Some acts of zealotry take the form of violence and bloodshed, while others end with dynamite and rubble. In the past two decades, fringe sects of extremist groups in the Middle East, namely the Taliban and Islamic State, demonstrated a brutal crusade against artistic heritage across the region. The motivations behind these destructive acts, as well as the proposed solutions to minimize the damages, create an international debate regarding realistic action towards attempts at restoration. The eradication of culturally significant art often hides behind claims of supposed religious fervor, when in fact, the more probable motives center around broadcasting a public spectacle of obliteration to perpetuate fear and discourage possible sedition. While political maneuvering and ongoing wars continually endeavor to resolve the roots of Middle Eastern conflict, the iconoclastic symptoms of this unrest have been dealt with by archaeologists, art historians, and museums alike. In attempting to prevent further harm to ancient public art and encourage healing in affected communities, understanding the circumstances of these attacks stands equally important alongside the efforts to honor lost objects. As cultural law expert Corrine Brenner expresses, “Cultural property is our inheritance from the past” and the fate of this common heritage is at stake. Using the systematic elimination of the Bamiyan Buddhas and ancient Assyrian monuments as apt case studies of modern iconoclasm in the Middle East, the intentions of religious extremists paint a dire picture for the future of ancient public art in the region and call for proactive steps in both the conservation and commemoration of endangered heritage.

As perhaps the most noteworthy act of Middle Eastern iconoclasm in the past twenty years, the Bamiyan Buddhas set a precedent for the level of visibility that fringe sects can receive by destroying such remarkable monuments. Finbarr Barry Flood, a professor at New York University specializing in Islamic art and artifacts, predicted that the bombing of the Buddhas would “define ‘Islamic iconoclasm’ in the popular imagination for several decades to come” (643). Serving as a Buddhist epicenter for hundreds of years, the valley of Bamiyan and its towering Buddha statues acted as a platform for a unique intersection of stylistic influences from the East and West. The Silk Road, a crucial trading network stretching back over two thousand years from China to Europe, snaked its way directly through the heart of Bamiyan valley (Flood 649). As a result, one can imagine the incredible wealth of cultural knowledge transported along this system of roads over the millenia, an exchange of ideas which directly affected public art in the region. Additionally, the placement of these carvings along the Silk Road meant that travelers would be unable to avoid seeing the stone giants, a spectacle of Buddhist art unlike any other. In examining the history of the site, the importance of simple placement in the creation of such notable public works comes into play. Had this merging of thought and culture by virtue of the Silk Road not occured, the final form and eventual notoriety of the Buddhas would have likely panned out much differently. With this contextualization in mind, the origins of these icons contribute heavily to their cultural importance.

Before the brutal annihilation of the monuments, their value as works of public art deserves attention and high praise, independent of their dark fate. Carved directly out of the sandstone cliffs, the two Bamiyan Buddhas measured over 170 and 115 feet respectively. Though the exact dates and details of the construction remain mostly a mystery, the Buddhas are thought to have been sculpted between the third and sixth century as discussed by Llewelyn Morgan, an Oxford professor and Afghanistan expert. The stylistic influence left by Greek conquerors in the age of Alexander the Great is particularly noteworthy in the formation of the Buddhas, as seen in their Hellenistic-style robes (Morgan 5). Using mixtures of mud and straw, the details of the hands and arms would have been added on additionally due to the delicate quality of the sandstone. Similarly, wood masks were likely applied to the faces, as a means of designing the facial features more precisely. A coating of stucco and paint was applied as the final stage, with the smaller Buddha being painted many different colors while the larger statue was solely painted in a bold shade of carmine red (Morgan 9). Additional jewels may have been adhered to the statues for special occasions, yet another visual component which would have starkly contrasted the beige cliffside. The recesses of the sandstone niches served as home to many incredible frescos, adding color and life to the towering walls. In the caves blotting the cliffs around the Buddhas, other paintings and smaller statues lay hidden, seemingly waiting to be discovered by curious passersby. This bright display entranced travelers since their inception centuries ago, standing tall as a true testament to the lasting visual power of ancient works of public art. 

  The Bamiyan Buddhas of central Afghanistan proved to be such an impressive artistic feat that the splendor of the monuments could only be outshined by one thing: their destruction. In March of 2001, the Taliban came to Bamiyan armed with dynamite and a distinct goal of total obliteration in mind. Using ladders and ropes, men stuck explosives into every crevice of the Buddha statues they could find. Within a few short weeks, both the larger and smaller Buddhas of Bamiyan were lost to the turmoils of history (Flood 653). The detonation was streamed on live television by the Taliban themselves, broadcasting the explosions ripping apart the sandstone carvings for the entire world to see. As the loss of the Buddhas is still mourned by the international community, many question why the Taliban had the urge to destroy these incredible monuments. Seeing as the Taliban governed the region at the time and had released statements declaring the Buddhas as sacrilegious icons, the news outlets jumped at the chance to delve into the tense connection between the Muslim faith and the religious use of icons. After all, these ideology-based actions seemed to reflect a “profound religious repugnance at such idols”(Cuno 108). However, the destruction of the Buddhas represented only a portion of the cruelty demonstrated by the Taliban in Bamiyan, as other actions suggest that their motives extended beyond using claims of religiosity to eradicate inanimate icons.

