Few dates have shaped museum acquisition practice as profoundly as 1970. The adoption of the UNESCO Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property has come to function not only as a legal reference point but as a moral dividing line. In many institutions, an object documented outside its country of origin before 1970 encounters fewer obstacles. After 1970, the questions begin in earnest.

But what happens when the decisive date is 1969?

To finance the acquisition, the museum applied for a subsidy from the Brabant Museum Foundation, but the Foundation hesitated.  Was the purchase compatible with international agreements governing cultural property? It asked the Ethical Code Committee for Museums - formerly the Museum Code of Conduct Committee to review the case.

The Commission framed its advice around two questions: whether the museum had complied with the relevant provisions of the professional code of ethics, and whether it had exercised sufficient care in investigating the provenance of the bell. The export date of 1969 was noted as falling just before the 1970 UNESCO Convention. Although the Netherlands had not ratified the Convention at that time, the Dutch ethical code expected museums to act in accordance with its spirit.

The Commission acknowledged that the proximity of 1969 to 1970 might raise doubts. Nevertheless, it found no reason to question the stated circulation of the piece as supplied by Nies. On that basis, it concluded that illicit trade, as defined under the code, was not at issue and that the acquisition had been carried out with appropriate care. The Brabant Museum Foundation accepted the advice and the purchase proceeded.

The advice, however, was not unanimous. One member of the commission dissented and stated that he "would have been in favour of asking the opinion of the government of the country of origin in order to overcome the one-sidedness of the information available to the purchaser".  If doubt existed regarding provenance, as he believed it did, the museum should not proceed.  Even before 1970, he argued, the object should not have left Cambodia without authorisation from the relevant authorities. 

This minority view will later take on greater resonance.

In 2005, Jos van Beurden revisited the case in the academic journal Culture Without Context. His analysis focused on two aspects that had received relatively light treatment in the Commission’s recommendation.  The first concerned the certainty of the 1969 date. The Commission had referred to the possible coincidence of 1969 and 1970 but ultimately accepted the dealer’s account's of the object's circulation. Yet, in subsequent conversations Nies reportedly described 1969 as only "most probable" rather than definitive. The boundary between acceptable and problematic rested on a date that was not firmly documented, and instead amounts to hearsay. 

The second issue concerned Cambodian law. The assertion that no permission was required for export from Cambodia to Thailand sits uneasily with information we know about Cambodia's cultural property laws.  Extensive legal protections for Cambodia's cultural heritage date to the French colonial period, the early years of the country's independence, the Khmer Rouge period, as well as modern times.

In 1863, a treaty between France and the Kingdom of Cambodia established Cambodia as a protectorate of France. In 1884, a Convention between the Kingdom of Cambodia and France gave the administrative power of the State to the French, giving the French Governor for Cambodia power over all territory.

Both a 1900 decree law and a 1925 decree expressly state Cambodian cultural artefacts as being the property of the state.  According to these, no object could be exported without the authorisation of the Governor General, something the Dutch museum's bell does not have. 

Following the adoption of a new Constitution in 1993, earlier existing laws remained in force unless expressly repealed.  Legal experts, including former Director of UNESCO's Department of Cultural Heritage Lyndel Prott, supported the view that the 1925 legislation had not been abrogated by the intervening turmoil of the Khmer Rouge period.  If her interpretation was correct, the removal of the bell from Cambodia without authorisation would have been in contravention of domestic law, regardless of whether it occurred before or after 1970. Taken into focus, the dissenting commissioner’s suggestion therefore that Cambodian authorities should have been consulted before this object's purchase now appears less an outlier than a missed opportunity.

Despite this, the museum’s co-founder and curator, Dr André Lehr (1929-2007),  defended the acquisition that the Ethical Commission had approved. What more, he asked, could reasonably be required?  Implicit in that response was a narrower understanding of cultural heritage, one that placed greater weight on monumental works of art than on portable everyday religious objects. 

Yet for source countries such as Cambodia, portable antiquities are integral to the archaeological record as well as to national cultural identity. The distinction between movable and immovable, monumental or portable has little relevance in the country's heritage law and even less in the lived experience of loss among its  people. 

