in storage. The justification given for removing the South American shrunken heads, or tsantsa, was that such exhibits encouraged racist thinking.

This decision, however, has broader implications. It suggests a belief that the public cannot be trusted to draw the “correct” conclusions, and therefore ignorance is preferable to knowledge. The assumption that exposure to artifacts or remains from other cultures will inevitably foster prejudice is deeply condescending, both to the audience and to the culture represented.

Northern Ireland, too, has been touched by this phenomenon. In October 2023, an over 2000-year-old bog mummy, now known as the Ballymacombs More Woman, was discovered in Northern Ireland. Evidence suggests that she was decapitated, possibly as part of a ritual sacrifice. Female bog bodies from this period are rare, making her find especially significant. Extensive scientific study has been carried out on Ballymacombs More Woman, yet, despite her importance, it is unlikely that her remains will be displayed in a museum. The distressing nature of the find and a desire to avoid sensationalism have been cited as reasons for keeping the body from public view.

This raises an important question: if it is acceptable for scientists to examine and learn from these remains, why is it deemed inappropriate for the public to do the same? Such exhibits are vital reminders of the complexity of human experience: its richness, its variety, and, at times, its brutality. To remove them is to diminish our understanding of the world and of ourselves. By stripping away what they fear might be unsettling or unflattering, museums risk presenting a sanitized version of history. In trying to protect—or control—audiences, they airbrush the past and obscure its darker truths.

What Comes Next?

Other museums in the United Kingdom—including the British Museum, which has held human remains since its foundation in the 18th century—have been facing growing pressure to remove and repatriate their collections of remains. In 2025, National Museums Northern Ireland returned remains to Hawaii, London's Natural History Museum returned remains to Australia, and Edinburgh University returned skulls to Japan.

Earlier this year, the All-Party Parliamentary Group for Afrikan Reparations (APPG-AR) released a report titled Laying Ancestors to Rest, in which they argued that the display of human bodies without consent is offensive, regardless of their age, and should be ceased. The policy brief calls on museums and schools to remove ancestral remains from display and recommends amending the Human Tissue Act 2004 so that it covers all human remains. Currently, the Act requires licensing and consent to display human tissue, but it provides exemptions for existing holdings and remains over 100 years old—leaving most museum collections effectively exempt.

This type of religious belief is called animism.

Under the APPG-AR’s proposals, however, museums and universities would be barred from displaying even ancient remains, except for religious purposes or in cases where proper consent had been granted. The United States’ NAGPRA and the Australian government’s repatriation policy are cited as examples of best practice.

Although the report focuses mainly on African remains, archaeological groups have released a joint statement warning that, due to ambiguous language and inconsistent terminology, many of its recommendations would affect all archaeologically obtained human remains, regardless of origin—a change which could potentially have far-reaching consequences for the practice of archaeology in the United Kingdom.

The Case for Display

There seems to be a perception among certain groups that the display—and, at times, even the study—of human remains indicates disrespect, irreverence, or a disregard for the dignity of the deceased individual. While there are historical examples of this, display, in and of itself, does not inherently signify a lack of respect. In fact, in today’s world, the opposite is often true.

When museums present ancient remains thoughtfully, they offer more than an object of study. They create a bridge across time. Standing before an ancient mummy or skeleton, we sense the physical reality of people who lived and died centuries or millennia ago. It can be as profound as reading a poignant passage by a long-dead author, when their words seem to reach across the years to reassure us that our struggles are not unique. In the same way, the sight of an Egyptian mummy, an Ice Age skeleton, or a bog body can stir an unexpected kinship: here was a person who labored, loved, suffered, and dreamed, just as we do.

Ancient human remains are reminders of our continuity as a species. They suggest that the past is not wholly lost, and that something of our forebears endures. An individual who would have otherwise dissolved into the nameless multitude of the dead has instead been picked out, preserved intentionally or by chance, to be wondered about, to be cared about, and to be, in a way, remembered. In their preserved presence, we feel connected with the past, and perhaps, in an unconscious way, with the future we will never see. It is a reminder that the human story extends both backward and forward, and that we belong to something larger than ourselves.

None of this means that display should be careless or sensationalist. Remains should be presented with dignity, context, and respect. Few today would defend the abuses of the past, when mummies were ground into pigments and potions, or recent graves were robbed in the name of science. But in recoiling from such excesses, we are in danger of an overcorrection. If all remains are hidden from view, or consigned once more to the earth, then the very disciplines of anthropology and archaeology are at risk.

Society’s commitment to the preservation and study of the past are steadily being eroded away. If this trend continues to gain momentum, it is not impossible to imagine that even iconic British remains—Lindow Man, Cheddar Man, and the like—might one day be removed from view. The answer is not to abandon display, but to improve it. It is possible to preserve the dignity of the dead while still seeking the truth they carry. Humanity, after all, deserves to know its own story. At the same time, we should acknowledge that both sides of this debate may be motivated by more than just a dispassionate pursuit of knowledge or a selfless concern for the dignity of the deceased. Archaeology and anthropology have never existed entirely separate from ideological motivations. After all, to control what is seen or studied—and what is not—is to control the story of human history itself.