Colonial past controversy: Protest sculpture of Swiss philanthropist stolen in Neuchâtel

A critical symbol of Switzerland's reckoning with its colonial past has vanished. In a brazen act that strikes at the heart of Neuchâtel's historical identity, the protest sculpture of controversial philanthropist David de Pury has been stolen from the city center. The artwork, a deliberate and provocative counterpoint to the towering 1855 monument of the banker, was forcibly removed, leaving a void in the public square and the public discourse.

This is not merely a property crime; it is an erasure of history. Installed in 2022, the piece stood as a modern challenge to the narrative of benevolent wealth, forcing passersby to confront the uncomfortable origins of their city's prosperity. The theft abruptly silences this dialogue, stripping the square of its nuance. While the massive 19th-century bronze of de Pury remains untouched, its critical companion—intended to contextualize the banker's legacy—is gone, reigniting a volatile debate about who we memorialize and who we choose to forget.

David de Pury is a figure of immense contradictions, casting a long shadow over Neuchâtel that stretches from 1709 to the present day. While he is celebrated as a generous benefactor who bequeathed a staggering fortune to the city—funds used to construct hospitals, schools, and civic buildings—the origins of this wealth are steeped in human misery. The merchant amassed his riches not just through banking, but through direct involvement in the transatlantic slave trade.

This duality presents a complex moral calculus for the city. For centuries, de Pury was lauded simply as a philanthropist, his bronze likeness gazing benevolently over the town he helped build. However, modern historical analysis has shattered this one-dimensional image. The stolen sculpture was a physical manifestation of this dark reality, a reminder that the mortar of Neuchâtel's historic architecture was mixed with the proceeds of exploitation. The city now grapples with a legacy that is simultaneously foundational and shameful.

The stolen piece was far more than a simple statue; it was a subversion of power cast in bronze. Created by Geneva artist Mathias Pfund, the sculpture depicted de Pury upside down, his head buried in the concrete plinth. This artistic choice was a direct reference to the statue of Swiss scientist Louis Agassiz at Stanford University, which was accidentally inverted by an earthquake in 1906—a poetic justice for a man known for scientific racism.

By intentionally replicating this inversion, Pfund stripped the historical figure of his dignity and dominance. The sculpture did not seek to destroy the memory of de Pury but to upend it, quite literally. It forced the viewer to look down at the figure rather than up, challenging the traditional hierarchy of public monuments. The removal of such a specific, intellectually charged work suggests a targeted attempt to restore the traditional, unblemished narrative of the city's elite.

City officials are not dismissing this as a mere prank; they are mobilizing for a legal battle. Neuchâtel intends to press charges, classifying the theft as a direct assault on the city's cultural heritage. "As with any act of vandalism against its cultural heritage, the city intends to press charges," declared Sophie Schneider, the city's communications officer, signaling a zero-tolerance approach to the destruction of public art.

The authorities view this theft as a significant setback to the city's carefully cultivated process of reconciliation. The installation of the sculpture in 2022 was part of a broader, government-led strategy to "dust off" the colonial past and foster social cohesion. By stealing the artwork, the perpetrators have not only committed a crime but have also sabotaged a public peace offering. Schneider emphasized that the work was the result of a "reappraisal of our city’s colonial past," making its loss a blow to the collective conscience of the region.

This theft does not stand in isolation; it is the latest escalation in a wave of vandalism sweeping through Neuchâtel. Just last weekend, the city's historic collegiate church was defaced with anti-clerical slogans, indicating a rising tide of unrest and iconoclasm. The disappearance of the de Pury sculpture suggests that public spaces have become the new battleground for ideological conflicts.

As Swiss cities increasingly confront their historical entanglements with colonialism, the reaction from the street is becoming more volatile. The dialogue has moved from academic papers and museum plaques to spray paint and theft. Neuchâtel now faces a critical test: can it protect its attempts at historical nuance, or will the public square be dictated by those who wield crowbars in the dark? The recovery of the sculpture—and the prosecution of the thieves—will determine whether the city's past can be debated openly or if it will be silenced by force.