RESTITUTION, RETURNS, AND THE CURRENT CARIBBEAN CONTEXT

As illustrated by Ana Vrdoljak, the return of cultural objects has been a perennial preoccupation of international law and an issue for museums since their establishment. ^{Footnote 3} Yet, while the restitution debate has developed substantially since World War II—some even herald it the age of “post-restitution” ^{Footnote 4} —this is not necessarily the case for the Caribbean region. Although archaeological and ethnographic objects of Caribbean origin have long been expropriated, until recently the restitution debate has not played as essential a role in post-colonial discourse in the islands as in other former colonies. This is due to a number of reasons. First, a sizeable number of the cultural objects outside the Caribbean and in European collections are archaeological materials ascribed to cultures living in the Caribbean prior to 1492 and are perceived to be culturally linked to pre-Columbian, rather than to the majority of present-day multi-ethnic, Caribbean societies. Second, these collections have not been studied to any great extent nor, despite museums’ efforts to digitize their collections, have they been comprehensively catalogued, thus precluding the knowledge required for restitution claims. And, third, until recently, there has not been the same political importance placed on these cultural objects by Indigenous descendants as in other former colonies.

The Indigenous resurgence movement in the Caribbean has instead focused on recognition, land rights, and cultural revival in the post-independence era. ^{Footnote 5} Indeed, the Caribbean region is surprisingly lacking in cases of returns and restitution compared to other former occupied territories, where requests for cultural returns played an essential role in nation building and self-determination in the post-colonial period. ^{Footnote 6} This absence, however, does have some exceptions. Wayne Modest recounts the debacle surrounding the three Taíno wooden sculptures—collected in 1792 from the Carpenter’s Mountain region in Jamaica and presently kept by the British Museum—and the request for their loan to the National Gallery of Jamaica on the occasion of Columbus’ quincentenary in 1992. ^{Footnote 7} The request was denied on the basis that the National Gallery of Jamaica did not have adequate facilities for the display and care of the sculptures and that, in any case, the insurance costs associated with their transportation would be prohibitively expensive for the gallery’s budget. ^{Footnote 8} This denial was met with resounding criticism and a certain incredulity in Jamaica, followed by calls for the outright return of the objects to their place of origin, although no formal claims for restitution were made. What Modest points to in the Jamaican context is that the inclusion of Indigenous heritage in national narratives is part of ongoing strategies of Jamaican (and Caribbean) people to define what it means to be Caribbean. As Modest asks, if the original peoples of the region no longer exist in some islands, at what point do the new occupants become Indigenous? ^{Footnote 9} While an answer to this question is beyond the scope of our analysis, it is nevertheless pertinent for the question of Caribbean collections and the issue of returns more broadly.

Vrdoljak outlines three principle rationales for the return of cultural objects: the first is based on the principle of territoriality and the link between people, land, and cultural objects; the second is premised on righting international wrongs; and the third is based on the principle of self-determination and reconciliation. ^{Footnote 10} It is this third rationale—that of self-determination—from which Modest proposes that a claim for restitution can be made so that “the new indigenous peoples of Jamaica can claim the restitution of the sculptures of the old indigenous peoples, providing a material bridge between the past and present.” ^{Footnote 11} It is not only from the perspective of self-determination, however, that the issue of returns can be viewed in the Caribbean context. In a similar way that Columbus’s quincentenary in 1992 provided the impetus for a discussion on Caribbean identity, CARICOM’s current call for reparations has provided a new stimulus to the issue of cultural returns from the perspective of historical justice, reconciliation, and, indeed, Indigenous rights, which correspond more closely to the first two rationales outlined by Vrdoljak above—that is, the link between people, place, and cultural objects as well as righting historical wrongs. For example, in October 2015, the Santa Rosa First Peoples’ Community of Trinidad organized a symposium on the question of restitution and reparations, held at the University of Trinidad and Tobago. ^{Footnote 12} No specific call was made for the return of cultural objects, but references were made to the return of Caribbean cultural material more generally, in addition to the desire to find out more information about such material.

Similar discourse has been observed at academic conferences in Nassau (Association of Caribbean Historians annual meeting), ^{Footnote 13} Edinburgh (an event entitled “Repairing the Past, Imagining the Future: Reparations and Beyond”), ^{Footnote 14} and Leiden (an event entitled “On the Poetics and Politics of Redress”). ^{Footnote 15} The link here can be traced to CARICOM’s “ten point plan for reparations,” which specifically mentions “cultural institutions” in point 4 of the program. ^{Footnote 16} It refers to the existence in Europe of museums and institutions that “serve to reinforce within the consciousness of their citizens an understanding of their role in history as rulers and change agents” but that, conversely, Caribbean schoolteachers and researchers do not have the same opportunity “as there are no such institutions in the Caribbean.” ^{Footnote 17} Indeed, a sense of cultural loss is one of the greatest looming legacies among contemporary Indigenous communities in the region. Yet the precise nature of Caribbean cultural collections in European institutions remains a mystery. Would the content of these collections be of interest to communities and, indeed, the general public? What are the legal grounds, if any, for formal requests of return? And what are the alternatives to returns that facilitate access through cultural cooperation? In attempting to answer these questions, we must first examine the profile of Caribbean archaeological collections themselves. ^{Footnote 18}

