Against the Illusion: The Limits of Digital Repatriation in Restitution Debates

December 8, 2025

By Afroditi Karatagli

Museums and cultural institutions increasingly use the language of digital repatriation^[1] – the idea that returning digital surrogates of cultural heritage objects to source communities can serve as a modern form of restitution.^[2] A high-resolution scan of a sacred mask, a 3D model of looted bronzes, or an online archive of Indigenous songs is presented as meaningful compensation for the continued retention of the originals. At first glance, the concept appears progressive, even generous one might argue: it suggests reconnection, wider accessibility, and the promise of shared stewardship. Yet it is precisely this promise that makes the idea so deceptive. A more careful analysis would reveal that digital repatriation does not constitute repatriation at all; it is, at best, yet another form of documentation and at worst, a cynical strategy to avoid legal and moral responsibility.

Issues and Challenges

The first and most obvious issue lies in the misuse of the word repatriation itself. Repatriation indicates a form of return, it signifies restoring what was taken (physically, materially, or spiritually). Yet digital replicas cannot restore ancestral, ceremonial, or sacred presence, they cannot repair the legal theft of title, and they definitely cannot re-establish the living continuity between people and heritage that was violently severed by colonial plunder. After all, if digital access were a truly sufficient alternative, museums would have no reason to insist on maintaining possession of the originals; they could easily return the original objects to source communities while retaining the digital copies for their internal archives and records. Their firm refusal to do so, however, makes plain the truth: institutions themselves also acknowledge that the originals are irreplaceable, even as they claim that source communities should be satisfied with pixelated copies.^[3]

This sleight of hand (substituting access for return) reveals what digital repatriation truly is: a sidestep. Institutions deploy it as an alibi, as a way of appearing responsive while clinging to their holdings.^[4] The British Museum’s digitization of the Benin Bronzes^[5] is a telling example; the museum describes the project as a way of “reconnecting” Nigeria with its heritage, even though the Bronzes physically still remain in London, withheld from the descendants of those from whom they were dispossessed.^[6] In a similar vein, the Smithsonian’s Open Access Initiative, which has released millions of images and 3D models of artworks and artifacts from its collections for public use worldwide, might prima facie appear as a more sophisticated approach towards repatriation.^[7] Yet the main principle remains the same, as the institution releases data while strictly preserving physical custody. In both cases, restitution has been reframed as access, as if viewing a digital file is somehow equivalent to exhibiting the object itself. Access alone is not justice, without return it is simply another layer of dispossession.^[8]

An analogous rationale is evident in the case of the Zuni Ahayu:da (War Gods), sacred figures stolen from shrines in New Mexico and scattered across museums and private collections around the world.^[9] Through decades of persistent advocacy by the Zuni Pueblo and their allies, some institutions have returned the original figures, while others have opted for digital documentation, framing it as a form of “sharing” Zuni heritage without confronting the demands for full restitution.^[10] In this move, the sacred is translated into pixels, stripped of the ceremonial and territorial contexts that give the figures meaning for the Zuni people. The result is not restoration but further abstraction: the community is offered data in lieu of presence, an echo of the original object that remains withheld. Digital repatriation, in this case, functions less as a bridge and more as a buffer, a way of deflecting the question of ownership by reimagining heritage as infinitely reproducible content.^[11]

The substitution of digital copies for original artifacts is not ethically neutral either. Rather, it actively diminishes the true meaning of restitution by suggesting that a copy is somehow a cure, an adequate remedy for the historical dispossession and ongoing claims of source communities. This form of substitution erases the ceremonial and communal dimensions of cultural heritage, while also reducing living objects to datasets and turning heritage into content.^[12] Worse, the normalisation of digital availability lowers the threshold of responsibility so that institutions can claim progress without surrendering control. By framing digital files as benevolent gifts, institutions effectively preserve their control over the originals while also holding on to the metadata, the servers, and the infrastructures through which those files circulate. The result is a shifting, rather than a breaking, of dependency: source communities remain reliant on Western institutions for access to their own cultural heritage, now mediated through digital surrogates rather than the physical objects themselves.

A further dimension to this critique can be drawn from Walter Benjamin’s concept of the aura – the unique presence of an artwork in its original time and space – which clarifies why digital repatriation is such a dangerous misconception. For Benjamin, aura is not just about material authenticity, it embodies the object’s entanglement with ritual, history, and communal life.^[13] Reproduction, whether through photography in Benjamin’s time or digital scanning today, strips away this aura, leaving only a detached image or dataset.^[14] This is precisely the problem with digital repatriation: it offers what cannot, by definition, be repatriated. In other words, a digitized mask does not carry the spirit that communities recognise in the original; a scanned sculpture cannot stand in ceremony; an archived song cannot hold its ritual force when severed from the contexts and protocols that give it meaning. By treating these hollow reproductions as restitution, museums disguise their ongoing possession of the originals and reduce living heritage to content for circulation. In effect, they perpetuate the very colonial violence that created their collections in the first place: stripping objects from their contexts, displacing them into foreign systems of value, and now, in the digital age, re-inscribing them as infinitely reproducible data while the aura – the sacred, the communal, the sovereign – remains withheld.