The events in Bamiyan triggered a sweeping response globally as onlookers saw the unthinkable happen to the colossal sculptures, but the reality was far worse for those in the valley itself. An international affairs briefing report led by Sara Quagliaroli details the experience of the Shia community living in Bamiyan at the time, as most were forced out of their homes to watch the bombing of the Buddhas and some individuals were even killed when they refused the orders of Taliban (Quagliaroli 27). Heartbreakingly, the loss of the Buddha statues seemed to garner far more international sympathy than the deaths of the residents of Bamiyan valley on that fateful day. The treatment of the Shia people of Bamiyan serves as a gut-wrenching example of life imitating art, in this case the cruelty shown to art, and offers much insight into the motivations behind the actions of the Taliban. While public art may have been the attention-grabbing focal point, the meaning behind the dynamite was aimed at the nation’s Shia population. In the words of international security professionals Thomas H. Johnson and M. Chris Mason, “While in power the Taliban had a deliberate anti-Shia program against Afghanistan’s ethnic Hazara, who are predominantly Shia, and led numerous massacres against them, killing tens of thousands” (76). The Bamiyan Buddhas stood as a treasure and pride for the Shia Hazara people who call Bamiyan home, a fact that the Sunni-based Taliban manipulated to exercise religious and political dominance. Extremist groups began to realize the power of decimating ancient art as a means of cultural supremacy to pacify the people, with Bamiyan serving as ground zero of this severe political messaging.

As the Taliban began to lose influence in Afghanistan in the early months of 2002, many hoped that the atrocities committed against both the people and the art in the region would quell. Unfortunately, some monsters grow back two heads once the first is chopped off, with the latter being the Islamic State. Though the two extremist sects come from very different backgrounds and schools of Islam, both manipulate doctrines as a means of imposing an intensely conservative system of iconoclasm and discipline onto Middle Eastern populations (Cuno 81). While these actions stem from motives that extend beyond religiosity into a hunger for political power and control, the religious basis on which these groups claim as their justifications must be examined. The Islamic State’s and the Taliban’s respective interpretations of Islamic doctrine diverge in many ways, with the Islamic State supporting a Salafi jihadist ideology and the Taliban following the Deobandi school. The histories of these movements are deeply complex and multi-layered, however, some similarities do exist. The beliefs of the Islamic State and the Taliban find common roots in the religious school of Wahhabism which emerged in the eighteenth century, as researched by Islamic affairs experts Ondřej Beránek and Pavel Ťupek. Several accounts detail the historical patterns of Wahhabist followers destroying revered places, particularly funerary sites, due to an intense opposition to the veneration of saints or shrines (Beránek and Ťupek 72). Interestingly enough, despite their current ideological departures, the roots of the Islamic State began to grow in Afghanistan around the same time that the Bamiyan Buddhas were decimated, with many of the earliest ISIS members forging connections with the Taliban during this period. Though the two distinct sects developed into very separate and equally complicated entities over time, these mutual ties to Wahhabism and common threads of radicalization contribute to the ideological development that led to acts of destruction in the Middle East.

Extreme interpretations of Islam have created such hostility towards anthropomorphic artwork that significant portions of Middle Eastern anitiquity have been lost, to the point of systemic obliteration of entire ancient cities. Beyond just seeing certain artworks and monuments as blasphemous, other key religious factors seem to be a common motivator of iconoclasm within the various ideologies of the Taliban and Islamic State. One of these factors is the concept of takfir, which essentially entails branding a person or movement as disingenuous in their practice of Islam. Radical groups often interpret this idea as a reason to use violence to punish Muslims and non-Muslims alike for failing to practice their iteration of the faith (Al-Ibrahim 409). Additionally, the teaching of shirk action, meaning any rejection of the Oneness of Allah, admonishes the worshipping of idols and polytheistic ideals, yet another doctrine that zealot groups use to condemn vulnerable populations to unjust punishment (Al-Ibrahim 413). Combining these doctrines with a fanatical and deadly lust for power, the motivations behind the iconoclasm of the Bamiyan Buddhas and the persecution of the Shia in the region become far clearer. These types of crusades can be seen across history and geography from almost every religion and society, with the treatment of art often serving as a manifestation of individuals finding any excuse to carry out genocidal or hateful acts. While these key concepts comprise only a portion of the factors contributing to the ideological extremes in the Middle East, they certainly contextualize the continuing threat to public art in the region. ISIS now carries this iconoclastic torch, taking it to ancient sites in Iraq, Syria, Turkey, and elsewhere. While the Taliban’s destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas is often thought of as a single traumatic event, the Islamic State represents a far more ongoing, systemic menace to ancient art and artifacts. 