PROFILE OF CARIBBEAN COLLECTIONS IN EUROPEAN MUSEUMS

Caribbean archaeological objects can be found in a variety of collections worldwide, ranging from unique masterpieces owned by wealthy private collectors to thousands of ceramic sherds collected by twentieth-century archaeologists and housed at large national museums or universities. Some of the privately owned masterpieces, as well as a number of unique museum objects, have been publicly displayed in various exhibitions and subsequently published in lavishly illustrated and informative catalogues. ^{Footnote 19} Research into the history of the collections, as well as on the trajectories of individual pieces, has recently gained momentum with the work of various archaeologists in the Caribbean, the United States, and Europe. These investigations combine material culture analysis with the (re-)examination of historical sources and historiographic works, producing refined studies on selected Caribbean masterpieces. ^{Footnote 20} However, in order to achieve a better understanding of the scope and the historical circumstances of such collections, and, therefore, to analyze the potential for claims for returns or repatriation of individual objects or groups of objects, a comprehensive view of the profile of collections is needed. In other words, it is essential to have a general overview of what exactly is meant when one refers to Caribbean collections in Europe.

Earlier attempts at systematizing the breadth and scope of Caribbean archaeological collections in museums have resulted in highly informative, yet partial, work. For instance, Robert Myers developed a list of archaeological materials from Dominica in North American and European museums. More recently, Dan Hicks and Jago Cooper developed an overview of the Caribbean collection at the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford. ^{Footnote 21} John Weeks and Peter Ferbel, in their book Ancient Caribbean, provide an extensive and detailed bibliography and museum/collection list organized by Caribbean islands within the subdivision “Greater Antilles” and “Lesser Antilles.” For each island, they list guidebooks, catalogues, or articles that normally address a country-specific or culture-specific collection within the holdings of a larger museum. Such works are highly useful for research questions that are geographically circumscribed, as is the case for the list developed by Myers, which pertains to objects from Dominica only. Interestingly, in the introduction to Ancient Caribbean, the authors note that “the extent of Caribbean collections in the United States and European museums is unknown and difficult to determine.” ^{Footnote 22} While these earlier surveys provide a useful starting point for research into Caribbean objects in museums, the advent of the Internet and the digitization of museum collections—a point to which this article will later return—have made it possible for researchers to attain a more comprehensive view of these collections. Likewise, it has become less time consuming for curators to answer specific research queries such as ours.

As part of the European Research Council-funded Synergy project NEXUS 1492: New World Encounters in a Globalizing World, an inventory has been developed of Caribbean pre-Columbian archaeological collections in European museums. ^{Footnote 23} It aims to locate and identify collections and develop an inventory of the types of museums, in which countries they are located, and what types of objects they keep as well as to ascertain the history (when known) of the collectors and their assemblages. For each European country, a list was developed with the main national and regional archaeological, ethnographic, or historical museums that hold archaeological collections from abroad. In each museum, curators were contacted, and, in most cases, museums were visited in person so as to allow for an analysis of the collection—a method that proved essential in the case of museums whose catalogues were not completely available online. For each museum, a database entry was created in which the following information was recorded: (1) size of the collection; (2) number of objects on display; (3) materials and types of objects found in the collection; (4) information on collectors and year of acquisition by the museum; (5) existing studies and bibliography on the collection; and (6) the presence or absence of a searchable online museum catalogue. ^{Footnote 24}

Collections of Caribbean archaeological objects have been identified in 59 museums across Europe. These museums are located in Austria, Belgium, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom. ^{Footnote 25} Their collections range from 1 to 8,000 artifacts each and amount to more than 30,000 individual pieces and generally include objects in materials such as lithics, pottery, wood, shell, animal, and human remains. The objects are identified as having been made by different pre-Columbian Indigenous cultures in the Caribbean, such as the Taíno (circa 1000–1500 ad) and older cultures, ranging from 1000 bc to ad 1500. The most commonly found materials in museum collections are lithics and pottery, and the oldest collections normally include a large portion of lithic pieces due to the durability of the materials. Artifacts made with beads or organic materials such as cotton are less commonly found in the collections studied. There is a wide diversity of types of objects found in such collections. By far the most common objects are ceramic sherds, which amount to thousands of individual pieces registered in museums. These normally consist of fragments of vessels and adornos (caritas). Ceramic pieces also include whole vessels of varying sizes, figurines, and other objects such as sniffers. The lithic pieces are normally (and mostly) axes, but also include three-pointers, stone collars, small figurines or sculptures, celts, chisels, grinders, pestles, and other tools and implements. Objects made of shell include beads, pendants, adzes, chisels, and other tools. Objects made of wood are less common, but, at the same time, they exemplify some of the most beautiful items such as duhos (ceremonial seats) and vomitive spatulas. ^{Footnote 26} Animal and human remains are the least common materials among the collections studied.