In this way, the rhetoric of digital repatriation does not solely strip heritage of its aura; it also reinscribes colonial power in digital form, where institutions continue to control the servers, the data, and the terms of access, reproducing dependency under the guise of generosity. After all, it is true that digitization does not dissolve power imbalances, it just relocates them. When museums release images or 3D scans under Western intellectual property regimes, they erase Indigenous legal systems that govern cultural knowledge.^[15] For example, a song that should only be sung in ceremony, a carving that should only be seen by elders, or a mask that carries restrictions about its use – none of these protocols are adhered to when files are uploaded to open platforms. As a result, what looks like openness is, in fact, another form of control.^[16]

Sarr-Savoy Report

The Sarr-Savoy Report, commissioned by the French government in 2018, recognizes the problem directly.^[17] While welcoming the potential of digital tools for transparency and access, the report firmly rejected digital repatriation as a substitute for restitution. Digital access, it argued, can complement the return of looted objects but must never be used to justify continued unlawful possession. This principle is crucial; technological solutions cannot replace legal and moral obligations, since to accept digital surrogates as restitution is to dilute the very concept of repatriation and to risk legitimizing the status quo under the guise of progress.^[18]

The Report’s rationale also acknowledged the underlying truth that digital heritage projects are not inherently problematic. Digitization can play a vital role in preservation, education, and cultural revitalization. It can also empower communities to document languages, revitalise practices, and connect younger generations with ancestral knowledge.^[19] Nevertheless, this value does not make digital repatriation a legitimate alternative to return. At most, digital projects should be supplements to physical repatriation, not substitutes for it. Their legitimacy depends entirely on whether source communities hold authority over how materials are utilised, shared, and governed. Without this sovereignty, digital initiatives are not acts of justice but exercises in institutional self-congratulation.

Material Return as a Foundation Principal

Taken together, the critiques laid out above point towards a clear course of action. Restitution must, as a foundational principle, commence with the material return of cultural objects to their legitimate custodians; physical repatriation is the necessary precondition for any meaningful redress. In tandem, the governance of digital instruments must be located under the jurisdiction of source communities, entailing the formal recognition of Indigenous legal orders, compliance with established access protocols, and deference to culturally specific restrictions. Such an approach necessarily involves a critical interrogation of the Western epistemological presumption that unrestricted openness constitutes an unqualified good. Finally, the infrastructures that sustain digital heritage (servers, repositories, and platforms) ought to be constituted through authentic collaboration with source communities rather than through external imposition, so that technological frameworks function to reinforce cultural sovereignty rather than re-inscribe colonial dependencies.

For these reasons, the very concept of “digital repatriation” ought to be abandoned. It only functions as a euphemism that obscures ongoing injustice while perpetuating the colonial logic of appropriation followed by unilateral generosity. Repatriation, in its most basic and unambiguous sense, signifies the physical return of cultural objects – nothing less. To accept a digital surrogate in place of the original is to imply that the act of dispossession was immaterial. While digital technologies hold undeniable potential to enrich, preserve, and foster collaboration, they cannot stand in for what was unlawfully taken. The point is well captured by General Yannis Makriyannis, one of the leading figures in the Greek war for independence in the 19th century, who is attributed as saying regarding the ancient Greek marbles: “these are what we fought for”; his claim was not for an abstraction or for a mere likeness, but for the stones themselves, in their full material presence.^[20] Likewise, communities struggle for the return of their heritage not as concepts or datasets, but as living, tangible realities. To suggest otherwise is to continue historical wrongs beneath the guise of technological progress. It is this author’s opinion that what is required, therefore, is a categorical rejection of this illusion, an insistence on the restitution of what was taken, and an understanding of digital tools only as supplementary instruments – never as substitutes – in the broader project of restoring cultural sovereignty.

Select References:

• Krystiana L. Krupa & Kelsey T. Grimm, Digital Repatriation as a Decolonizing Practice in the Archaeological Archive, Across the Disciplines, Vol. 18, Issue 1–2 (2021) (available at https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/atd/volume18/Krupa%2CGrimm.pdf)
• “After the Return: Digital Repatriation,” Museum Anthropology Review, Vol. 7, No. 1–2 (2013) (issue devoted to digital repatriation)
• Ahmad Mohammed, Beyond Access: Rethinking Ownership, Justice, and Decolonization in Digital Repatriation Initiatives, Heritage Management (2025) (available at https://heritagemanagement.org/beyond-access-rethinking-ownership-justice-and-decolonization-in-digital-repatriation-initiatives/)
• Jane Anderson & Kimberly Christen, “‘Chuck a Copyright on It’: Dilemmas of Digital Return and the Possibilities for Traditional Knowledge Licenses and Labels,” Museum Anthropology Review (2013)
• Jessica Bloodgood, What’s in a Name? Digital Repatriation Across Disciplines (2023) (available at https://jscholarship.library.jhu.edu/bitstreams/fa2727a1-a568-4742-bfae-1e774863bb28/download)
• Y. Zhou, Museum Digital Repatriation and Case Studies: Exploring Institutional and Community Tensions (2024) (Georgetown repository)

About the Author

Afroditi Karatagli is an LL.M. graduate from the London School of Economics and Political Science, specializing in intellectual property and art law. Her research interests lie at the intersection of technology and art, with a particular focus on cultural heritage, restitution, and the evolving role of digital tools in the art market. Opinions expressed here are those of the author.

