In the quiet storerooms of the Museum of Cantonal Archaeology and History of Lausanne, among shelves of artifacts and fragments of the past, rests a mummified human cranium. For decades it sat there, largely silent, carrying only the brief and often misleading note that accompanied it when it arrived in the 19th century. But beneath its dry bone and fragile tissue lies a life story—a narrative shaped by cultural tradition, medical practices, and the forces of colonial collection.
This skull, catalogued as individual I Y-001, has recently become the subject of scientific attention. Dr. Claudine Abegg and her colleagues, in a study published in the International Journal of Osteoarchaeology, set out to re-examine the remains. Through provenance analysis, taphonomic studies, and anthropological assessment, they attempted to give voice to an individual long reduced to an anonymous specimen. What emerged is a story not only of an ancient man but of the entangled history of archaeology, colonialism, and modern ethics.
From the Andes to Switzerland
The journey of I Y-001 began centuries ago in the highlands of the Andes. But his physical remains only found their way to Switzerland in 1876, when a man named Louis Kuffré—who had emigrated to Peru and later settled in Chile—sent the skull along with two dozen archaeological artifacts to his hometown museum in Lausanne.
Attached to the skull was a handwritten label: “No. 10—Skull of an Inca from Bolivia from the canton of Ayjach, province of Amasujos, found in an Indian ruin in the plain of the Cordilleras at the foot of Mount Illimani at 12,900 feet of altitude—According to the tradition of the present Indians, this skull would be that of a tribal chief.”
The label reflects a 19th-century European fascination with “Inca relics” and the tendency to flatten the diverse cultures of the Andes into a single, exotic identity. But modern analysis paints a more nuanced picture. The “ruine indienne” mentioned on the note almost certainly refers to a chullpa, a burial tower constructed by the Aymara people, whose traditions predated and coexisted with Inca rule. These towers were reserved for individuals of high social status—not always chiefs, but certainly figures of significance in their communities.
Thus, the skull was likely taken from one of these sacred funerary monuments, uprooted from its cultural context, and shipped across the ocean to serve European curiosity.
The Man Behind the Skull
While the circumstances of I Y-001’s displacement are entangled with colonial history, the remains themselves reveal remarkable details about his life. The skull belonged to an adult male, who lived at least 350 years ago, possibly much longer.
Three peculiarities stand out:
Artificial Cranial Elongation
The man’s skull had been deliberately shaped through cranial modification, a cultural practice in which an infant’s skull is bound to encourage elongation. Far from being a deformity, this was a powerful symbol of identity, practiced widely among the Aymara and other Andean groups. It signaled belonging to a specific community, a physical mark of cultural pride and heritage.
By the mid-16th century, Spanish colonial authorities viewed such practices with suspicion. In fact, between 1572 and 1575, Viceroy Francisco de Toledo officially banned skull-binding. The last known cases are documented in the mid-17th century, which means I Y-001 almost certainly lived before then, offering a rare biological window into precolonial or early colonial Andean life.
The Unfinished Trepanation
The skull also bears evidence of a trepanation, a surgical procedure in which a hole is drilled or scraped into the skull. This practice was widespread in ancient South America, often performed to treat head injuries, relieve pressure, or even for ritualistic reasons. In I Y-001’s case, the trepanation was attempted but never completed.
What makes this remarkable is that the man survived long enough for bone healing to occur. Whether the procedure was halted due to pain, lack of surgical skill, or a decision to abandon it midway, we cannot know. But this trace tells us something intimate: this man once lay before another human, his head prepared for an operation that could have ended his life. It also reveals the advanced medical practices of Andean cultures, where trepanation success rates were higher than those recorded in Europe at the time.
Signs of Suffering: A Tooth Abscess
Finally, the man suffered from a tooth abscess, a painful infection that left a lasting mark on his jaw. The cause remains speculative—possibly poor oral hygiene, which was not uncommon, or perhaps the habitual chewing of coca leaves. While coca chewing was an integral cultural practice in the Andes, excessive use could contribute to dental issues. This small but telling detail anchors I Y-001 not just as an archaeological subject but as a human being who endured pain, much like people do today.