The size of the collections range from very small (up to 10 objects), small (from 11 to 100 objects), medium (from 101 to 999 objects), to large (more than 1,000 objects). Out of the 59 collections studied, 21 were classified as very small, 20 collections were small, 7 collections were medium, another 7 were classified as large and, for 4 collections, their exact sizes have not been confirmed. The largest collections were those at the National Museum of Denmark (about 8,000 objects), the British Museum (about 7,000 objects), and the Musée du quai Branly in Paris (about 4,200 objects). The National Museum of World Cultures in the Netherlands (about 2,700 objects), the Ethnologisches Museum in Berlin (about 2,200 objects), and the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology in Cambridge (about 1,700 objects) also hold major collections.

These collections include archaeological objects coming from a number of Caribbean islands, from the Greater Antilles (Cuba, Jamaica, Haiti, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico), the Lesser Antilles (US Virgin Islands, British Virgin Islands, Saba, St Eustatius, St Kitts and Nevis, Barbuda, Antigua, Montserrat, Dominica, Martinique, Guadeloupe, St Lucia, Barbados, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Grenada, Trinidad and Tobago) as well as the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos Islands, Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao. Many of the collections have not been thoroughly documented, and, therefore, it is not possible to have precise statistics in terms of how many objects or collections come from each Caribbean island. We can say, however, that there is not one Caribbean island, or one group of islands (Greater or Lesser Antilles), with an overwhelming presence in museum collections. For instance, 24 museums have objects coming from Haiti, and 17 museums have objects from the Dominican Republic; at the same time, 23 museums have materials from Dominica and 17 from Barbados (Figure 1). This bolsters the argument that the profile of Caribbean collections in European museums is varied and diverse.

Figure 1.

Clay pot from the Dominican Republic (Boca Chica), collection Wirz 1948, inventory number IVc 6326. Museum der Kulturen, Basel, Switzerland. Photograph by M. Françozo, 2013.

In the same vein, in terms of the present-day location of Caribbean objects in museums vis-à-vis their original geographical provenience, this research has found that museum collections are often characterized by a complex succession of object exchanges. In other words, while one would expect that the largest collections, as well as the most important pieces, would be found in museums located in the capitals of former European empires that colonized the Caribbean, there is no straightforward correlation between these two factors. As mentioned earlier, national museums in Denmark, England, and France hold the largest collections of Caribbean archaeological artifacts; however, German museums also keep collections that are significant in size and that are very important in their historical, archaeological, and aesthetic value. Italian museums such as the Museo di Antropologia ed Etnografia dell’Università di Torino and the Museo di Storia Naturale of the Università degli Studi Firenze hold unique masterpieces from the Greater Antilles. By contrast, in Portugal and Spain, the amount of objects located so far has been smaller than one would expect given the prominent role that these countries held in the process of the colonization of the Americas. These were two of the largest colonial powers in the New World, and they constituted important ports of entry for numerous collections of curiosities during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and for the material results of scientific expeditions until the late nineteenth century. ^{Footnote 27} In Portugal, only one museum was found that presently owns Caribbean archaeological artifacts—the Museu da Farmácia in Lisbon—which owns one vomitive spatula in bone, which was acquired at a British auction house in the 1990s. In Spain, the Museo de America houses 72 archaeological objects from the Caribbean, the Museo de Antropología owns five objects, and the Museo Naval holds eight objects (currently on display). It is likely that many more objects can still be found in Spanish museums, but limitations in object classification and cataloguing (and, therefore, accessibility of information) have thus far restricted the results of this research.

On the other hand, in Switzerland, the Museum der Kulturen in Basel and the Musée d’Ethnographie de Genève (MEG) hold important collections that do not stem directly from colonial activities in the Caribbean but, rather, reflect the entanglements between heritage, archaeology, and European commercial and scientific activities in the Americas (Figure 2). In Basel, the museum collection includes stone tools, some animal and human bones, dozens of ceramic sherds, and a ceramic sniffing bowl collected by Swiss geologist Hans Kugler (1893–1986) at diverse sites in Trinidad and Tobago as a side result of his work for a Swiss oil company during the first half of the twentieth century. While Kugler was not a professional archaeologist, his work as a geologist allowed him to locate and collect objects that are part of Trinidadian Indigenous heritage and which his widow later donated to the Basel museum. Likewise, in Geneva, the MEG keeps a collection of about 100 pieces from Guadeloupe collected by the archaeologist Louis Guesde (active circa 1884–1900) in the late nineteenth century. They were acquired from Gabriel Eudeline, who had probably bought them directly from Guesde. ^{Footnote 28} This collection is directly linked to those located at the Ethnologisches Museum in Berlin, the National Museum of Denmark, and the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC—all of which hold Caribbean archaeological collections assembled by Guesde—and to the collection at the Musée du quai Branly in Paris, which owns a series of drawings made by Guesde depicting his archaeological collection. The relationship between these four specific museum collections, as well as the exact provenience of some of the Guesde artifacts, are currently the subject of scholarly research. ^{Footnote 29}

Figure 2.

Sample of the Caribbean archaeological collection at the Museum der Kulturen, Basel, Switzerland. Photograph by M. Françozo, 2013.

