For a century, archaeologists believed Queen Hatshepsut’s legacy was destroyed out of spite. A fresh study suggests it was ritual, not revenge.
It’s the kind of plot twist ancient history rarely delivers—but when it does, it rewrites everything. Queen Hatshepsut, Egypt’s trailblazing female pharaoh whose story was thought to end in desecration, may not have been the victim after all. A new archaeological analysis suggests that her shattered statues weren’t smashed in anger, but broken with reverence.
From Villainy to Ritual: A Longstanding Theory Gets Turned on Its Head
Queen Hatshepsut ruled Egypt more than 3,400 years ago, carving out a legacy of prosperity and power that baffled male successors. She was bold. She took on the full garb of a king. She built lavish temples. But according to long-held beliefs, her stepson and successor, Thutmose III, couldn’t stand it.
That story has shaped decades of textbooks.
But Jun Yi Wong, an Egyptologist at the University of Toronto, believes we’ve been looking at it wrong. In a new paper published in Antiquity, Wong lays out evidence that the destruction of Hatshepsut’s statues wasn’t an act of political erasure, but a ritualistic process deeply rooted in ancient funerary customs.
“This changes the tone entirely,” Wong told researchers during a recent symposium. “It moves us from a narrative of vengeance to one of reverence.”
Rituals Over Revenge: The Evidence in Stone and Sand
The defaced statues have long been held up as proof of a bitter family rivalry. Limbs hacked off. Faces gouged. Hieroglyphs scraped away. But Wong’s study dives deeper into the logistics—how and where they were broken, and what came afterward.
The researcher found patterns in the destruction that didn’t align with random vandalism. Instead, it followed a methodical structure.
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The statues were often buried neatly nearby, not discarded or looted.
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Many bore markings that suggested ceremonial “killing” practices common in royal transitions.
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In several cases, the damage occurred long after Thutmose III had already honored her in public records.
The reinterpretation has sparked fierce debate—but also fascination. One Egyptian archaeologist, speaking off the record, called it “the biggest rethink in Egyptian royal history in decades.”
A Woman Who Ruled Like a King—and Paid the Price?
Hatshepsut wasn’t just a queen. She claimed the full title of pharaoh and wore the traditional false beard in public. It rattled patriarchal sensibilities even then.
Her reign, from 1479 BC to 1458 BC, brought wealth, peace, and ambitious architecture—like the stunning temple at Deir el-Bahari. Yet generations of scholars insisted that Thutmose III, hungry for sole power, lashed out after her death.
But the timelines don’t quite fit.
Wong’s research shows that many of the statue destructions occurred two decades into Thutmose III’s rule. That’s an odd time for political payback.
And here’s where it gets interesting: Wong compared this with other instances of “ritual statue smashing” across Egyptian history. Kings who passed into the afterlife were often symbolically “deconstructed” to help transition their divine essence.
That includes:
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Dismembering statuary as a symbolic death.
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Reburial in sacred ground.
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Timing aligned with funerary anniversaries, not political turning points.
The Long Shadow of Misinterpretation
Historians have long been split on Hatshepsut’s end. Some painted her as an ambitious usurper. Others saw her as a stabilizing force during a precarious regency. The truth was often blurred beneath the literal cracks in her statues.
But the story stuck: a woman reaches too far, and a man wipes her from the record.
Wong’s paper could change that entirely.
“This isn’t just about rethinking Hatshepsut,” said Sarah Doherty, an independent archaeologist who has studied Eighteenth Dynasty funerary rites. “It forces us to rethink how we view erasure in ancient politics. Maybe what we thought was erasure was actually celebration—just in a way we didn’t understand.”
A 21st-Century Gender Lens on a 15th-Century BC Reign
Some researchers argue that earlier misreadings were influenced by modern biases—especially around gender.
A woman ruling like a man? Wearing male regalia? No wonder 20th-century historians were quick to assume posthumous punishment.
“This was always about our discomfort with powerful women,” said Dr. Leila Hassan, who teaches ancient gender studies at King’s College London. “The assumption that Thutmose III ‘had’ to hate her? That was never based on real-time evidence.”
In fact, several years into his reign, Thutmose III had murals made that quietly acknowledged her contributions—suggesting a more complex relationship than previously assumed.
One small paragraph.
And yet, Hatshepsut’s legacy has become a feminist symbol in academic circles—one now layered with new meaning.
Statues, Tombs, and the Still-Missing Pieces
While the mystery over the smashed statues may be nearing closure, parts of Hatshepsut’s legacy remain missing. Her original burial chamber was relocated. Some inscriptions remain half-erased. And many of her statues were never recovered.
Still, the tide is turning.
Researchers now see Hatshepsut’s erasure not as failure but as transformation—a queen given divine rites through ritual destruction, not revenge.
To put it plainly: she may have been broken, but she wasn’t forgotten.