A final contributing aspect of artistic annihilation used by the Islamic State takes the form of an intensive vendetta against pre-Islamic heritage, which can be seen through their purposeful razing of ancient public monuments in Assyrian cities. Using the specific example of the lamassu sculptures in the city of Nineveh, the acts of ISIS not only eradicate the cultural heritage of the region, but aid the erasure of the communal memory of a time before they came to power. Kanishk Tharoor and Maryam Maruf of BBC News detailed the long life and history of one particular lamassu sculpture which stood at Nergal Gate at the entrance to ancient Nineveh, describing its “majesty and the exquisite craftsmanship.” Almost three thousand years old, the sculpture was carved from a large piece of limestone and transformed into the image of a classic Assyrian deity called a lamassu. With the body of a bull, wings of an eagle, and head of a man, the lamassu represented protection and security. Towering tall alongside the gates of Nineveh, one of the largest and most impressive capitals of the ancient world, the statue would have sent a striking message of strength to anyone entering the city (Tharoor and Maruf 1). This work of public art held timeless symbolism, offering a remarkable glimpse into the artistic and political reputation of the Assyrian empire. Yet, with complete disregard of this history, a member of ISIS irreparably defaced the lamassu with handheld power tools in 2015. Unlike the Taliban, these extremists were not happy with the obliteration of a sole monument and did not stop at the gates of Nineveh. 

The loss of this singular lamassu in 2015 pales in comparison to the hundreds of thousands of art works, public monuments, and museum artifacts that have been pulverized by the Islamic State in the past ten years. Usually using just hammers and drills, ISIS wiped out entire collections across the Middle East, erasing thousands of years of heritage and cultural property (Cuno 80). Completely leveling ancient cities such as Palmyra and Hatra, the Islamic State made a point of attacking the monumental architecture and public art that people of the region identified with so deeply. These actions, though cloaked in the same religion-driven language as previously discussed, hint at a deeper urgency to erase the pre-Islamic history of the Middle East. As geopolitical researcher Mubaraz Ahmed states, “ISIS seeks to present to future generations a new version of history.” By destroying even secular monuments of the ancient past, ISIS betrays its own motivations. Rather than being purely focused on enacting their interpretation of the truest form of Islam, they seek power through reconstructing a narrative in which their ideologies and beliefs are all that ever was and all that ever will be (Ahmed 1). Tearing down ancient cities offers a physical and metaphorical blank slate on which to build an empire constructed on the foundation of the Islamic State’s own specific branch of extremism. The annihilation of public art and ancient cities by ISIS offers apt symbolism for their calculated rewriting of the past. With the lamassu no longer standing to protect its city, so falls the metaphorical gatekeeper of the truth of its history. 

In understanding the crisis that public art faces in the Middle East, one may feel desperate for solutions and redemption for the countless masterpieces of ancient times that have been lost. The debate of what to make of the rubble left behind by iconoclasm still rages hotly on, with many schools of thought taking differing stances. While a physical restoration often comes to mind as the preferable solution, art in areas of conflict faces unique problems when discussing conservatory efforts. The potential political ramifications of restoration must not be forgotten and the voices of the cultural groups most affected must not be lost in the conversation. If an extremist group made a point of destroying an object, the reconstruction of that sculpture or monument may elicit an even more unfavorable reaction. In the case of the Bamiyan Buddhas, several Afghani citizens expressed the opinion that while they deeply mourned the loss of the sculptures, they feared retribution from zealots if they were to be rebuilt (Quagliaroli 27). Given the trauma that the Shia people endured during the initial attack, their wishes were respected and little was done with the empty niches left by the Buddhas for several years. However, as time went on and the threat of the Taliban significantly decreased, the possibility for restoration without retaliation opened up and various projects have since been carried out which stretch the imagination regarding the future of conservation and technology.

