New research has uncovered a rare case of possible child abuse in ancient Mesopotamia, offering a poignant glimpse into the lived experiences of some of the region’s most vulnerable inhabitants.
The study focuses on the skeletal remains of a 6–9‑month‑old infant from Tell Brak in northeastern Syria, dated to the Late Chalcolithic (4200–3900 BCE). Researchers identified a pattern of injuries that closely resembles what modern clinicians classify as non‑accidental trauma.
The infant’s remains show multiple rib fractures, particularly concentrated near the front of the rib cage. In addition, the skull exhibits evidence for haemorrhaging on the outer surfaces of the parietal bones. The researchers also noted unusual bone growth on the femur, which may indicate soft tissue injury to the leg.
Taken together, these injuries form a pattern that the authors argue is consistent with abuse. Estimates suggest that between 50% and 60% of fractures in infants may be linked to abuse. Rib fractures in infants, in particular, are widely regarded as one of the most diagnostic indicators of non‑accidental injury. Importantly, the researchers conducted a careful differential diagnosis, systematically considering alternative explanations for the trauma and pathology.
Despite the scale of child abuse globally—estimated by the United Nations to affect around one billion children today—clear archaeological evidence for such behaviour remains exceptionally rare. This absence may reflect several factors: poor preservation of infant bones, the difficulty of distinguishing accidental from intentional injury in ancient remains, and the fact that many forms of abuse leave no visible skeletal trace. For Mesopotamia specifically, both bioarchaeological and textual evidence have generally suggested that the abuse of children was not commonplace. The authors of the study propose that the infant’s injuries may be linked to a period of social instability. Tell Brak at the time was undergoing significant changes associated with early urbanisation, including population growth and possible episodes of mass mortality. Such upheavals can place strain on communities and households, potentially increasing the risk of violence. However, the reason for the suffering of this child will never fully be known.
For International Women’s Day, I wanted to reflect on some of my old and new writings on the intersection of motherhood and archaeology.
Gendered and intersectional inequities shape access, safety, and participation within field‑based research in archaeology and biological anthropology. Compounding these issues, mothers* routinely confront discrimination and structural barriers associated with pregnancy, breastfeeding, childcare, and norms embedded in fieldwork culture. I have written on some of these issues here on challenges of research and fieldwork with children, attending conferences, and sexism in academic archaeology.
Systemic barriers place disproportionate pressure on mothers compared with fathers, contributing to reduced working hours and widening gender pay gaps (Kleven et al. 2018). The “leaky pipeline” in STEM—arguably a burst main—is strongly linked to caregiving responsibilities; evidence suggests more male STEM leaders have children compared with female leaders (McCabe et al. 2024). Although biological anthropology (including bioarchaeology) is numerically dominated by women, inequities persist in leadership, conference participation, and grant funding (Casad et al., 2022; Turner et al. 2018). Fieldwork remains a particularly acute site of inequality, with persistent reports of discrimination, harassment, and complex logistics for pregnancy, breastfeeding, and childcare (Camp, 2019; Hodgkins & Thompson 2022).
Archaeology’s professional identity is closely tied to fieldwork. Extended time away from home, the physical demands of excavation, and colonial “frontier” narratives have long shaped a disciplinary culture associated with masculine ideals (Tomášková 2007; Moser 2007). In 2013, the Society for American Archaeology established a Task Force on Gender Disparities in Archaeological Grant Submissions; the 2017 report found that nearly all women cited conflicts between fieldwork and parenting that negatively affected their grant submissions (Goldstein et al. 2018). While geography has more thoroughly addressed parenthood and fieldwork (Hope et al. 2019; Jenkins 2020; Price & Hall 2024), archaeology is only recently building momentum through personal accounts, op‑eds, and blog posts (e.g., Halcrow 2017; Hodgkins & Palmer; Norton 2025; Hoag & Von Jena 2025). This expanding body of narrative scholarship coincides with a stagnation in formal gender‑equity research in archaeology (Tomášková 2007; Fladd et al. 2026; Moen 2017; Wylie 2007).
Centring Mothers in Feminism
O’Reilly (2021) argues that despite the diversification of feminist theory—such as queer feminism, third‑wave feminism, womanism, ecofeminism—academic feminism has not sufficiently centred the specific needs of mothers. This omission has contributed to the conflation of mothering and motherhood; to misreadings that equate matricentric feminism with gender essentialism or maternalism; and to the rise of postmaternal thinking and “radical forgetting,” whereby earlier maternal‑oriented activism is dismissed in favour of a degendered feminism (hooks 1984; Stephens 2016; O’Reilly 2021). Based on decades of research and conversations with mothers, O’Reilly (2021) contends that mothering is central to many women’s identities and must be integrated into gendered models of society.
Accordingly, matricentric feminism “puts motherhood at its centre,” treating mothers, mothering, and motherhood as topics deserving sustained inquiry and as a basis for research and activism that contest oppressive institutions and envision empowering maternal identities and practices (O’Reilly 2021).
