Bamiyan: Culture Under Attack

By Deborah Klimburg Salter, Marianne Yaldiz and James Cuno

Shakyamuni image in the Bamiyan valley, Afghanistan

In her commentary `Mystery Veils the Kabul Museum Collections' (Orientations, February 2001, p. 78), Nancy Hatch Dupree of the Society for the Preservation of Afghanistan's Cultural Heritage (SPACH) alluded to attempts by factions within the ruling Taliban to overturn decrees mandating the protection of cultural relics. Recent developments appear to have confirmed people's worst fears regarding the fate of the nation's heritage. Here we publish opinions by Deborah Klimburg-Salter and other specialists. Klimburg-Salter lived in Afghanistan for seven years, and is the author of The Kingdom of Bamiyan (Naples and Rome, 1989). As we go to press, reports are emerging that the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas may already be complete, but as access to the area by independent observers has been denied, this cannot be confirmed.

The broad and fertile Bamiyan valley, about 250 metres above sea level and two kilometres long, lies in the heart of the Koh-i Baba (`The Father of Mountains'), a part of the Hindu Kush, the westernmost extension of the great Himalayan range. With its lofty peaks, the Hindu Kush forms the watershed between the Oxus river to the north and the Indus to the south. Over the centuries, the fertile valley provided a safe haven for pilgrims and merchants braving the long and dangerous trade routes. Only a few high perilous passes allow communication between Turkestan and China to the north, India to the south and Kashmir to the west. Ruins of fortresses dotting the mountain crests remind one that throughout history, the real importance of the Bamiyan valley lay in its strategic position.

From the 6th century, this difficult but relatively safe route to India became important for Asian pilgrims. Thus Xuanzang passed through Bamiyan soon after the main images had been completed. He arrived in 632 on his way to India, having travelled for two years through vast deserts and over dangerous passes. Despite the passage of time, his detailed description remains our most important guide to the Buddhist complex. When I last saw Bamiyan in 1975, one could stand on the plateau opposite the facade and envision the scene described by the pilgrim almost 1,400 years earlier. At the eastern end of the valley was the royal palace and main city of the kingdom. On the northern side, which runs in an east/west direction, is a long cliff of red conglomerate rock about 400 metres high in the centre. Two colossal Buddhas could be seen: to the east a 55-metre tall Dipankara and to the west, at the centre of the facade, a 38-metre Shakyamuni, the spiritual axis of the pilgrimage route. Between the two were remains of seated Buddhas in painted niches, serenely observing the valley below. Along the entire rock facade one saw the entrances, some still with architectural details, to hundreds of excavated caves serving a variety of religious purposes.

Xuanzang described how he was able to circumambulate both caves placed around the feet of the great Buddhas and pass through the corridor excavated around the head, thus allowing him to meditate upon the spiritual path of Shakyamuni. He made a sacred vow before Dipankara, the Buddha of the past (identifiable by his colossal size and shoulder flames, of which only the holes survived into the 20th century) to mark the beginning of Shayamuni's spiritual career. Then some 400 metres to the east, the pilgrim circumambulated the image of Shakyamuni and at the end of the cliff, the largest image of all, the Buddha in mahaparinirvana, marking release from further rebirth. (Today this image probably lies under the fallen rock facade.) The faces and arms of the standing Buddhas were apparently covered with sheets of metal, perhaps brass, so that Xuanzang reported: `The golden hues sparkle on all sides and its precious ornaments dazzle the eye'. The great Buddhas were built by `a previous king', perhaps a vassal of the Western Turks, and thus can be dated to around 600. He does not mention the three other monumental Buddhas seated in their painted niches and visible from the valley beneath, or the painted Maitreya figures at the soffit of each niche, which symbolize the continuation of the Buddha-dharma after Shakyamuni's parinirvana. There is no mention of the vast complex of hundreds of excavated chapels and meeting halls decorated by brightly coloured murals and stucco architectural motifs. Nor did he identify any other Buddhist complexes and monumental images in the lateral valleys. The seated Buddhas and the associated paintings at Bamiyan can be dated to the middle or late 7th century, Kakrak, Fonduqistan, Dokhtar i Noshirwhan (Nigar) to the end of the 7th century and Foladi later still, perhaps the 8th century.

Muslim armies were reported in Bamiyan between 745 and 785, and again in 841 and 871. Buddhist communities in the Bamiyan valley survived until the 10th century. Indeed, all over Afghanistan, in the once-great cities of Balkh, Ghazna and Kandahar, the archaeological record testifies to the continuation of non-Muslim communities during the early Islamic period. Over the last millennium, the colossal images and their painted paradises have suffered neglect and wilful destruction. It is mainly the lower parts of the artworks that have been damaged. The Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb is believed to have ordered the firing of a cannon at one of the legs of the Great Buddha. Contrary to popular belief, the faces of the great images were not destroyed by vandalism, but deliberately cut sheer to a ledge above the mouth in order to hold the brass masks referred to above. Until recently, the fine surface of the pleated robes still contained faint traces of paint, and the upper parts of the niches were covered with delicate paintings of extraordinary quality.