But this Asten case illustrates how the year 1970 has come to function as a kind of ethical shorthcut. For many institutions, “pre-1970” suggests relative safety, while “post-1970” triggers more rigorous investigation.  Over time, the date has risked becoming less a reference point for inquiry than a substitute for it.  If a buyer can be convinced that an object can plausibly be placed outside its country of origin before 1970, the intensity of scrutiny may diminish.

The difficulty is that plausible is not the same as proven.

A prominent collector and dealer in Southeast Asian antiquities, living in Thailand, Latchford was indicted in the United States for crimes related to a many-year scheme to sell hundreds of looted Cambodian antiquities on the international art market.  In September 2020, the indictment against him was dismissed following is death. 

Prior to his Denver donation, Latchford had attempted to sell two other Dong Son bells to a private American buyer one year before the Dutch museum purchased their own from Nies.  In a 2003 email Latchford described the bells as rare and referred to a recent find in the Battambang region of northwestern Cambodia, noting that he had been able to obtain several examples. Photographs taken before cleaning of these objects showed encrustations consistent with recent excavation not a storied life in a permanent collection.

In November 2021, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York announced a civil forfeiture complaint seeking the return of four looted Cambodian antiquities from the Denver Art Museum.  Three of these, including the Dong Son bell were gifts from Douglas Latchford, while the forth had been purchased by the Thai-based dealer outright.  Later that month, the DAM deaccessioned the pieces from its collection and they were picked up by U.S. officials for return to Cambodia

While the Denver case does not establish that the bell acquired by the Dutch museum in Asten is illicit, it does, however, reveal how narratives once accepted as adequate can later unravel.  References to a “recent find,” coupled with physical evidence of fresh excavation, transformed what might once have been treated as plausible provenance into grounds for forfeiture.  And Latchford's association with other Dong Son bells from Battambang further sharpens our scrutiny of the Dutch bell's collection story.

While there are other instances of bells of this type in circulation within the art market. the parallels in both museum acquisitions are difficult to ignore.  Both the Denver and the Assen bells are stated to have been found in Battambang and both circulated through Thailand where Latchford lived and operated.  

Both also have limited to no documentation with a heavy reliance on the donor or dealer's stated account as to their origins.  And in both cases, institutional approval was based on circumstantial information provided by the individual proffering the work for aquisition or donation.

Marcel Nies has stated in the past that he never sold any piece on behalf of Latchford directly and that he wasn’t aware of the gravity of the allegations against the antiquities dealer until he was indicted.  Despite this, seven artefacts in Nies  publications match to Skanda Trust artefacts which were published in Latchford’s and Emma Bunker's books.  

For cultural policy observers, the comparisons are instructive. It suggests that the absence of disconfirming evidence at a given moment does not resolve underlying uncertainty.  It also highlights the evolving expectations placed on museums today as what was considered reasonable due diligence in the early 2000s may no longer suffice.

Back in 2004, the dissenting member of the Dutch Ethical Commission proposed a straightforward step: consult the source country.  At the time, that suggestion did not prevail.  

Today, direct engagement with source-country authorities and subject matter forensic researchers is increasingly viewed as standard due diligence practice when documentation is incomplete, vague, or contradictory.  The burden of proof is finally shifting toward demonstrating lawful export rather than relying on the absence of proof to the contrary.

This shift reflects broader changes in the governance of cultural property. Source countries have become more assertive in seeking restitution and international cooperation has intensified.  High-profile cases involving traffickers have exposed the fragility of dealer-based narratives where once vague provenance statements like: Private collection Italy, 2000 once sufficed.  As result, forward-thinking museums have responded by strengthening provenance research, enhancing transparency and, in some cases, revisiting past acquisitions.  

The bronze bell purchased in Asten in 2004 sits at the intersection of these complex developments.  The Dutch Ethical Commission concluded that the Assen acquisition complied with the applicable code and that sufficient care had been taken.  Within the framework applied at the time, that conclusion may have been defensible.  Yet the minority opinion and subsequent events invite reconsideration of what sufficiency should mean.