Select Sources:

1. Poske, Christian, Digital Repatriation of Cultural Heritage, in The Palgrave Encyclopedia of Cultural Heritage and Conflict (Ihab Saloul & Britt Baillie eds., Palgrave Macmillan 2024), https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61493-5_148-1. ↑
2. Christian Poske, Digital Repatriation of Cultural Heritage, in The Palgrave Encyclopedia of Cultural Heritage and Conflict (Ihab Saloul & Britt Baillie eds., 2024), https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-61493-5_148-1. ↑
3. Krystiana L. Krupa & Kelsey T. Grimm, Digital Repatriation as a Decolonizing Practice in the Archaeological Archive, Across the Disciplines, Vol. 18, Issue 1/2 (2021), https://wac.colostate.edu/docs/atd/volume18/Krupa%2CGrimm.pdf. ↑
4. Sarah E. Bond, Digitization ≠ Repatriation: When Digital Humanities Provides Access But Not Restitution (June 18, 2018), https://sarahemilybond.com/2018/06/18/digitization-%E2%89%A0-repatriation-when-digital-humanities-provides-access-but-not-restitution/. ↑
5. “Benin Bronzes,” The British Museum, British Museum, https://www.britishmuseum.org/about-us/british-museum-story/contested-objects-collection/benin-bronzes (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
6. “Two Major Digital Initiatives Throw Light on Colonial Collections,” Returning Heritage (Dec. 3, 2021), https://www.returningheritage.com/two-major-digital-initiatives-throw-light-on-colonial-collections. ↑
7. “Smithsonian Open Access,” Smithsonian Institution, https://www.si.edu/openaccess (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
8. Ahmad Mohammed, Beyond Access: Rethinking Ownership, Justice, and Decolonization in Digital Repatriation Initiatives, Heritage Management (Apr. 28, 2025), https://heritagemanagement.org/beyond-access-rethinking-ownership-justice-and-decolonization-in-digital-repatriation-initiatives/. ↑
9. William L. Merrill, Edmund J. Ladd & T. J. Ferguson, The Return of the Ahayu:da: Lessons for Repatriation from Zuni Pueblo and the Smithsonian Institution, Smithsonian Institution Archives, https://siarchives.si.edu/collections/siris_sic_11820 (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
10. William L. Merrill, Edmund J. Ladd & T. J. Ferguson, The Return of the Ahayu:da: Lessons for Repatriation from Zuni Pueblo and the Smithsonian Institution, Smithsonian Institution Archives, https://siarchives.si.edu/collections/siris_sic_11820 (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
11. Gwyneira Isaac, Perclusive Alliances: Digital 3-D, Museums, and the Reconciling of Culturally Diverse Knowledges, 56 Current Anthropology S286 (2015), https://doi.org/10.1086/683296. ↑
12. Sarah E. Bond, Digitization ≠ Repatriation: When Digital Humanities Provides Access But Not Restitution (June 18, 2018), https://sarahemilybond.com/2018/06/18/digitization-%E2%89%A0-repatriation-when-digital-humanities-provides-access-but-not-restitution/. ↑
13. Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Its Mechanical Reproducibility (Allan McCollum ed.), https://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/benjamin.pdf. ↑
14. Peter Holland & Elliott Visconsi, Walter Benjamin — The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility (Jan. 31, 2017), https://sites.nd.edu/visconsi-holland/2017/01/31/walter-benjamin-the-work-of-art-in-the-age-of-its-technological-reproducibility/. ↑
15. What Happens to Indigenous Law in the Museum? (Aug. 10, 2025), https://www.researchgate.net/publication/364762963_What_Happens_to_Indigenous_Law_in_the_Museum (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
16. UNESCO, Addressing Digital Colonialism: A Path to Equitable Data Governance, Inclusive Policy Lab, https://en.unesco.org/inclusivepolicylab/analytics/addressing-digital-colonialism-path-equitable-data-governance. ↑
17. Felwine Sarr & Bénédicte Savoy, The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage: Toward a New Relational Ethics (Nov. 2018), https://www.about-africa.de/images/sonstiges/2018/sarr_savoy_en.pdf (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
18. Felwine Sarr & Bénédicte Savoy, The Restitution of African Cultural Heritage: Toward a New Relational Ethics (2018), https://www.about-africa.de/images/sonstiges/2018/sarr_savoy_en.pdf. ↑
19. Studio Fattori et al., Digital Cultural Heritage: Imagination, Innovation and Opportunity § “Key Insights” (British Council report, 2025), https://www.britishcouncil.org/sites/default/files/digital_cultural_heritage_report.pdf (last visited Oct. 2, 2025). ↑
20. These Are What We Fought For: Antiquities and the Greek War of Independence (Exh. Catalogue, National Archaeological Museum, 2020) (quoting a maxim attributed to Makrygiannis in his Memoirs). ↑