In summary, the differences in size of collections between museums in Portugal and Spain, on the one hand, and Germany and Switzerland, on the other, reveal that there is not a single, direct line connecting the objects once excavated or found in the Caribbean to the European museums where they are presently kept. The Kugler and Guesde collections, moreover, suggest that the role of nineteenth- and twentieth-century scientific and commercial endeavors, the trade between museums, and the art market was pivotal in the formation of museum collections as we know them at present. All of this points to the importance of the history of collections and matters of provenience and provenance when discussing heritage ownership and the possibility of claims for returns.

While these two terms—provenience and provenance—are sometimes used interchangeably, we use the traditional archaeological definition of provenience in this article as “the original location where an object was found through documented excavation” and provenance as the history of ownership of the object by museums and collectors or a “chain of successive owners.” ^{Footnote 30} Provenance may also include the maker of the object or its first owners prior to the object’s deposit in an archaeological context; however, for matters related to cultural property, and in the discipline of art history, the current usage of provenance generally highlights the owners of an object after its excavation. ^{Footnote 31} For the purposes of this article, we are interested precisely in this post-excavation chain of ownership and, especially, on the dates of object acquisition by museums. In this regard, of the 59 museums researched, we can state that the overwhelming majority of Caribbean archaeological collections were acquired and accessioned into the museum collections prior to the entry into force of modern international conventions dealing with the illicit trade in cultural property. ^{Footnote 32}

During the course of this research, it has become clear that, for Caribbean archaeological collections, both aspects of an object’s profile—its provenience and its provenance—are not always present in museum records, nor is the information complete (when extant). In terms of information on provenience, documentation on excavations and find-sites is more frequently present for recent, twentieth-century collections, but this is not consistently the case. The Kugler collection in Basel, for instance, is well documented as it contains the indication of archaeological find-sites in Trinidad for all of its objects; however, detailed excavation reports are missing and, therefore, so is the precise archaeological find context for each piece.

As for the objects’ provenances, we have divided the objects and collections in museum holdings into three categories: (1) historical collections—that is, those resulting from early modern collecting practices or from early nineteenth-century field expeditions; (2) modern collections, assembled from the mid-nineteenth century until the mid-twentieth century and resulting from archaeological and other scientific explorations; and (3) contemporary collections, late twentieth- and twenty-first-century acquisitions, normally bought from private collectors or acquired on the art market. The exact number of collections (or objects) from each period is difficult to determine, again due to lack of documentation and because more historical research is needed to ascertain their provenance. However, the presence of each period of collecting in museum profiles is very telling. From the 59 museum collections under scrutiny, 7 had only historical collections; 28 had only modern collections; 1 museum had a contemporary collection only; 6 museums had both historical and modern collections; 4 museums had both modern and contemporary collections, while 13 did not have information about when exactly their collections were assembled. This shows that, at least in terms of frequency, modern collections (present in 65 percent of museums) far outnumber the historical ones (present in 22 percent of museums) and contemporary ones (present in 8 percent of museums).

Historical collections are most commonly found in large or important national museums and private collections. They normally originate from older colonial or royal collections (such as the Habsburg collections in Austria, Italy, and Spain or the collections of the Ancién Regime in France). At the time of the creation of national museums in the nineteenth century, these collections were incorporated into these institutions as part of the national patrimony. They contain important pieces that are normally the main attractions when it comes to exhibiting Caribbean archaeology. As such, they have received much artistic and scholarly attention, including archaeological material culture analysis on their provenience and historical studies on their provenance; some good examples are the recent works on the Turin cotton zemi and the Weltmuseum Vienna zemi belt. ^{Footnote 33}

Such important historical pieces represent, however, a relatively small part of the total number of museum collections. A large portion of present-day museum collections are modern ones, comprised of numerous and diverse lithic pieces as well as pottery and ceramic sherds resulting from archaeological excavations from the mid-nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth century, which were accessioned into museum collections during that same period. There are also collections made at that time by missionaries and other amateur archaeologists, such as the Thomas Huckerby collection from Barbados and St Vincent at the Grassi Museum für Völkerkunde in Leipzig (collected in 1905 and 1913 and totalling 171 objects) or the missionaries of the Moravian Church, whose small collection of 16 blades from Jamaica, St Croix, Antigua, and Tobago is kept at the Völkerkunde Museum Herrnhut in Germany.

The documentation that accompanies the pieces generally varies in type and completeness. The collections in Berlin, for instance, are well documented, but it is often necessary to cross-reference the information in the (digitized) museum catalogue with the handwritten registers in the old accession books, via object inventory number and/or collector/year. Likewise, at the Musée du quai Branly, a visit to the museum’s archives and its mediatèque are mandatory when attempting to reconstruct collection histories and their provenance. There are also numerous examples of objects accessioned into museums during this period that do not have reliable data on provenience, let alone on specific find contexts or their stratigraphy. At the Städtisches Museum Braunschweig in Germany, for example, there are two beautiful zemi figures in the form of stone sculptures that are registered as “two zemis from Gonaïves, Haiti.” ^{Footnote 34} They were accessioned into the museum in 1900 as a gift from a certain Mrs Steckhan. Her son was a merchant and lived for some years in Gonaïves in the north of Haiti; hence, the designation of Gonaïves as the objects’ origin. ^{Footnote 35} Whether this city was also the objects’ find-spot (provenience), or if it was only one of the many places through which the objects travelled (provenance), is a question that still needs to be answered. Such is the case for many other Caribbean objects in European museums. Recent developments in technology and methods available for material culture analysis can help to find answers to these and other archaeological questions and can provide much-needed insight into the contexts surrounding where Indigenous pre-Columbian objects were produced and how they were used. ^{Footnote 36}