The 1970 Convention remains a cornerstone of international cultural property policy. It provides an essential baseline.  But it was never intended to function as a rubber stamp date for hypothetical transactions that left their countries of origin in circumstances that remain unclear.  Treating 1970 as a bright line can obscure the continuing relevance of domestic export laws and the ethical imperative to seek clarity when doubt arises.

The Asten and Denver bells together illustrate a larger point.  Provenance research is not merely an administrative exercise.  It is an inquiry that unfolds, sometimes over decades, shaped by new evidence, evolving norms and changing relationships between museums, identified bad actors in the art market and source countries. 

Decisions that appeared settled in one decade now look provisional in the next.

By Lynda Albertson

Last Fall, the French Ministry of Culture took a notable step toward strengthening accountability in the museum sector by preparing a comprehensive provenance research guide for public institutions titled: Handbook for provenance research

This regulatory gap raises a pointed question: why are American taxpayers left exposed to subsidising donations of artworks that may later be shown to have been stolen or illegally exported?

The issue is not hypothetical.  When museums accept donations of art with incomplete or problematic ownership histories, their donors often benefit from substantial tax deductions based on the object's appraised value.  If those same objects are later seized or relinquished due to their problematic origin, the financial risk has already been absorbed by the American public.  In effect, its US taxpayers who have underwritten both the acquisition and the reputational fallout, while the institutions themselves face few standardised federal requirements requiring them to demonstrate that adequate provenance research was conducted prior to accepting a gifted work of art.

In the U.S., the primary federal touchpoint for donated artworks is the Internal Revenue Service, which evaluates donations almost exclusively through the lens of valuation and tax deductibility.  The IRS requires donors to substantiate fair market value and complete appraisal documentation, but it does not meaningfully assess whether an object was lawfully exported, ethically acquired, or free from claims by source countries.  As a result, the legal status of an artwork’s past is often treated as peripheral, so long as its monetary value can be justified.

France’s model suggests a different path, one in which government agencies acknowledge that provenance research is not merely an internal museum matter but a public accountability issue.  By issuing a government-backed guide, the state is taking the first steps of establishing a baseline for responsible stewardship, one which creates clearer expectations for institutions that operate with public support. Such guidance does not eliminate complex provenance questions, but it does reduce ambiguity and by doing so strengthens institutional accountability going forward. 

Advocates of due diligence in US museums can argue that similar federal guidelines in America could help protect cultural heritage, improve public confidence, and help ensure that charitable tax policies are not inadvertently rewarding the circulation of looted or illicit material.

As international scrutiny of museum collections continues to grow, the absence of U.S. federal provenance standards is increasingly difficult to justify.  France has demonstrated that government leadership in this area is both possible and practical. Whether the United States will choose to follow suit, and in doing so safeguard both cultural heritage and public funds, remains an open and increasingly urgent question.

Detail of the altarpiece of the main altar of Santa Eugenia

On the night of 17–18 July 1979, the church was targeted by thieves. Four polychrome wooden sculptures depicting the Evangelists, among them San Lucas, all attributed to Gil de Siloé, were removed from the predella and stolen along with a silver censer. The theft was later linked to René Alphonse Ghislain Van den Berghe, the notorious trafficker of sacred art known as "Erik the Belgian." 

Considered to be the greatest art thief of the 20th century, by his own admission, Van den Berghe is believed to have stolen over 600 works of religious art including altarpieces, capitals, crosses, panel paintings, carvings, tapestries, books, paintings, goldsmiths’ works, and furniture from churches and religious institution across Spain. 

That silence was broken more than forty years later when a photo of the polychrome sculpture depicting Saint Luke was recognised by the directors of Theotokopoulos Gallery María Elizari and Pedro Ramón Jiménez in sales material advertising an upcoming auction at Cambi Casa d'Aste in Genova, Italy.   Misattributed to the 20th century Italian sculptor Angelo Biancini with an unbelievably low estimated sales price. After studying the piece and determining its origins they notified the Historical Heritage Section of Spain's Civil Guard. 

Likewise, the recovery of San Lucas underscores the enduring value of paper, not just digital archival records, which can be critical in ascertaining ownership. It also serves as a reminder that safeguarding religious heritage is not merely a matter of devotion, but of vigilance, without which centuries of cultural history can vanish in a single night.