As I write these words, the fate of the murals and sculptures formerly in the Kabul Museum is still uncertain. Much has been looted (see `Les tresors du Musee de Kaboul', Darbois and Tissot, Paris, 2000), but some of the collections were apparently being stored in Kabul, according to information given to Maurizio Taddei. There are conflicting reports regarding the destruction of the great Buddhas of Bamiyan, as well as the hundreds of paintings and thousands of images. What is needed now is a survey and precise, on-the-spot reporting conducted by specialists in the art of Afghanistan. What has been destroyed, what survives, and can a `ransom' be negotiated?

And what of the long and precious Islamic heritage of Afghanistan - the great monuments destroyed or damaged during twenty years of war, and all the thousands of Persian and Arabic manuscripts, many with magnificent illuminations and calligraphy? Many of these great literary works are expressions of Sufi mysticism. Do they too risk being destroyed by Taliban fanatics? Where will this end? Will future Afghans have no history but the Taliban?

Of course the true victims of this tragedy are the Afghan people, trapped in a series of coups initiated by a minority, and a revolution they never understood, fuelled by international interest. Recent newspaper reports say that a million people risk starvation this winter.

In the modern world, museums have been seen as the repository and therefore the protector of a nation's cultural heritage. When all civil order collapses and the country's political and cultural institutions can no longer fulfil this role, it is right and proper that international institutions, including museums, step in. But where are the international safeguards that will ensure the Afghan people that when peace and responsible government returns, Afghans may reclaim the safeguarded remains of their cultural heritage? Protracted legal wrangling over the rightful ownership of works of art displaced during World War II has made many people cautious about choosing `safe houses' for Afghanistan's treasures. Worse, it gave the thousands of collectors who bought and now hoard the looted treasures a cynical justification for their acts. Others tried to preserve Afghanistan's cultural heritage as close to the source as possible and under legal conditions, which would hopefully ensure their return. The Society for the Preservation of Afghanistan's Cultural Heritage has been the leader in these efforts. It is to be hoped that the present crisis will encourage those entrusted with preparing international legislation to include protection for the return of the artistic heritage under internationally monitored conditions.

On the question of human rights, although for more than 100 years international law has attempted to protect cultural relics, there has been an unprecedented rise in acts of `cultural genocide'. In the wake of the destruction of cultural monuments in the former Yugoslavia, new legislation is being drafted in an attempt to protect world culture. The present decree in Afghanistan belongs to a frightening new type of `crime against humanity': the obliteration of a people's heritage, the material testimony to the history that binds them not only to each other but also to those around them. In effect, it is difficult to distinguish the motivations underlying the decree. On the surface it has been motivated by bigotry, but on another level the great Buddhas are surely being held hostage. Afghanistan's artistic culture belongs to the world, but so do Afghanistan's children. As the seemingly unending tragedy has continued over the last 23 years, newspapers and governments have lost interest. Yet the plight of the imprisoned women and their starving children is well known. Many individuals working with international organizations have been heroic in their efforts. But the scale of the human tragedy is enormous and can only be approached on an international level, as is now being done by the forces massing to save the country's pre-Islamic cultural heritage. After three years of drought, hundreds and thousands of refugees are dying of starvation and cold. There is desperate need for help, now! The political choices are hard. Certainly the Taliban and the terrorists they shelter must be opposed, but is there no way to also help alleviate the human suffering?

Deborah Klimburg Salter Professor Institute for Advanced Study, Berlin

Our blood froze when we heard the official decree issued by Radio Kabul on 26 February, in which the head of the Taliban, Mullah Mohammed Omar announced that all the statues in Afghanistan are to be destroyed because they had been used as idols by non-Islamic people in the past. The intent to carry out the destruction not only of the two huge Buddha statues in Bamiyan, but of all the existing treasures, including those in the National Museum of Afghanistan in Kabul was confirmed in the days following. In spite of a decree issued by Mullah Omar last year mandating the protection of the cultural heritage of the country, the tragedy is taking its course. As director of a museum with a huge collection of Indo-Asian art, including hundreds of sculptures from the Gandharan region, I must admit that I begin now to question our policy, and those of most museums in the Western world, of refraining from purchasing any object from its country of origin. We have to understand that it is necessary to make distinctions between those Asian countries in which the cultural heritage is well preserved, such as in India, and those where it is in great danger, like Tibet and Afghanistan. The important role of our museums is to help to protect culture, to purchase relics, if necessary, when they are threatened, and make them accessible to the public. For more than ten years we have known that Afghanistan's cultural treasures have been in serious danger, firstly from the Russians and now from their own people.