Finally, a few European museums have recent acquisitions in the form of Caribbean cultural material. These are exceptional cases in which local private collectors have donated a handful of objects to the museum. Such is the case at some museums in Germany and Switzerland; in most of the cases, the private donors wish to remain anonymous. Another case, as already mentioned, is the purchase of artifacts at auction houses and from the art market in order to complete a museum collection, such as the case of the Taíno vomitive spatula in Lisbon’s Museu da Farmácia. When objects are bought or received in such circumstances, it is difficult to trace their provenance and, hence, the legality of their ownership.

CARIBBEAN COLLECTIONS AND INTERNATIONAL LAW

The most significant international treaty in the regulation of the illicit trade of cultural objects is the 1970 Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property (UNESCO Convention). ^{Footnote 37} The UNESCO Convention, which entered into force in 1972 and has 134 states parties, provides for the restitution of cultural objects illegally exported or transferred after the date of the Convention’s entry into force. The Convention aims to protect cultural property from looting and illicit trade and essentially places the obligation on states to adopt measures to prevent illicit trade in their territories. It grants the right of states to declare certain cultural property as inalienable (Article 13(d)). Other prevention measures include inventories, export certificates, education campaigns, penal measures, and the monitoring of trade. Regarding restitution, the Convention provides that states parties undertake, at the request of the state party “of origin,” “to take appropriate steps to recover and return any such cultural property imported after the entry into force of this Convention in both States concerned, provided, however, that the requesting State shall pay just compensation to an innocent purchaser or to a person who has valid title to that property” (Article 7(b)(ii)). It is worth noting that the UNESCO Convention is non-retroactive and, therefore, only applies from the date of its entry into force. A provision had been included in the 1969 preliminary draft of the Convention that would have obliged states to recognize the ownership vested in a state or its citizens of cultural property acquired before the Convention entered into force, but this provision was later deleted. ^{Footnote 38} So while many Caribbean and European states are party to the treaty, and while it applies fully for the past decades, it does not apply to the majority of Caribbean collections outlined above, since the majority of them were accessioned into museum collections prior to 1970.

In addition to the UNESCO Convention, there is also a relevant private international law treaty, the 1995 Convention on Stolen or Illegally Exported Cultural Objects (UNIDROIT Convention). ^{Footnote 39} While the UNESCO Convention places an onus on states to regulate the import and export of cultural property, the UNIDROIT Convention places an onus on buyers to act with due diligence in the purchase of cultural objects. Its aim was to complement the UNESCO Convention and apply to private institutions and collectors, thereby filling the gap left in the public international law framework. In addition, the UNIDROIT Convention provides for a uniform treatment of restitution and covers all stolen objects, not just inventoried or declared ones. It also provides that a claim for return can be made by an individual or a state (provided the state in question is party to the Convention). The rationale behind the UNIDROIT Convention was that the response of so-called “art-importing” states was to assert that the duty lay on the “art-exporting” states to prevent theft and site looting within their national territories. Yet this is quite unrealistic for many former colonies and developing countries due to a lack of resources and capacity. The UNIDROIT Convention has received significantly less ratifications than its UNESCO counterpart, and it is also non-retroactive.

Aside from these conventions, certain provisions of international humanitarian law (the law of armed conflict) contain obligations pertaining to the obligation to return cultural property as a result of occupation—for example, the Hague Conventions on the Law and Customs of War on Land. ^{Footnote 40} Interestingly, the Hague provisions have been invoked before some national courts to bolster returns. For example, in the Venus of Cyrene case between Italy and Libya, the Italian Council of State referred to the customary rule that provided an obligation to return all cultural heritage taken as a result of colonization or war. ^{Footnote 41} The case concerned a marble statue, the Venus of Cyrene, which was found by Italian soldiers in Libya and shipped to Italy in 1913, where it went on display at the Museo Nazionale delle Terme of Rome. ^{Footnote 42} Although the Italian government had already agreed to return the statue to Libya, an Italian non-governmental organization—Italia Nostra—brought an action against the Ministry of Cultural Heritage seeking to block the restitution. In its 2008 decision, the Council of State ordered Italy to return the statue to Libya, acknowledging that the principle of self-determination of peoples had come to include cultural identity as well as cultural heritage linked either to the territory of a sovereign state or to peoples subject to a foreign government. ^{Footnote 43} As far as the issue of state responsibility is concerned, the Italian government abided by the principle of international law, according to which the commission of a wrongful act, such as the subjugation of people through military occupation, involves an obligation to make reparation in order to re-establish the pre-existing order. However, this only applies to military occupation and colonization in territories occupied after 1899, when the first Hague Convention came into being and only to agents of the state.