Stefan Papic on Flor Bressers' luxury yacht.

A Bosnian-Dutch national, accused of playing a key role in a major European cocaine trafficking network and suspected of laundering drug proceeds through the art world, has (finally) been extradited from Dubai to the Netherlands. 

Stefan Papić, 30, the owner of Puro Arte, an art gallery registered in both the Netherlands and Sarajevo based in Breda, was arrested in Dubai last year, but until recently his extradition appeared unlikely.  He was sought under a Belgian European Arrest Warrant (EAW) in connection with one of the country’s most high-profile organised crime and drug trafficking investigations. Conducted jointly by Belgian and Dutch authorities, that investigation focused on a network accused of importing large quantities of cocaine concealed in manganese ore shipments shipped from South America and routed to Kriva Rochem, an Antwerp-based water purification company.

Dutch and Belgian prosecutors allege that Papić is a close associate and lieutenant of the principal suspect in the Kriva Rochem investigation, Flor "De Lange" Bressers. Bressers is currently on trial with 32 defendants, including Brazilian Sergio Roberto De Carvalho charging them with for participation in a criminal organisation responsible for importing at least 16tonnes of cocaine into Europe. Originally scheduled to begin in October 2024 the complicated case has resulted in multiple delays and heated disagreements between lawyers and the court which has resulted in several motions to recusal.

The Belgian authorities consider Papić, who used the alias 'Max' on Sky ECC, to have been key in the financing, logistics and laundering of money gained from this network's cocaine trade, including via his art gallery in Breda, which is also associated with his family.  A search of said gallery, first in 2019 and later in 2020, led to the discovery of links to Edin "Tito" Gačanin, the leader of the Balkan-based Tito and Dino drug cartel named as part of a “super cartel,” run by Gačanin alongside Irish drug kingpin, Daniel Kinahan, Italian mafia boss Raffaele Imperiale, and Dutch-Moroccan trafficker, Ridouan Taghi.

The Kriva Rochem investigation has attracted intense scrutiny from law enforcement across multiple jurisdictions, with prosecutors linking the network to hundreds of millions of euros in narcotics revenue. The case has also implicated the ringleader Bressers in the alleged black-market acquisition of Two Laughing Boys with a Mug of Beer by Dutch Golden Age master Frans Hals, which was stolen on 26 August 2020 from the Hofje van Mevrouw van Aerden Museum in Leerdam.  

Papić's gallery in Breda, was searched as part of a multinational police operation looking into the alleged illegal activities and affiliates of Bosnian Dutchman Mirza Gačanin, also a member of the Tito and Dino clan, which was led by his nephew Edin "Tito" Gačanin.  Mirza has been cited as having laundering drug profits through the purchase of European real estate, including the commercial property which Papić's gallery occupied in Breda.  He was sentenced in absentia to four years in prison in December 2022 and was lature arrested in the Spanish city of Alcante on an Interpol warrant.

If proven in court, the alleged use of Papić’s art gallery as a laundering vehicle exposes both the infiltration of organised crime into the financial flows of cultural goods and the ease with which the legitimate art market can be manipulated to conceal and launder criminal proceeds.

While art crime is often associated with theft and illicit antiquities trafficking, financial investigations into high-value art transactions sometimes illustrate that money laundering is an important vector by which criminal networks can "clean" profits generated from drugs, fraud, or other predicate offences.  Given the subjective value of art, this case underscores how galleries, auctions, and private sales can provide convenient cover for lucrative transfers that are otherwise difficult to substantiate.

Left and Middle: Restituted from the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek Right: Restitute from the J. Paul Getty Museum

Paolo and Maurizio both shared with me the chillingly coded language used by American dealer Bob Hech when discussing the delivery of "children" by his associate Fritz Bürki in a letter written to Mogens Gjødesen, the Copenhagen museum's director from 1970 to 1978. 

Left:  Antefix recovered from London Right: Antefix found at excavations conducted in 1938-39 at the Campetti di Veio, collection of Villa Giulia

Elsa Bloch-Diener (1922-2012), Bern, 1975 (Antike Kunst, no. 113).

Private Collection, Switzerland, acquired from the above, 1975; 

thence by descent to the current owner.