The Colonial Trade in Human Remains
Why did this skull, along with countless others, end up in European museums? The answer lies in the practices of the 19th century. During this period, the collecting of human remains was widespread, often motivated by scientific curiosity but entangled with colonial exploitation.
A letter from the anthropologist Adolph Bandelier in the 1890s describes how easy it was to obtain human skulls in the Andes at the time. He wrote of Patacamaya, near Lake Titicaca, where “hundreds” of skulls were available and shipped abroad, sometimes even in bulk. His correspondence mentions that around 150 skulls had been sent for study, some with trepanations, to be analyzed by the famed anthropologist Franz Boas.
Such practices highlight a troubling reality: sacred burial sites were looted, and human remains treated as collectible objects. For the communities from which they were taken, these were not scientific specimens but ancestors, whose displacement represented both cultural loss and desecration.
Museums and the Weight of Responsibility
The case of I Y-001 exemplifies the dilemmas faced by museums today. Many institutions now seek to revisit their collections, acknowledging the colonial contexts of acquisition, re-examining provenance, and considering the ethics of continued possession.
Dr. Claudine Abegg emphasizes the complexities: what does respect for human remains look like when cultural perspectives differ so widely? Western secular views of scientific study may clash with Indigenous traditions that see remains as spiritually significant, requiring specific rituals of care or reburial.
Further complicating matters are the legal frameworks governing repatriation. Each country has its own laws and processes, and museums must navigate not only ethical obligations but also bureaucratic constraints.
As Abegg notes, truly ethical practice demands self-reflection: recognizing the biases of one’s own worldview and being open to perspectives shaped by different cultural and spiritual understandings of death.
Humanizing the Past
Beyond the academic findings, perhaps the most powerful aspect of I Y-001’s story is the reminder that he was once a living, breathing person. He belonged to a community that shaped his head in childhood, cared for him during an attempted surgery, and likely laid him to rest in a chullpa to honor his memory. Centuries later, his remains were uprooted and displaced into a foreign museum, where his identity was reduced to a label.
Modern science, while unable to restore his name or his voice, can at least help restore his dignity. By piecing together his story, researchers not only provide knowledge but also honor his humanity.
Looking Ahead: The Future of Ancestral Remains
The study of I Y-001 is part of a broader global movement to re-examine collections of human remains. Across the world, museums are confronting their pasts—repatriating remains when possible, and developing new frameworks of care when repatriation is not yet feasible.
The case raises urgent questions: Who has the right to decide the fate of human remains? Should they remain in museums for research and education, or be returned to the communities from which they came? Can science and cultural tradition find a respectful balance?
These are not easy questions, but they are essential ones. By asking them, we move closer to bridging the gap between the living and the dead, between scientific curiosity and cultural respect.
Conclusion: The Legacy of I Y-001
The skull of I Y-001 is more than a scientific specimen. It is a symbol of cultural history, of colonial disruption, of human resilience, and of the ethical challenges we face today. His elongated head, unfinished trepanation, and dental struggles all tell fragments of his life story, while his presence in a Swiss museum speaks volumes about the global histories of collecting and power.
As we continue to study and debate such remains, one truth stands out: to understand the past, we must not only analyze bones but also confront the ways in which those bones came to rest in our institutions. Only then can we move forward with both knowledge and respect, ensuring that individuals like I Y-001 are remembered not merely as specimens, but as people.
More information: Abegg Claudine et al, Anthropological, Pathological, and Historical Analyses of a Mummified Cranium From Bolivia Hosted in the Museum of Cantonal Archaeology and History of Lausanne, Switzerland, International Journal of Osteoarchaeology (2025). DOI: 10.1002/oa.70022