The First Protocol to the 1954 Hague Convention also regulates the circulation of cultural property in times of war by providing for obligations to prevent the export of cultural objects from occupied territories and, in the case that export might occur, providing for their return upon cessation of hostilities. ^{Footnote 44} The Second Protocol to the Hague Convention was adopted in 1999 and provides for an enhanced system of protection for cultural property. ^{Footnote 45} It obliges states parties to prohibit “any illicit export, other removal or transfer of ownership of cultural property” in an occupied territory (Article 9(1)(a)). While the Hague system constitutes the main body of international law relevant for the protection of cultural property in armed conflict and occupation, it cannot be applied to the Caribbean collections acquired in the modern or contemporary periods, due to both the applicability of humanitarian law in the Caribbean context and the non-retroactivity of the law. Nevertheless, the tenets of these rules, which are viewed as forming part of customary international law, are important in matters of public policy, even if they do not apply directly in this case.

While the main international treaties governing the illicit trade of cultural objects and returns do not apply directly to the Caribbean collections in question, there exist a number of relevant human rights provisions, which, although different substantively and procedurally to the aforementioned conventions, offer some scope for framing the question of returns in the Caribbean context. This is because human rights—and cultural rights in particular—apply to the existing link between people and the cultural heritage important to them. A number of important human rights provisions are relevant here, both in relation to the Indigenous communities self-identifying as descendants of the peoples inhabiting the Caribbean prior to the arrival of Europeans ^{Footnote 46} and to Indigenous Caribbeans, understood to mean Caribbean citizens more broadly. ^{Footnote 47}

As noted by Francesco Francioni, in so far as cultural heritage represents the sum of practices, knowledge, and representations that a community or group recognize as part of their history and identity, it is axiomatic that members of the group, individually and collectively, must be entitled to access and enjoy such cultural heritage as a matter of right. ^{Footnote 48} The right to culture was first recognized in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948). ^{Footnote 49} Article 27(1) states that “[e]veryone has the right freely to participate in the cultural life of the community, to enjoy the arts and to share in scientific advancement and its benefits,” which clearly recognizes an individual right to culture. The 1966 International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights reiterates this by providing that states parties “recognise the right of everyone to take part in cultural life” (Article 15.1(a)). ^{Footnote 50} This changes somewhat in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights of the same year, which articulates cultural rights not as universal but, rather, as belonging to minorities: “In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities exist, persons belonging to such minorities shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of their group, to enjoy their own culture, to profess and practice their own religion, or to use their own language”’ (Article 27). ^{Footnote 51} Both of these provisions apply in the Caribbean context.

In relation to self-identifying Indigenous communities in the Caribbean, the UN Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples specifically mentions the right to practice and revitalize cultural traditions and customs, which includes the right to maintain, protect, and develop the past, present, and future manifestations of culture (Article 11). ^{Footnote 52} The same article also provides for “redress through effective mechanisms, which may include restitution, developed in conjunction with indigenous peoples, with respect to their cultural, intellectual, religious and spiritual property taken without their free, prior and informed consent or in violation of their laws, traditions and customs” (Article 11). Although not binding stricto sensu, it is worth noting that 144 states voted in favor of adopting the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples at the sixty-first session of the United Nations (UN) in New York in September 2007. ^{Footnote 53}

While a potential claim from an Indigenous community for the return of cultural object(s) might face obstacles such as the burden of proof to prove continuity with said object(s), as well as statutes of limitations and property rights of buyers, returns can be framed in terms of cultural rights as part of the principles of international human rights. For example, the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in East Timor recommended the government of Indonesia to “establish a programme of repatriation for East Timorese artifacts, documents and culturally-related material currently outside the country” and invited “governments, institutions and individuals who have these items in their possession to return them to Timor Leste to assist in the conservation, development and diffusion of East Timorese culture in keeping with Article 15 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights.” ^{Footnote 54} This statement highlights the link between returns and the right to culture as articulated in Article 15. In General Comment no. 21, the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights expanded on the normative content of the right to take part in cultural life as well as the meaning of culture and each component of Article 15(1)(a) for the purposes of its implementation. In relation to the normative content, it stated:

It can be garnered from General Comment no. 21, and previous discussions on the content of Article 15, that the right to participate in cultural life entails access to cultural objects.

CARIBBEAN COLLECTIONS AND THE QUESTION OF RETURNS

While contemporary international treaties regulate the unlawful removal and trade in cultural objects, they apply only from their date of entry into force and only for those states that have signed and ratified them. As noted by Lyndel Prott, the UNESCO Convention is of very little interest to some developing states “since all of their major items of cultural significance are already in other countries.” ^{Footnote 56} This is why standards and guidelines are so important and why, in fact, they have been more influential in the resolution of cultural disputes than legal claims. As noted by Alessandro Chechi, “cooperation among states and other stakeholders is essential to resolve actual or potential restitution claims concerning cultural assets.” ^{Footnote 57}