I have started to use personal narrative as disciplinary critique within a matricentric feminist lens. Caring responsibilities generate distinct vulnerabilities but also unique insights and forms of relational engagement in the field. Here are some reflections and recommendations to reconfigure archaeological practice so that it meaningfully includes and empowers mothers and in particular single parents:
Over 20 years, I have encountered the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have faced blatant discrimination—including being removed from a field project due to pregnancy—and I have missed opportunities because of assumptions about motherhood. Yet I have also experienced meaningful support and inclusion. The following reflections synthesise lessons learned:
Find a mentor who is inclusive, supportive, and able to communicate openly about your needs.
Motherhood can enrich scholarship. Parenting has deepened my perspectives on embodiment, ethics, and the social worlds of my research.
Children expand field relations. My children often helped build rapport with communities, facilitating trust and dialogue.
Collaborate with other parents. See Lozano & Sánchez (2023) for an example of practical strategies for conducting fieldwork as scientist mothers.
Advocate for equity in fieldwork opportunities within institutions and professional bodies.
Share your story when possible; narrative accounts help normalise motherhood in the field and push disciplinary boundaries.
Expand the evidence base. More systematic qualitative and quantitative studies are needed to understand and address inequities.
The COVID period, combined with reflections on well‑being and caregiving—including supporting an adult child with disabilities—prompted me to pivot toward collections‑based research, working with human remains already within my department. This shift has produced new grants and collaborations. This trajectory aligns with my ethical commitments and reframes success around work that makes a difference—challenging assumptions about what counts as “fieldwork” and broadening bioarchaeology’s remit to include historically contextualised human remains in collections.
From Personal Narrative to Change: What Societies and Institutions Can Do
Archaeology presents distinctive barriers for parents, and in particular, single parents, because career progression is closely tied to excavation seasons, mobility, and extended time away from home. Academic societies are uniquely positioned to lead practical and cultural change. The following actions outline feasible reforms:
1) Reform field school and excavation expectations
Accredit alternative training pathways (lab, museum, digital archaeology, community archaeology).
Recognise local/short‑duration excavations as equivalent experience.
Encourage hybrid models (e.g., remote recording).
2) Fund childcare and caregiver travel for field seasons
Introduce seasonal childcare bursaries, not just conference childcare.
Create grants for caregiver travel and family‑suitable accommodation. Even small funds can make participation viable, especially where field pay is low or unpaid.
3) Publish family-inclusive excavation guidelines
Standards for family‑safe accommodation, sanitation, and security.
Predictable scheduling where possible.
Risk assessments that include dependents.
Guidance for breastfeeding, pumping, and infant care in field settings. Comparable inclusion toolkits exist in other field sciences; archaeology needs discipline‑wide standards.
4) Build mentorship networks for archaeologist parents
Cross‑career mentorship programmes.
Panels with excavation directors who are caregivers.
Practical guides (e.g., “How I ran a dig with kids”).
5) Support local and community archaeology pathways
Fund micro‑grants for local projects and distributed collaborations that reduce mobility burdens.
6) Advocate for systemic funding changes
Lobby for dependent‑care costs to be eligible grant expenses.
Parental‑leave extensions aligned with excavation seasons.
Paid field school placements to reduce inequity.
*Following O’Reilly (2021), the term ‘mothers” refers here to those who are doing the mothering and ‘motherwork’, as defined by Sara Ruddick (1989) as maternal practice, and can be undertaken by people other than biological mothers.
I have been reflecting on the work that I have been doing, particularly within museum contexts. There has been a recent increase in interest in the study of the ethics of bioarchaeological practice; however, there has been considerably less in the context of anatomical collections. This is despite the fact that the individuals collected are often from marginalised sectors of the community, e.g., institutionalised individuals.
Within the anatomical museum context, there can be a lack of clear provenance information and loss of relationship between human remains held in collections and acquisition records. However, I feel that to move forward in ethical ways, we need to know who these people were and where they came from.
I have, with students and colleagues from Takarangi research, been focused on an analysis of the acquisition records and the skeletal and preserved human remains from the W. D. Trotter Anatomy Museum founded in 1876, which represents the largest anatomical museum in the southern hemisphere. Despite the historical nature of the collection, there is a dearth of research on the people themselves and very little research on the historical archives of acquisition practices.
The Anatomy Museum as it was in 1927 Otago Bulletin
Some of our recent work has looked at the babies represented in the skeletal collections, of which there is a loss of attribution of the acquisition records to the human remains themselves. Through our analysis of the skeletal remains of the infants, we found that there was a number of preterm babies and those with developmental defects. The age-at-death and the pathology reflect the archival records of age and cause of death. The loss of attribution between the records of acquisition and the babies’ remains, along with the way in which a lot of these remains are curated by bone type rather than as individuals, also points to the anatomisation of the body, effectively stripping the individual identity of these babies. We found that of the babies for whom we had names and could find birth and/or death records, many were born to mothers who were unwed and/or from low socio-economic backgrounds. These babies were often born (and died) in mother-baby homes for the unwed (e.g., Batchelor’s Hospital).