During my visits to Afghanistan in 1996 and 1997, I was in contact with local commanders who illegally excavated in the district of Khogiani and elsewhere, and sold the relics to Pakistani art dealers. On reflection, international museums should have been actively acquiring the sculptures in order to secure the heritage of the Gandharan region. However, until Mullah Omar's pronouncement on 26 February, a total destruction of the history and the identity of the people of Afghanistan was beyond imagination. As scholars of the arts, we are horrified to hear of these terrible acts. We at the Museum of Indian Art will do whatever we can to cooperate with efforts to rescue the artefacts.

Marianne Yaldiz Director Museum fur Indische Kunst, Berlin

Damage to the ancient Bamiyan Buddhas is an act of barbaric violence against the cultural legacy of the ancient crossroads of Central Asia. Unfortunately it is only the most recent such tragedy carried out by Afghanistan's ruling Taliban.

In May 1993 rockets slammed into the National Museum of Afghanistan in Kabul, setting the building on fire and bringing the walls and roof crashing down. As reported in numerous articles, especially by Nancy Hatch Dupree in Archaeology, the museum had been at the centre of the fighting between mujahideen factions since the military assault on Kabul in April 1992. A year later, representatives from the United Nations arrived to discover most of the museum's storage rooms ransacked and most of its ceramics, bronzes and ancient coins damaged or missing. Two years later, still more of the collection was unaccounted for.

Rumours circulated of mujahideen soldiers looting the museum and of much of its collection being sold in the bazaars of Peshawar, Islamabad and Karachi. In 1994 SPACH, an advocacy group formed in Islamabad, met government ministers and secured their support for the restoration of the museum. A year later, a joint mission of UNESCO and the Mus‚e Guimet in Paris made arrangements to inventory the surviving collection. Just days before they were to arrive, the Taliban launched an attack on Kabul. Rockets once again damaged the museum, and sites under consideration as safe storage areas were destroyed in bomb attacks.

Last year Luke Herring of British newspaper The Guardian reported that hardliners among the Taliban were opposed to the Kabul Museum showing Buddhist sculptures. And last week the Taliban's leader, Mullah Mohammed Omar, decreed that all statues in the country be destroyed because `these idols have been gods of the infidels...and may be turned into gods again.' A few days ago Reuters reported that all 6000 sculptures in the museum are believed to have been destroyed, although the Taliban have refused to allow anyone into the war-ravaged museum.

This tragic history throws into relief the larger debate over the acquisition of undocumented antiquities by Western art museums. Some critics argue that such acquisitions only encourage looting and the destruction of archaeological knowledge. Unfortunately the matter is not so simple. In the case of antiquities from Afghanistan, for example, their acquisition by such museums will ensure their survival.

Once acquired by museums, antiquities, documented or not, can be safely kept, studied and appreciated. If they should be returned because they were looted from archaeological sites or illegally exported, that is far more likely to be done from public than from private collections. In this respect, museums are safe havens for objects already, and for whatever reason, alienated from their original context. Museums do not alienate objects. They keep and preserve them, holding them in public trust for future generations.

The loss of knowledge happens not at museums but at archaeological sites. All too often, it has not been possible for countries to protect their sites from looters. Thus they impose export restrictions on antiquities and claim all such objects state property as a way of discouraging looting. Export restrictions do not discriminate between objects of archaeological significance and antiquities of other kinds. The recent accord between the USA and Italy restricts the import into this country of almost all objects of Italian origin that date from the 9th century BCE to the 4th century CE, whether or not they come from archaeological sites. Just how it will be determined whether an object comes from the territory of modern Italy or from somewhere else in the ancient Roman Empire is not clear. Nor is it clear whether the purpose of the accord is to protect archaeological knowledge or preserve Italian national heritage. If it were to protect archaeological knowledge, the Italian government could still permit the export of excavated objects - famously, they do not. In the early 20th century, foreign governments allowed excavation teams to share in the findings. Next year the Harvard Art Museums will present an exhibition of objects excavated from the royal tombs at Ur, a site, now in Iraq, believed to have been the birthplace of the patriarch Abraham. Jointly excavated in the 1920s and 30s by the University of Pennsylvania and The British Museum, each institution was allowed to share in the findings. That would not be possible now. Neither is it possible in Afghanistan. The Kabul Museum's collection once held the findings of foreign archaeological teams, bound by agreements, to deposit all excavated objects with the Afghan government. Unfortunately, unlike the Ur objects, those excavated objects are almost all now looted or destroyed. Excavating objects and restricting their trade doesn't always protect them. The issues are far more complicated. The tragic story of the Kabul Museum and the barbaric destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas should cause us to rethink these larger issues before more of the world's cultural legacy is lost to wars or acts of iconoclasm.

James Cuno Elizabeth and John Moors Cabot Director Harvard University Art Museums, Boston