Therefore, the absence of a concrete legal basis for claims does not preclude the possibility of returns based on international human rights norms or ethical considerations. While legal claims and court proceedings are often very costly, protected affairs and are usually the last resort when negotiation fails between parties, standards and guidelines provide for more flexibility and less conflict in facilitating cooperation between parties. In addition to the human rights provisions outlined above, a number of principles exist in the form of soft law, guidelines, and codes of ethics, including, inter alia, the International Council of Museum’s (IICOM) Code of Ethics for Museums, ^{Footnote 58} the International Law Association’s Principles for Cooperation in the Mutual Protection and Transfer of Cultural Material, ^{Footnote 59} and the United Kingdom’s Museums and Galleries Commission’s Guidelines for Good Practice: Restitution and Repatriation. ^{Footnote 60} It is also worth mentioning the UN Resolution on the Return or Restitution of Cultural Property to the Countries of Origin, which highlights “the importance attached by some countries to the return of cultural property that is of fundamental spiritual, historical and cultural value to them, so that they may constitute collections representative of their heritage.” ^{Footnote 61} Perhaps the greatest illustration of the international political importance attached to the issue of returns is the fact that the UN General Assembly has issued some 26 resolutions on the subject of restitution since the beginning of the process of decolonization in 1972. ^{Footnote 62}

For claims concerning cultural objects, the UN Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) established a special Intergovernmental Committee for Promoting the Return of Cultural Property to Its Countries of Origin or Its Restitution in Case of Illicit Appropriation in 1978. ^{Footnote 63} The Committee has only received a handful of claims, but it has had some successes in facilitating returns when negotiation breaks down. Most of its work has entailed advising states of ongoing claims in or out of the Committee, assisting in the general protection of moveable cultural property, promoting international instruments dealing with the regulation of cultural property, reporting on the implementation of said instruments, promoting processes that improve their effectiveness, and raising awareness. ^{Footnote 64}

Of specific relevance to the Caribbean is the Commonwealth Scheme for the Protection of Material Cultural Heritage, which was enacted in 1993. ^{Footnote 65} The impetus for its adoption originated in a case from 1973, when a London dealer in so-called primitive art took a Maori carving from New Zealand without a permit, even though it was required by New Zealand law. In 1983, the House of Lords decided that New Zealand had no standing in the English courts to recover the carving. ^{Footnote 66} This eventually led to the agreement of a scheme by the Law Ministers of the Commonwealth, which although not legally binding, does provide for the return of illegally exported cultural objects from one Commonwealth country to another. It is also termed in less problematic language than the UNESCO Convention; instead of the term “state of origin,” it deals with terms such as “country of export” (from whence the object had been exported) and “country of location” (where the proceedings are taken). State of origin is often impossible to identify, especially in the case of pre-Columbian objects, which often have pan-regional characteristics, rather than being associated with an individual nation-state. In fact, recent research has highlighted the long-distance spheres of interaction between Indigenous peoples in different islands of the Caribbean archipelago. In their networks of trade and social relations, Indigenous groups of the Caribbean created maritime networks in which “raw materials, final products, information, symbols, and esoteric knowledge were being circulated across geographical and cultural frontiers.” ^{Footnote 67} As a consequence, archaeological objects found in one island—a present-day nation-state—may not have originally been produced there or may exemplify the use of raw materials from one region and technologies or styles from another, making it increasingly difficult to ascribe property of every individual piece to one specific place of origin.

Cumulatively, these standards and codes of ethics emphasize cooperation as a means of contributing to reconciliation, self-determination, and the territorial link between people, place, and cultural objects. The most pertinent of these principles was articulated by ICOM when it was asked for its views at the height of the debate on claims for repatriation in the 1970s: that each people should be entitled to a representative collection of the best examples of its own culture. ^{Footnote 68} Thus, the issue of returns has significance beyond the dichotomy of retentionism or internationalism, which reduce the arguments and oversimplify the complexities and nuances involved when discussing returns and the status of cultural objects located in museums.

Returning to the question of Caribbean collections, therefore, and considering their profile, status, and role in the discourse concerning reparatory justice, a number of immediate questions need to be addressed. Any request for return presupposes a demand from the state and/or a group of individuals. Is there a demand for the return of cultural objects located outside the region among Caribbean governments? This is not so clear. The reparations discourse, which is for now a political project, would lead us to think so. While there is a lack of legal basis for bringing these wrongs to bear in a judicial setting, ^{Footnote 69} it must be underlined that there is a strong moral and ethical imperative for European states to acknowledge the past and contribute towards reconciliation through dialogue and other conciliatory means. Lucas Lixinski notes that cultural heritage can be an effective tool in remedying past wrongs due to its symbolic importance and its essential role in identity revival and development. ^{Footnote 70} The issue of cultural heritage is therefore appealing for its potential to unify the various communities represented in the Caribbean reparatory justice program. The second question that needs answering concerns whether a demand exists on the part of the Caribbean communities themselves. As indicated above, research has shown that a demand exists on the part of Indigenous communities in those islands with Indigenous populations (Dominica, St Vincent, and Trinidad). ^{Footnote 71} In addition, epistemic communities and cultural institutions view this as an important issue. However, a first initial step would require a precise request or formal claim for the return of certain object(s) initiated by the Caribbean states or institutions themselves.