This week's theft at the Zilvermuseum Doesburg represents a troubling example of how cultural institutions, particularly smaller museums, are increasingly vulnerable to targeted criminal activity. In an early morning burglary, two offenders gained access to the museum, located in a suspended gallery inside the historic 13th-century Martinikerk or Gret Church in the heart of Doesburg since June 2021. 

The burglars gained entry at 4:30 am on Wednesday morning through the church tower entrance. Using a crowbar, they forced open two doors before breaking their way into all fourteen display cases in the gallery.  IN and out in a matter of minutes, they stole the entirety of the museum's displayed antique silver, totalling hree hundred handcrafted objects from more than twenty countries, handcrafted between 1700 and 1920.

From an art crime perspective, the efficiency and scale of the theft strongly suggest planning rather than opportunism. The thematic collection, assembled over decades by Martin de Kleijn, consisted of hundreds of silver objects, many of the mustard pots highlighting the fact that the city has been a producer of the condiment since the 15th century. While individually modest in market value, taken together the collection represented a coherent body of cultural material whose worth far exceeded its melt value.

What makes this case particularly instructive is the likely fate of the stolen objects. Unlike high-profile artworks that can be circulated in illicit but recognisable markets, antique silver presents a different criminal calculus. Rising bullion prices have made silver an increasingly attractive target, and criminal networks are well aware that such objects can be rapidly broken down, melted, or fragmented to facilitate resale. Once reduced to raw material, the cultural, historical, and evidentiary value of the objects is permanently lost.

This pattern has been observed repeatedly in recent years. Thieves targeting museums are often not seeking to traffic identifiable works but to extract material value quickly, eliminating the risk associated with selling recognisable stolen heritage. For collections like that of the Zilvermuseum, this reality makes recovery unlikely once the objects leave the premises, unless sufficient evidence can be gathers to tie the thieves to the crime before deconstruction can occur.

The Doesburg theft is not an isolated incident. As discussed already on ARCA's blog, across Europe museums have experienced a rise in both overnight burglaries and rapid daytime thefts involving items which can be broken down for the sum of their parts. In many cases, offenders exploit predictable security routines, limited visitors and staffing, or historic buildings that were never designed to address violent, and fast acting criminals. Smaller institutions are particularly exposed, as they often lack the resources for advanced surveillance, physical reinforcement, or round-the-clock monitoring.

Recent cases demonstrate that speed is central to contemporary museum crime. Criminals frequently remain on site for only minutes, focusing on specific objects that can be removed quickly. The objective is not long-term concealment but rapid conversion into cash through illicit channels.

The theft from Zilvermuseum Doesburg underscores a growing gap between the responsibilities placed on museums and the financial resources available to protect collections. While large institutions face public scrutiny when security fails, smaller museums suffer losses that can be existential. Entire collections, as was this case in the city of Doesburg the were built through personal dedication and community support, can disappear overnight.

From an art crime prevention standpoint, this case reinforces the need for a reassessment of how cultural property risk is evaluated. Material-based collections, particularly those composed of precious metals, now face heightened threat levels. Preventive strategies must account not only for theft intended for resale as art, but for destruction motivated by commodity markets.

The loss in Doesburg is therefore not only a local tragedy. It is a clear signal of how cultural heritage crime continues to adapt, prioritising speed, anonymity, and irreversible loss. Without coordinated investment, intelligence sharing, and tailored security strategies, similar collections elsewhere are likely to face the same fate.

They headed directly to the East Asian gallery, where this exceptional piece, produced in the imperial workshops of Jingdezhen, in southern China stood in a glass display case.  Despite a double alarm system that activated and triggered the standard response from security staff, the intruders were in and out of the building in roughly six minutes, taking only this singular jar from its pedestal and leaving the rest of the collection untouched.  By the time local police, alerted by the guarding team, arrived, the burglars and their prize were already gone. 

For Mariemont, it was the first theft of this kind. For museum security specialists, the modus operandi looked uncomfortably familiar. Since 2010, museums in England, Sweden, Norway, the Netherlands and Germany have suffered targeted thefts of high-value Chinese ceramics, often in fast, well-organised raids against a single masterpiece or a small group of objects. 