Expansions in technological restoration have begun to pave the way for the future of saving public art and other significant heritage sites, spearheaded by groups such as the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Shortly after the Taliban fell from power in central Afghanistan, UNESCO began to conduct research and excavations in an attempt to salvage any fragments left behind by the explosions (Toubekis et al. 4). As more and more sandstone features of the Buddhas were uncovered, the decision was made to conduct a massive laser scanning project of the remnants. Amazingly enough, the researchers were able to compile the scans and created an almost entirely complete digital reconstruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas (Toubekis et al. 6). While these scans have not been used to physically resurrect the Buddhas where they once stood, this technological resource allows for a myriad of future restoration possibilities for the sculptures. This strategy of digitizing history has expanded greatly since these early efforts of UNESCO. One man, an Iraqi civil engineer named Ben Kacyra, watched the Bamiyan Buddhas fall in 2001 and felt such outrage that he founded a nonprofit entirely dedicated to preserving endangered heritage sites with 3D scanning technology (Reichental 1). In Kacyra’s words, he hopes to preserve the “collective human memory” that may be threatened by either human error or natural causes. Kacyra is not alone in this mission, as many others seek out inventive ways to honor lost monuments. In 2015, a Chinese couple provided funding for a massive hologram to be projected into the large Bamiyan Buddha niche for one night only (Reichental 2). Unconventional as they may appear, these projects demonstrate a merger of modern technology and ancient public art, painting an intriguing picture for the evolution of conservation and commemoration strategies in the wake of iconoclasm.

While some innovators turned to technology to give lost artworks a new life, others use the same medium originally used to create these ancient wonders in the first place. Though contemporary forms of artistic expression often differ greatly from artwork produced millenia ago, artist Michael Rakowitz bridged the gap between the two in a protest piece against the iconoclastic actions of the Islamic State. Displayed on the Fourth Plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square, an internationally recognized hub for public art, Rakowitz created a replica of the very same lamassu that was vandalized at Nergal Gate in Nineveh (Rea 1). An Iraqi-American sculptor, Rakowitz hoped to reinstate the national pride and heritage that was brutally ripped away from so many across the Middle East with his piece, entitled “The Invisible Enemy Should Not Exist.” The exterior of this contemporary iteration of the lamassu was made entirely of date syrup cans, an armor of sorts, in homage to the date palm business which was so vital to Iraq’s economy and culture before the continual wars wiped out the industry (Rea 1). The poetic nature of the ancient lamassu being destroyed only to be rebirthed on yet another public art stage in a contemporary fashion cannot be understated. Rakowitz’s vision embodies the sentiment of many individuals who seek to reclaim that which has been stolen from their countries and cultural heritage. In light of the contributions of both modern artists and technological progress ever-increasing, the negative impact of the Taliban and the Islamic State appears slightly less irreparable. Though these ancient works of public art may not live on in the same form, their future holds unforetold life in new technologies and current artistic movements. 

In current cases of iconoclasm, a slight irony can be found in the fact that the main goal of both the extremist groups and the art itself is simply to be seen and generate a response from the public. Equally challenging as dissecting the multifaceted motives behind iconoclasm of ancient public art, is the dilemma of discerning how to revive that which it damages. Repurposing these artistic icons not only offers new life to the piece itself, but presents an opportunity for reclaiming cultural identity and resisting against unjust acts of oppression. The eradication of the Bamiyan Buddhas at the beginning of the century remains the cornerstone of this debate, prompting two decades of conversation regarding possible restoration in the context of a volatile political environment. Ultimately, the evolving strategies of 3D scanning technology and digital programming prevailed, contributing true-to-life scans of the lost statues of Bamiyan. This modern perspective on artwork stretching back thousands of years prevents extremists from completely removing monuments from public consciousness. As seen in the defacement of the lamassu of Nineveh, a proverbial phoenix from the ashes, contemporary public art may honor the annihilated works that came long before its creation. A common sense of indignation and resistance fuels the fire of restoration in each of these diverse efforts, perpetuating a collective sentiment rooted in the conviction that this destruction will not go unnoticed or uncriticized. 

Cruelty stretches far beyond art, yet art cuts so deeply to the core of the human propensity for carnage. As the Taliban and Islamic State endeavor to extinguish the radiant heritage left behind by millennia of culture, they seal their own fate in historical memory as brokers of destruction. Greed and power breeds conflict that impacts both irreplaceable art and innocent lives in the Middle East, an international predicament which requires both cooperation and compassion as a means of combating subjugation. As the Islamic State continues to weaponize art against vulnerable populations under the guise of radical devotion, the importance of basic rights and human dignity rise above the harm done by iconoclastic actions. Nonetheless, harnessing the enduring impressions left behind by these remarkable ancient artworks prevents extremists from accomplishing their goal of rewriting history. Direct action must be taken through the collaboration of cultural heritage conservation agencies and national governments, or else risk further annihilation of the rich heritages and histories of Middle Eastern communities. Dynamite may tarnish stone, but public memory is much harder to destroy. Rather than simply mourning the monuments that these iconoclastic acts sought to erase, a unified global outcry continues to transform the rubble left behind into a stage on which to protest even louder. 

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