We buried him 50 years ago, only to find out 50 years later they had stolen his brain
Between 1966 and 1991, pathologists in Tasmania quietly removed organs and tissue from the bodies of the recently deceased during coroner-ordered autopsies, passing these specimens to a university museum without the knowledge of families or legal authorities. For decades, some of these remains were displayed publicly, while the people who had loved and buried the deceased carried their grief in ignorance. In May 2026, Tasmania's government stood in parliament and apologized — a formal acknowledgment that arrived, for some families, fifty years too late. The episode asks an ancient question about the dignity owed to the dead, and whether institutions can ever fully repay what they have taken from the living.
- Families who believed they had buried their loved ones whole discovered, decades later, that organs had been secretly removed and placed on museum display.
- A 2016 discovery of three bone samples obtained without consent triggered a formal coroner's investigation that ultimately uncovered 177 specimens taken across a quarter century.
- The coroner identified a now-deceased forensic pathologist as the primary source of the specimens, but found evidence that the practice extended to his predecessors and successors as well.
- Tasmania's health minister issued a parliamentary apology in May 2026, acknowledging enduring trauma — but affected families say formal words alone cannot repair the violation.
- The specimens were removed from display in 2018, and the university has met with affected families, yet survivors describe the ongoing wound as one no institutional gesture can fully close.
In 1976, John Santi's nineteen-year-old brother Tony died in a motorcycle accident. The family buried him. Fifty years later, Santi learned that pathologists had secretly removed Tony's brain and kept it. "We buried him 50 years ago," he said, "only to find out 50 years later that these people had stolen his brain."
Between 1966 and 1991, pathologists in Tasmania's medical system removed tissue and organs during coroner-ordered autopsies and handed them to the University of Tasmania's RA Rodda Pathology Museum — without notifying families, and without the approval of the coroners who held legal responsibility for the bodies. Some specimens were put on public display. Over twenty-five years, 177 samples were collected this way.
The scandal surfaced gradually. In 2016, three bone samples at the museum raised concerns about consent. Tasmania's state coroner launched a formal investigation in April 2023, and by September had identified Dr Royal Cummings — a now-deceased forensic pathologist — as the primary supplier of specimens. The coroner found that Cummings's predecessors and successors had also engaged in the practice, and that pathologists appeared to have actively sought out specimens from autopsies to donate to the museum.
On May 19th, 2026, Health Minister Bridget Archer stood in parliament and apologized, acknowledging the "enduring distress, anger, pain, grief and trauma" carried by affected families. "It's important to remember that these were not just body parts or specimens," she said. "They were people."
For Cheryl Springfield, whose fourteen-year-old brother David died in a car accident that same year as Tony Santi, the apology pointed in the right direction but fell short of repair. Learning of the violation had been, she said, "absolutely a nightmare from that moment we were told." The University of Tasmania also issued an apology, noting that the 177 specimens had been removed from display in 2018.
The museum had been established in 1966 to support medical teaching and research. For decades it housed human remains taken without permission, studied without consent, displayed without acknowledgment of the lives they had represented. The families had already grieved, already said goodbye — and then were asked to grieve again, with the knowledge that their goodbyes had never been complete.
In 1976, when John Santi was thirteen years old, his older brother Tony died in a motorcycle accident at nineteen. The family buried him. Fifty years later, Santi learned that pathologists had taken Tony's brain and kept it. "We buried him 50 years ago, only to find out 50 years later that these people had stolen his brain," he said.
This is what happened in Tasmania between 1966 and 1991. Pathologists working in the state's medical system removed human tissue and organs during autopsies—procedures ordered by coroners to investigate unexpected deaths—and handed them to the University of Tasmania's RA Rodda Pathology Museum. They did this without asking the families of the deceased. They did this without asking the coroners who were responsible for the bodies. In some cases, they put these specimens on display. Over twenty-five years, 177 human samples were collected this way.
The scandal came to light slowly. In 2016, concerns surfaced about three bone samples at the museum that appeared to have been obtained without consent. This prompted Tasmania's state coroner to order a formal investigation in April 2023. After months of work, the findings arrived in September of that year. The coroner, Simon Cooper, identified Dr Royal Cummings, a now-deceased forensic pathologist, as the person who provided most of the specimens to the museum. But Cummings was not alone. "It also appears that his predecessors and successors also engaged in the practice," Cooper said. The evidence suggested pathologists may have deliberately sought out specimens from coronial autopsies specifically to give to the museum.
On Tuesday, May 19th, 2026, Tasmania's health minister Bridget Archer stood in parliament and apologized. "Although these historical practices ended 35 years ago, the deep impact this has had on the families and loved ones of the deceased continues to this day," she said. She acknowledged the "enduring distress, anger, pain, grief and trauma" that families had carried. "It's important to remember that these were not just body parts or specimens or human remains. They were people."
For Cheryl Springfield, whose brother David Maher died in a car accident at fourteen in 1976, the apology was necessary but insufficient. "It's in the right direction, but it's not going to fix it all," she told local media. Learning that her brother's remains had been taken and studied without her family's knowledge was, she said, "absolutely a nightmare from that moment we were told."
The University of Tasmania's deputy vice-chancellor for health, Graeme Zosky, also issued a statement acknowledging the gravity of what had occurred. "While we recognise an apology cannot fix the hurt and distress families have felt, we are sorry," he said. The university had met with many of the affected families. The 177 specimens—organs, tissue samples, and bone—were removed from display in 2018, years after the initial concerns were raised.
The RA Rodda Pathology Museum had been established in 1966 to support teaching and research in medical sciences. For decades, it housed human remains that had been taken without permission, studied without consent, and displayed without acknowledgment of the people they had once been. The families of the deceased learned about this violation decades after burial, after they had already grieved, after they had already said goodbye. An apology in parliament cannot undo that discovery or the years of not knowing.
Citações Notáveis
Although these historical practices ended 35 years ago, the deep impact this has had on the families and loved ones of the deceased continues to this day— Bridget Archer, Tasmania's health minister
It's in the right direction, but it's not going to fix it all— Cheryl Springfield, whose brother's remains were retained
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did it take fifty years for families to find out what happened to their relatives' remains?
The specimens were kept in a museum collection. There was no systematic notification to families. The practice was institutional—it was how pathologists worked. No one told the families because no one thought they needed to be told.
And the pathologists knew this was wrong?
The coroner's investigation suggests they may have actively sought out specimens to give to the museum. That's not passive retention. That's deliberate collection. Whether they understood it as wrong is harder to say—the culture of the time may have normalized it.
What does an apology do at this point?
It acknowledges harm. It names what happened. But families like John Santi's—who buried their brother and then learned his brain was in a museum—they're saying an apology isn't enough. They want to know what comes next.
What should come next?
That's what the families are asking. Compensation, perhaps. Proper burial of the remains. A change in how institutions handle human tissue. The apology is a beginning, not an ending.
How many families are we talking about?
Dozens. The 177 specimens came from dozens of bodies. Each one represents a family who didn't know, who found out late, who had to process that violation all at once.
And this was all legal at the time?
That's the question no one's answering clearly. It happened. It wasn't disclosed. Whether it was technically permitted is different from whether it was right.