If, When, and To Whom? Returning the Benin Bronzes
The status of African material heritage in museums has changed dramatically in recent years. Many museums have begun transferring—by gift or loan—works from their collections to African institutions, citing ethical concerns given the intersection of some historical collecting practices with colonialism and warfare. The so-called Benin Bronzes are the face of this sea change in museum practice and the nexus of competing ownership claims.
What are the Benin Bronzes?
The Benin Kingdom—not to be confused with the Republic of Benin—was founded in what is now southern Nigeria and ruled by hereditary kings called Ọbas.[1] “Benin Bronzes” colloquially refers to metal, ivory, wood, and coral works created by Benin Kingdom artisans beginning in the twelfth century. By the time Europeans began trading with the Benin Kingdom in the late fifteenth century, it had established itself as a wealthy metropolitan nation whose royal and religious spaces were filled with such artwork.[2] To Europeans, the Kingdom sold ivory, palm oil, and pepper as well as captive humans for the transatlantic slave trade.[3] In return, it received cloth, salt, spirits, guns, and brass currency called manillas, many of which were melted down to create new artistic works.[4]
The 1897 Raid
In the nineteenth century, Britain sought to control trade throughout Western Africa. Ọba Ovọnramwẹn signed a treaty with Britain in 1892 but frequently frustrated free trade between the nations.[5] Ovọnramwẹn likely did not understand the treaty’s terms, which specified that the Benin Kingdom would be open to free trade and that the Ọba could not deal with foreign powers without British approval. See Phillips, supra note 4, at 77.[/mfn] The Ọba probably viewed his actions as exercising sovereign rights, but Britain likely interpreted them as treaty breaches.[6] In January 1897, colonial official James Phillips, without authorization from his superiors and in defiance of the Ọba’s requests to wait, led a delegation to convince Ovọnramwẹn to abide by the treaty.[7] Edo chiefs sent soldiers to attack the party, killing seven of the nine British officials and nearly 200 local porters.[8] The British subsequently organized a military expedition to capture Edo and Ovọnramwẹn. Although the raid was ostensibly in retaliation for the January attack, it may have been premeditated because British authorities had previously proposed a raid on Edo in the dry winter months.[9] Because surviving documentation predominates from British sources, rationales for the raid should be interpreted mindful of potential biases toward its justification.[10]
The facts of the raid, however, are less disputed. In February 1897, 1,400 British troops attacked Edo for eight days with rockets, firearms, and early machine guns.[11] The British subsequently occupied Edo, tried and exiled Ọba Ovọnramwẹn, and annexed the Kingdom’s territory to the British Niger Coast Protectorate.[12] Members of the raid took thousands of artworks from the royal palace and surrounding ceremonial sites, including architectural plaques, altar figures, and the Ọba’s personal treasures.[13] The British Foreign Ministry sold many of these works to defray the costs of the raid, but others were kept by its members, and still others left Edo following the tumult.[14] Although some works remain in private collections, most reside in museums.[15]
The Restitution Debate
Debates over returning Benin Kingdom heritage to Nigeria initially hinged on whether the 1897 seizures were legal. Until the nineteenth century, international law did not typically protect cultural heritage from confiscation or destruction during times of armed conflict.[16] The 1899 Hague Convention outlawed pillage, seizure, and destruction of “historical monuments, works of art or science” during warfare, instantiating what some legal scholars argue had become a customary international legal norm.[17] However, because the 1899 Convention is not retroactive and because international law of the time did not recognize non-European nations as benefitting from customary international law, the seizure of Benin Kingdom heritage following the 1897 raid has been deemed legal.[18] Thus, when Nigerian officials in the 1970s asked European museums to return some cultural heritage to Nigerian institutions, most refused the requests because they lacked legal merit.[19]
Attempts to return Benin Kingdom heritage to Nigeria regained traction in 1997, following the centennial of the raid. This time, the Ọba emerged as the primary claimant requesting restitution for wrongs committed against his family and Kingdom.[20] As the debate rekindled, challenges to the lawfulness of the 1897 raid arose from European and Nigerian citizens alike.[21] Some even called on the International Court of Justice to review Britain’s actions in 1897, but Ọba Erediauwa advocated instead for restitution through diplomacy.[22] Most museums rebuffed his claims, citing the universal value of Benin Kingdom heritage to museum visitors and the lack of security at Nigerian institutions.[23] A special inquiry by the UK Parliament decried restitution requests as “narrow-minded nationalism” and deferred decision-making to individual museums, many of which refused to set deaccession precedents without national policy. Culture, Media and Sport, Seventh Report, Museums: Acquisition and Return, 2000, HC 371-I, ¶ 129 (UK).[/mfn]
While debates in European and Nigerian communities continued, stakeholders in the United States offered additional arguments for why Benin Kingdom heritage should remain stateside. In 1998, Nigerian historian Moyo Okediji wrote, “Perhaps . . . it is the progeny of those whose bodies were sold to pay for the raw materials who deserve the works.”[24] Because the Benin Kingdom sold enslaved persons for the materials used to create Benin Kingdom art, Okediji and others argued that these arts should remain with diasporic African communities.[25]
Only recently have museums begun to heed calls to return Benin Kingdom heritage. Although removing Benin Kingdom heritage from Edo did not technically violate international laws of the time, the fact that such conduct would be illegal today has prompted some museums to address returns according to ethics rather than law.[26] Many have applauded these actions as long overdue, but they have not been without controversy.