Ransom, Roubaix and a police sting

The story might have ended there, with a masterpiece disappearing into a private collection, if the thieves had not tried to cash in on their prize. In the weeks after the burglary, the museum was reported received a ransom demand of 2 million euros in exchange for the safe return of the jar. 

Belgian and French police, already cooperating on the case, used the demand to set up a sting operation. Investigators from the French Brigade de recherche et d'intervention and the brigade de répression du banditisme in Lille worked with their Belgian counterparts to organise a fake handover in Roubaix, in northern France. On 28 May 2024 the undercover officer travelled to a small parking area, apparently alone and carrying a bag that was supposed to contain the ransom money. 

When two young men arrived by car to collect the bag, they found themselves surrounded within seconds by dozens of plain-clothes officers. At almost the same moment, police recovered the wine jar a short distance away and arrested additional suspects from France and Belgium. In total, multiple individuals, several already known to law enforcement, were taken into custody. The jar’s lid had been damaged during the theft, but the object itself had survived. 

For the museum, the recovery was described as an “unbelievable” outcome and a near-miraculous success, given the value, rarity and recognisability of the piece. 

Monday's Charleroi court decision

On 12 January 2026, the Tribunal correctionnel de Charleroi delivered its judgment in the Mariemont case. Nine of the ten defendants prosecuted in connection with the theft and ransom plot were convicted and received prison sentences ranging from 18 months with suspension to 4 years of effective imprisonment. 

The court recognised the organised nature of the operation. The thieves had entered by force in the middle of the night, gone straight to a unique object classed as a cultural treasure, and then attempted to extort a multimillion-euro ransom. The pattern matched the broader trend identified by police and cultural heritage experts: structured criminal groups targeting specific items, in this case Chinese imperial ceramics, in museums. 

The Fédération Wallonie-Bruxelles, as owner of the museum and the jar, joined the proceedings as a civil party. It sought 22 million euros in damages, reflecting both the market value of the Ming masterpiece and the harm caused by the damage to the object during the theft as well as staff costs.  The court, however, granted only a provisional award of one euro, noting that the community would need to provide more detailed expert evidence to quantify the exact extent of the damage to such a rare and almost incomparable work. 

The tribunal did, however, accept that the jar had indeed suffered harm as a result of the crime. In addition, the court awarded compensation for material losses, costs linked to replacement staff during sick leave, and moral damages suffered by two guards and the museum director, whose professional and personal lives were directly affected by the burglary. 

The Fédération now has the option to develop a fuller damages case, supported by conservation assessments and comparative valuation, if it wishes to return to court.

A case that resonates beyond one museum

The Mariemont burglary is more than a spectacular “vase heist” with a satisfying police sting at the end. It sits within a troubling pattern in which museums holding Asian ceramics, especially Ming and Qing dynasty wares, have become targets by organised groups who know exactly what to take and how quickly to get out. 

Other recent museum thefts with similar modus operandi have been recorded, including at the Keramiekmuseum Princessehof in Leeuwarden in February 2023, the Museum für Ostasiatische Kunst Köln in Cologne in September 2023, and the Musée National Adrien Dubouché in September 2025. 

The case also underlines the vulnerability of small and medium-sized institutions that hold objects of global importance. Mariemont’s Ming jar is not just a Belgian treasure, but one of a handful of such imperial pieces in Western collections. Its theft and partial damage show how much is at stake in a matter of minutes when a museum is treated as a soft target for high-value crime. 

Finally, the Charleroi judgment illustrates an unresolved tension in cultural heritage crime: courts can and do punish the perpetrators, but calculating meaningful compensation for damage to unique works remains extremely difficult. No insurance payment or civil award can fully restore a sixteenth century imperial jar to its pre-theft condition. That difficulty does not reduce the responsibility of criminals who treat cultural property as a commodity, but it complicates how legal systems adjudicate the true cost of their actions.

In Mariemont, the jar will eventually return to display, accompanied by a new chapter in its history: five centuries of imperial banquets, a century in a Belgian collection, six minutes in the hands of thieves and, thanks to careful police work and a recent court decision, a second life as a case study in how fragile and how resilient cultural heritage can be.

 By Lynda Albertson