An example of a governmental demand for the return of archaeological objects to the Caribbean took place between the former Netherlands Antilles and the National Museum of Ethnology (NME) in the Netherlands in the early 1980s. A volume of correspondence presently kept at the archives of the museum in Leiden documents this process, which started in 1980 with a request by the minister of the Netherlands Antilles to the director of the NME, asking for the return of the archaeological collection of the Netherlands Antilles so that it could be made available “for the purposes of exhibition and study in the land.” ^{Footnote 72} The minister argued that at the time of the excavation of these materials, they were taken to the Netherlands and placed at the NME because, “due to the lack of proper museum facilities in the Netherlands Antilles, materials could be damaged or lost.” ^{Footnote 73} However, he continues, the Archeologisch Antropologisch Instituut der Nederlandse Antillen (AAINA), which was created in 1967, could now safely house the collections. It is interesting to note that, initially, the government of the Antilles requested the return of only a selection of objects—namely, the artifacts that were featured as illustrations in studies published by Edwin Ayubi, J.P.B. de Josselin de Jong, and H.R. van Heekeren. The then director of the NME, Dr. Pieter H. Pott, expressed concern against this idea since he believed that only full collections should be transferred. Negotiations between the museum and the Dutch and Antillean authorities followed until the decision was made in 1983 to transfer all of the Antillean archaeological collections with the exception of materials that were either on permanent display at the Leiden museum or were on loan from a private collector. ^{Footnote 74} Finally, in 1984, a collection of about 4,500 archaeological objects was returned to the AAINA, which was succeeded in 1998 by the Nationaal Archeologisch en Antropologisch Museum van de Nederlandse Antillen in Curaçao. ^{Footnote 75}

This particular example of return raises a number of questions, two of which are of interest for our present purposes. First, the initial request for the return of only a selection of objects was based on the limited knowledge then available to interested parties in the Caribbean about the scope of the Antillean collections kept at the NME. This points to the importance of full disclosure of, and access to, information on the whereabouts of Caribbean collections abroad, to which this study, as well as the inventory being developed, hopes to contribute. Second, the initial reason why the archaeological material was sent to the Netherlands—the lack of proper conditions to keep the objects in the Netherlands Antilles—may still play a role in requests for return at present. Many museums in the Caribbean struggle with a lack of proper and continued funding for the upkeep of their material and personnel costs. While most Caribbean heritage institutions have an interest in receiving cultural objects, and while many European museums are also willing to enter into a dialogue about such a possibility, the return of artifacts would be most efficient if accompanied by programs of bilateral or multilateral collaboration for the purposes of study and exhibition. By doing so, an act of return would not simply be the physical return of objects but also the initial step in a hopefully longer process of cultural dialogue and cooperation. ^{Footnote 76}

ACCESS TO INFORMATION AND ONLINE DATABASES

When it comes to museum collections, access to information begins with the public display of objects. Of the 59 museums researched, only 15 had Caribbean archaeological objects on permanent display at the time of the research visit. Pieces can be shown individually with great fanfare (such as the Taíno zemi at the Museo Pigorini in Rome), or as part of a selection of important pieces from the region (such as the Caribbean showcase at the Musée du quai Branly in Paris), or even as part of a general display on South and Middle Americas (such as at the Museo de Antropología in Madrid). Museum displays, however, change over time, and the small percentage of objects on display as compared to the entire collections is not exclusive to Caribbean objects. This means that one of the biggest challenges faced by public museums worldwide is how to provide its public with access to their complete collections. Digital solutions have been one of the most common means adopted to raise awareness and disseminate knowledge about museum collections. ^{Footnote 77} In the Netherlands, for instance, the Foundations of Ethnographic Museum Collections has had its collection entirely accessible online for over two decades; ^{Footnote 78} other remarkable digital repositories in Europe are those of the Ethnologisches Museum in Berlin and the online system of the British Museum, among others, as well as the impressive Europeana.eu project, which aims to make accessible online the digital content of museums, galleries, archives, and libraries from all over the continent. ^{Footnote 79}

Yet, even when museums accomplish the Herculean task of placing all of their objects online, other problems of access still remain, particularly concerning issues related to the museum’s monopoly of the perspectives on the objects and the diverse ways in which different audiences will connect to the digital repositories. ^{Footnote 80} While Raymond Silverman convincingly argues that digital access to collections “is currently one of the most exciting arenas for community-engaged collaboration,” the digital media functions initially as a mirror of the material-, paper- and object-based information catalogue that a museum holds in its premises. ^{Footnote 81} This means that undocumented collections remain undocumented online and that the lack of knowledge on provenance and provenience is not automatically resolved by a virtual repository. Likewise, progress in knowledge about objects often cannot be quickly incorporated into online databases.

What digital databases can effectively do is to disseminate information about the range and profile of museum collections and, in doing so, create an opportunity for a multiplicity of stakeholders to engage with the objects. In recent years, such initiatives have resulted in a wide variety of digital community engagement projects worldwide and, quite vigorously, in the United Kingdom, North America, New Zealand, and Australia. ^{Footnote 82} In the light of such examples, and in terms of access to knowledge on the whereabouts of Caribbean archaeological objects, digital museum databases are a promising first step toward reconnecting stakeholders in the Caribbean with their heritage abroad. Nonetheless, when it comes to specific knowledge about provenience and acquisition dates in order to support possible claims for the physical return of objects to the Caribbean, more detailed historical, archaeological, and museological research still needs to be carried out to uncover the hidden histories of collections and object trajectories.