The front view of the Forth Street Maternity Hospital (later called Batchelor’s Hospital) in Dunedin. Otago Witness, 18.6.1913
At times, I have questioned whether this research risks repeating the very harm it seeks to address. Some have suggested that analysing these remains may re-objectify the infants, turning them once again into subjects of study. There has also been some hesitation within the university about pursuing this work.
However, I remain of the opinion that silence is not more ethical than engagement. To be transparent about what our collections contain, we must be willing to look closely—however uncomfortable that may be. For me, this work is about re-establishing connection: about naming, contextualising, and acknowledging. It is an attempt, however small, to restore fragments of identity and to confront the histories that allowed these infants to become anonymous specimens in the first place.
This research does not resolve the ethical tensions inherent in working with human remains. But it is, I hope, a step toward greater honesty, accountability, and care.
A reminder that the 13th Annual SSCIP Conference is being held via Zoom from the 25th to 28th of October (British Summer Time). It is hosted and organised by Associate Professor Siân Halcrow of the University of Otago, New Zealand, and has been scheduled into eight short sessions over four days to accommodate the different time zones of participants.
Keynote addresses will be made by Professor Maureen Carroll of the University of York, Associate Professor Alison Behie of Australian National University, Professor Holly Dunsworth of the University of Rhode Island, and Professor Sarah Knott of Indiana University Bloomington.
The collection of papers in this special issue of Childhood in the Past edited by Francesca Fulminante showcase research on infancy and childhood with sophisticated theoretical and methodological approaches to this topic. This issue represents a significant contribution to understanding the role of children and childhood during the transition to urbanization in Europe through the lens of multiple approaches, including bioarchaeological, archaeological, cognitive developmental (palaeoanthropological), sociological and historical research on infants and children, using a variety of new analytical techniques. This issue moves chronologically from the consideration of cognitive development during prehistory to the nineteenth-century urban environment. Check it out!
“We can only understand our present when we understand our past, right? But how can we do that when the evidence of that past is gone? When the stories aren’t passed down or recorded? This week we explore this question with bioarchaeologist Dr. Sian Halcrow of the University of Otago who does just this. She studies the bones of dead babies to help us better understand the practices and environments in pre-history eras. From weaning behaviours to the effects of fertility to how inequality played into parenting, we cover what is known – and what isn’t – from these early times.”
Megan is a PhD student in the Department of Anatomy, University of Otago researching the historical experiences of infant death.
Tell us about your research My PhD is focused on infant death in Dunedin, New Zealand between 1850 and 1940. I’m using historical resources as well as the physical memorialisation of these babies (gravestones, markers etc) to identify how parents chose to remember their lost child. There were massive changes in infant mortality rates, medical care and fertility during this time and I’m trying to discern if this had any effect on how infants were grieved for if they died.
What is it that drew you to this research? I have always been interested in history and biology, and somehow I managed to find a field that lets me research both! When I completed my Honours project, which was research into the provenance of a set of infant remains, I really felt like I had more work to do so I applied for a PhD.
What are your career goals and aspirations? Ultimately I want a career that lets me continue to learn, but what that career might be I’m not sure yet.
What are you most proud about so far in terms of your achievements? Shining a light on some untold local stories. Women and children have typically been neglected in historical accounts, and my research is doing something to rectify this. While my focus is specifically on the infants, it really is a story of ordinary families going through something rather extraordinary (by modern standards). Some of the fathers that lost infants were prominent Otago men and while their life stories are well known, this is one aspect that is rarely talked about.
What is one thing that you have found surprising while researching your focus? The idea that infants of the past were objects with no ability to affect the world around them! When reading literature on this subject, there seems to be an idea that in times of high fertility and high infant mortality, infants were somewhat replaceable and parents would not openly grieve for their lost child. In historic Dunedin, this is absolutely not the case! It’s clear that women and their families felt a wide range of emotions after the loss of a child, and the internment of these children reflects that.
What is one thing about your research you want people to take away with them? Not to take for granted the advances we’ve made in hygiene and medicine! We enjoy the low maternal and infant mortality rate today because of advances in obstetric and paediatric medicine, antisepsis, vaccinations, and infant nutrition.
Editorial by Eileen Murphy: It is with much pleasure that I welcome you to the spring issue of Volume thirteen of Childhood in the Past, the journal of the Society for the Study of Childhood in the Past (SSCIP). The issue starts with a thought-provoking invited piece by Farah Mendlesohn which explores the genre of […]
The Bioarchaeology of Childhood | Sian Halcrow 