In 2018, scholars discovered the 75,000-year-old remains of a Neanderthal woman in Shanidar Cave, Iraq. What followed, argues Dana Sofi, reveals how even deep prehistory can become political. Once the woman's reconstructed face circulated online, 'Shanidar Z', as she was named, grew into more than an archaeological finding, coming to represent digital struggles over identity, territory and belonging
Nationalism often looks backwards. It turns to flags, maps, myths, martyrs and memories. But my research shows that nationalism can reach even further back. It can reach into deep prehistory.
In my recent article in Nations and Nationalism, I examine the online debate around Shanidar Z, a Neanderthal woman whose remains were found in Shanidar Cave in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq. After the release of the Netflix documentary Secrets of the Neanderthals, and the public circulation of her reconstructed face, Shanidar Z became widely discussed on social media.
At first glance, this might seem like a story about archaeology. It is also a story about politics.
The world did not simply receive Shanidar Z as a scientific discovery. In Kurdish and regional digital spaces, many users turned her into a symbol of origin, belonging and historical depth. Some described Kurdistan as the cradle of humanity. Others treated Shanidar Z as a maternal figure, almost as a symbolic ancestor. Still others rejected such claims, insisting that a Neanderthal woman cannot belong to any modern nation.
For many, Shanidar Z isn't just a scientific discovery; she is a symbol of origin, belonging and historical depth
This is where the political significance lies. The debate was not only about who Shanidar Z was. It was about who has the right to claim the past.
Modern political conflicts are often fought through territory, institutions and law. But they are also fought through symbols. Who owns a name? Who owns a place or a memory? And who has the authority to say what the past means?
The debate around Shanidar Z shows how these questions now unfold in digital spaces.
For many Kurdish commentators, Shanidar Z was evidence of deep historical rootedness in Kurdistan. Her location mattered. Shanidar Cave, for these people, was part of a wider symbolic geography: Kurdistan as ancient, civilisational and historically legitimate.
We don't need formal political language to express this kind of claim. It can appear in a comment, a shared image, a flag, a caption or a joke. We can place a prehistoric face next to national colours. We can turn a scientific reconstruction into a national icon. A cave can become a marker of territorial belonging.
This is digital nationalism in practice. It is fast, emotional and participatory. It does not wait for official institutions. Ordinary users produce it when they share, comment, translate, reinterpret and argue.
Archaeology often appears to stand outside everyday politics. It deals with bones, stones, caves and ancient human life. Yet archaeological findings rarely remain neutral once they enter public debate.
This is especially true in regions shaped by contested borders, competing national projects and unresolved struggles over recognition. In such contexts, the past can become a political resource. We can use it to support claims about continuity, priority and belonging.
Shanidar Z became politically powerful because she seemed to offer something more than history. She offered depth. She pushed the story of belonging far beyond modern states and recent borders. For some users, she symbolised the idea that 'we were here from the beginning'.
That is a powerful claim. It is also a risky one.
The problem is not that people feel pride in archaeological heritage. Pride in history can create curiosity, attachment and cultural confidence. The problem begins when scientific findings are turned into exclusive ownership claims. Deep prehistory then becomes a tool for drawing lines between 'us' and 'them'.
One of the most striking findings in my research is the feminisation of Shanidar Z. People discussed her not only as a Neanderthal individual; they often imagined her as a mother, grandmother or ancestral woman.
This matters politically. Nations are often imagined through family language. We speak of motherlands, forefathers, roots, and descendants. These metaphors make the nation feel natural. They turn political communities into imagined families.
In the case of Shanidar Z, maternal symbolism gave the archaeological finding emotional force. She was not just old. Shanidar Z was intimate. She could be loved, claimed and defended.
The maternal symbolism of Shanidar Z gave the archaeological finding emotional force, allowing users to react immediately and affectively
Social media intensified this process. It allowed users to react immediately and affectively. Pride, humour, anger, scepticism and religious objection appeared side by side. Some users celebrated Shanidar Z's Kurdish heritage. Others claimed she had Iraqi or regional heritage. Some rejected the idea of linking Neanderthals to modern identities at all.
The result was not one single national narrative. It was a digital struggle over meaning.
The story of Shanidar Z tells us something important about contemporary politics. Nationalism is produced not only by parties, states and movements. It is also produced through everyday digital practices.
A scientific image can become political when it circulates online. An archaeological site can become a symbolic border. A reconstructed face can become a screen onto which people project hopes, anxieties, and claims about belonging.
This does not mean that science causes nationalism. It means that scientific discoveries enter societies already shaped by political tensions. Once they circulate publicly, people interpret them through existing struggles over recognition, history and identity.
Scientific discoveries enter societies already shaped by political tensions. Once they circulate publicly, people interpret them through existing struggles over recognition, history and identity
For political science, this matters. It reminds us that the politics of nationalism is not limited to elections, institutions or official speeches. It also lives in comment sections, viral images and emotional attachments to the past.
Shanidar Z lived around 75,000 years ago. She belonged to a world before Kurds, Arabs, Iraq, Türkiye, borders or modern nations. Yet in today’s digital world, her face has become part of contemporary struggles over all of them.
That is the paradox. The deeper the past, the more powerful it can become in the politics of the present.