Competing Ownership Claims
The Nigerian National Commission for Museums and Monuments (NCMM) has claimed rights to the title of all Nigerian cultural patrimony, but Ọba Ewuare II has claimed exclusive rights to the title of materials taken during the 1897 raid.[27] Despite these unresolved competing claims, between 2021 and 2023, nine cultural institutions transferred the title of roughly 600 Benin Kingdom works to the NCMM.[28] Still others expressed a desire to do so in the future.[29] Then, on March 23, 2023 Nigeria’s outgoing President Muhammadu Buhari issued a decree unequivocally recognizing the Ọba as the rightful owner of “the artefacts looted from the ancient Palace of the Oba and other parts of Benin Kingdom” and mandating that custody of all such materials be transferred to him.[30] Museums in the midst of executing agreements with the NCMM suddenly had to contend with the new declaration. Some museums have insisted that transfers must proceed and that what happens after is for Nigeria to decide.[31] Others have decided to pause their transfer activities until Nigeria can further clarify how the decree will be implemented.[32]
In the United States, another vocal detractor has risen to the stage: Restitution Study Group (RSG), a non-profit based in New York that strives “to secure reparations and restitution” for descendants of enslaved persons.[33] RSG and its founder, Deadria Farmer-Paellmann, oppose returning Benin Kingdom materials to Nigeria, assert moral claims to Benin Kingdom works made from the profits of slave trading, and argue that museums cannot return Benin Kingdom works “forged from blood metal paid to the Kingdom of Benin by Western slave traders . . . to the slave trader descendants against the wishes of descendants of their captives.”[34] In 2022, Farmer-Paellmann attempted to secure an injunction preventing the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art from transferring Benin Kingdom materials to the NCMM.[35]
In the Complaint, Farmer-Paellmann asserted “an equitable ownership interest in the Benin Bronzes” on behalf of all descendants of those sold into slavery by the Benin Kingdom.[36] She argued that the Smithsonian’s attempt to transfer the title of its Benin Kingdom works constituted an anticipatory breach of trust to descendants of enslaved Africans and an unjust enrichment of Nigerians.[37] The D.C. District Court granted the Smithsonian’s Motion to Dismiss, holding that Farmer-Paellmann’s arguments “lack standing and have not asserted any valid cause of action to challenge the Smithsonian’s decision to transfer some of the Bronzes.”[38] The D.C. Circuit Court upheld this ruling, holding that Farmer-Paellmann “failed to assert any valid cause of action, and had not alleged that irreparable harm would occur if the Bronzes were transferred” to Nigeria.[39] Although this lawsuit proved unsuccessful, RSG has continued to demand from museums “co-ownership of the slave trade Benin bronzes, acknowledgment of the slave trade origins of them, and access to the relics in the countries we live in due to our ancestors’ enslavement and our ethnocide.”[40]
Decision Dilemmas
Museums wishing to make equitable decisions about Benin Kingdom material heritage in their collections face legal and ethical quandaries without obvious answers. Caught between stakeholders like RSG in their home countries and the NCMM and Ọba in Nigeria, many museums are asked to pick a side or mediate international third-party disputes. Competing claims and threats of lawsuits could frighten museums into backtracking, refusing once again to share ownership of Benin Kingdom cultural heritage. Or they could provoke new co-ownership models and work to highlight multivocal interpretations of heritage and history. Only time will tell which methods will prevail in determining the fate of Benin Kingdom heritage.
Footnotes
