The sun had barely risen above the craggy peaks of the Andes when Hiram Bingham III stood on a ridge, breathless and peered down into the mist-shrouded valley below. It was July 24, 1911 and the jungle had long swallowed the terraces and temples that once held the heartbeat of an empire, but as the fog slowly parted, there emerged the faint outlines of stone structures — a lost city, perched defiantly atop the mountains like a relic of another world. For the professor of South American history at Yale University, who had ventured here chasing rumors of a fabled Inca stronghold, it was a sight that quickened the pulse. 

Guided by local farmer, Melchor Arteaga, and a young boy, Pablito Alvarez, Bingham‘s “discovery” of Machu Picchu would become one of the seminal moments of the century, encapsulating the allure and controversy of Western exploration. Bingham’s “discovery” — a site he was led to by locals — was hailed by Yale and the global research community, symbolizing the complex interplay of exploration, exploitation and education. Yet, as we delve deeper into the narratives and actions of the past, it becomes imperative to ask: at what cost do we chase our academic trophies?

Fast forward 113 years and there I was, a Yale-funded law student retracing Bingham’s steps in Peru. My archival research revealed him as a complex figure whose ambition was as grand as the landscapes he traversed. In Peru, I engaged with Quechua elders and community leaders. One elder I spoke with recounted how his grandfather had guided visitors through Machu Picchu long before Bingham’s arrival, which shows the continuous presence of the Quechua people on the land. Another recounted how her family, for generations, would come to Machu Picchu for ceremonies and offerings, long before it became a tourist destination. “We didn’t need someone to ‘discover’ it for us. We have always known it was here,” she said. Her words offered a poignant reminder that Machu Picchu is not simply an archaeological site — it is a living, breathing part of Quechua identity and culture. 

The transformation of Machu Picchu into a global cultural icon has had undeniable economic benefits. Today, approximately 1.5 million tourists visit each year, driving substantial economic growth in nearby areas. Aguas Calientes, at the foot of Machu Picchu, has expanded rapidly to accommodate the influx of tourists, while Cuzco has evolved into a major tourist hub, its economy increasingly tailored to international visitors. However, this rapid growth has come with challenges, as these towns struggle to keep pace with the growing demands of global tourism.

Bingham’s discovery was not without controversy. Historians argue that his adventurous spirit was influenced by American imperialist sentiment — President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1904 doctrine declaring the U.S. duty to intervene in its neighbors’ affairs. Bingham’s actions reflected this mindset, notably when he shipped crates of Machu Picchu artifacts to Yale in 1912 with the backing of both the American and Peruvian presidents, despite restrictions on excavation and exportation. In later writings, Bingham diminished the contributions of local discoverers, including Augusto Lizárraga, whose signature he found at Machu Picchu. By the time of Bingham’s final publication in 1952, “Lost City of the Incas,” Lizárraga’s presence had all but disappeared from the narrative. This re-framing by a scholarly figure not only altered the site’s historical narrative, but also perpetuated outdated stereotypes of South American civilizations as passive entities awaiting Western discovery.

Despite a 1911 presidential decree restricting excavations and exports, Hiram Bingham, with backing from American president William Howard Taft and Peruvian president Augusto Bernardino Leguía, sent several crates of artifacts to Yale in 1912 for study. In 1914, he secretly exported an additional private collection. A 1916 decree permitted the export of more artifacts, with the condition that they be returned within 18 months — a deadline Bingham acknowledged but did not fully meet. This sparked a long-running dispute, which came to a head in the 2000s when Peruvian authorities accused Yale of withholding items loaned since the 1910s. The controversy, intensified by legal threats and negotiations led by President Alejandro Toledo, who emphasized his indigenous heritage, ultimately resulted in a 2010 agreement under significant international and local pressure, securing the gradual return of the collection to Peru.

While Bingham’s expeditions crucially depended on the labor, knowledge and support of a diverse group of local actors — from elites and intellectuals to peasants — his scientific interpretations and subsequent publications transformed these contributions. The local insights and assistance were often filtered and repackaged through the lens of Western academic rigor, effectively crediting the discoveries and knowledge to Bingham and, by extension, Yale. This process of “scientific witnessing” meant that the essential contributions of the local community were not only overshadowed but appropriated —  rebranded as the achievements of Western scholars. The local knowledge that guided Bingham to Machu Picchu and aided in the understanding of the site was stripped of its indigenous roots and presented as the solitary triumphs of Western academia, erasing the collaborative nature of the discovery.

Standing in the shadow of Machu Picchu, I couldn’t help but reflect on how my own presence mirrored that of Bingham’s — a foreign scholar seeking to understand this iconic site. Yet, through my conversations with the Quechua people, I came to realize that the real history of Machu Picchu was not in Bingham’s re-discovery, but in the enduring legacy of those who have called this place home for centuries.

Today, as movements within Yale push for re-evaluating academic legacies, Bingham’s story resonates with new urgency. It challenges us to reflect on how we, as part of an academic community, continue to influence and reshape the historical landscapes we study. 

SHUBHANGI AGARWALLA graduated from Yale Law School in 2024. She can be reached at shubhangi.agarwalla@yale.edu.