
IN JUNE, Eberhard Zangger had an experience most archaeologists only dream of: his very own Tutankhamun moment. Just as Howard Carter had done in 1922 when he entered the boy king’s intact tomb, Zangger was exploring a chamber with the potential to revolutionise archaeology.
But Zangger wasn’t in Egypt. He was in north London, in the home of the late, great archaeologist James Mellaart. The treasures he uncovered were reams of documents relating to one of the most important events in prehistory: the near-simultaneous collapse of three great Bronze Age civilisations. One text in particular, Zangger says, points to a crucial missing piece of the puzzle, the existence of a previously unknown civilisation that Zangger believes played a pivotal role in the downfall of the others.
This month, Zangger will publish an analysis of that document. It is a 3200-year-old text telling the story of a warlike king and his conquests around the eastern Mediterranean. Zangger has staked his reputation on the claim that this solves one of archaeology’s biggest mysteries. His critics have a different story to tell. They say that Zangger may be the victim of an elaborate hoax.
Advertisement
Zangger, a Swiss citizen who will turn 60 next year, freely admits he is a controversial figure. He is the head of an international non-profit group set up to promote his idea that the Luwian civilisation in western Anatolia – in what is now Turkey – was responsible for the Bronze Age collapse. To many archaeologists, this idea is fanciful at best. But Zangger is certain he is right.
Zangger began his research career in conventional fashion. He gained a PhD in geoarchaeology in the mid-1980s and became an expert in interpreting the way landscapes might have looked during the Bronze Age.
“I spent years working on archaeological sites all around the eastern Mediterranean – but never in Turkey,” says Zangger. He found this striking, particularly because western Turkey is home to one of the most iconic of all Bronze Age cities: Troy.
The mainstream archaeological community had – and still has – a simple answer for the omission: nothing much happened in western Anatolia during the Bronze Age. Forget the ancient stories of Trojan wars, the great civilisations lay elsewhere. In particular, there were the Mycenaeans to the west and the Hittites further east (see Map). Far to the south, of course, were the Egyptians.
Zangger was unconvinced. He could see that western Turkey was rich in resources, from mineral deposits to natural harbours. It is simply inconceivable that the region wasn’t important during the Bronze Age, he says.
This debate would perhaps have remained civil and low key, had Zangger not taken matters into his own hands. He began using the accepted evidence as a foundation for theories that his critics argue belong in the realm of fiction rather than science.
For instance, in the 1990s, Zangger’s research at Tiryns, a Mycenaean site, uncovered evidence of a flash flood triggered by a Bronze Age earthquake. He realised that just such a scenario was described centuries later in one of Plato’s dialogues – a work that is famous for carrying the earliest description of Atlantis.
Zangger argued that Plato’s text could be reinterpreted: his account of Atlantis was actually a distorted description of Troy, and therefore evidence of the significance of western Anatolia at that time. The idea, set out in a 1992 book, gained fans – but few in the academic community. It read “like an exercise in shoe-horning awkward evidence into a reluctant mould”, according to a historian who reviewed the book for èƵ.

Last year, Zangger published an even more ambitious idea. He claimed to have uncovered evidence that the people living in western Turkey during the Bronze Age – known as the Luwians – had their own civilisation, separate to that of the Hittites or Mycenaeans. What’s more, he said, the presence of the Luwians explains why the surrounding civilisations crumbled within decades of one another.
Zangger’s narrative runs something like this: late in the Bronze Age, the Luwians ceased squabbling among themselves and came together in a powerful coalition. They swept eastwards, destabilising the Hittite empire, and also launched ambitious overseas raids that helped sow turmoil in Egypt.
Attack on Troy
The Mycenaeans viewed these developments with alarm. Forming their own coalition, they sailed across the Aegean to attack Luwian strongholds including Troy. The Mycenaeans ultimately brought down the Luwians – but later began fighting among themselves, destroying their own civilisation. Zangger dubbed the whole episode “World War Zero”.
It reads like a plot from epic literature, and not without reason: some of the backing for this chain of events comes from Homer’s two epic poems, the Iliad and the Odyssey, both written centuries after the Bronze Age collapse. But there are some less contentious lines of evidence too.
Luwian raids are described in Hittite texts from around that time, for instance. And Zangger had commissioned a Turkish student to trawl through the archaeological literature, pulling out references to Bronze Age settlements in western Turkey.
“We found about 400 sites. A few are 500 metres to 1000 metres in diameter – and they are virtually untouched by science,” Zangger says. The makes it clear that the region is far from being the insignificant Bronze Age backwater archaeologists believe it to be. Many archaeologists welcomed the database, but were dismissive of his story. To convince the sceptics, he needed stronger evidence.
Which brings us back to that moment in June when Zangger visited Mellaart’s home. The two had corresponded in the 1990s – both shared a passion for Bronze Age western Turkey. Mellaart revealed that he had copies of Bronze Age texts found at a site called Beyköy. They might hold evidence of the Luwians’ military prowess, Zangger learned.
Mellaart died in 2012, but last year Zangger ran into his son, Alan, in Istanbul. “I mentioned that in the estate there might be a pile of documents on Beyköy. And a year later he wrote back to tell me: I’ve found it,” says Zangger. Alan Mellaart granted Zangger access to his father’s London flat, which still contained stacks of documents. His eye was instantly drawn to one written in an ancient script: Luwian hieroglyphics.
Zangger sent a copy of the text to one of the few scholars able to read Luwian hieroglyphs, Dutch researcher Fred Woudhuizen. The text turned out to be all Zangger might have hoped for. It was a history of events covering about a decade right at the end of the Bronze Age, some 3200 years ago. The text told how Kupanta-Kurunta, king of a Luwian territory called Mira had strengthened his kingdom and gained the support of other Luwian leaders before conquering Hittite territory to the east. He then launched a fleet that conquered land as far away as Ashqelon, a coastal city near Egypt.

In other words, the Beyköy text is powerful supporting evidence for Zangger’s World War Zero hypothesis. Zangger and Woudhuizen’s paper should be .
Or so Zangger hopes. He claims that since he went public with his findings in October several archaeologists have been working behind the scenes to prevent publication. The Beyköy text is not, they say, dramatic proof that Zangger is correct. They claim it is a hoax probably forged by Mellaart, who was previously involved in an event that was to become notorious – the Dorak affair.
One of the most important but inscrutable of 20th-century archaeologists, Mellaart made several finds in Turkey that transformed our understanding of the agricultural revolution, a step on the road to civilisation. Most significant of all was his discovery in 1958 of Çatalhöyük, a 9000-year-old proto-city.
But that same year, on a train journey across Turkey, he claimed to have met a young woman wearing what was clearly a Bronze Age bracelet. She invited him to her home in Izmir where she had a large collection of such artefacts, all apparently taken from two royal tombs at Dorak, in north-west Turkey. She gave Mellaart permission to publish illustrations of them, but then disappeared – along with the treasure. A few years later, the Turkish media accused Mellaart of helping to smuggle the artefacts out of the country, and he lost his permit to excavate at Çatalhöyük.
To this day no one knows the truth of the Dorak affair. Zangger stresses there is no evidence Mellaart is guilty of wrongdoing, but some still suspect Mellaart was a smuggler. Others think he was a fantasist who dreamed up the whole Dorak episode. To them, the Beyköy text is another invented treasure.
Most damning as far as the sceptics are concerned is the disappearance of the original text. According to Mellaart’s notes, it was inscribed on a 29-metre-long stone monument unearthed in 1878 at Beyköy. An archaeologist carefully copied the hieroglyphs on to paper at the time. But, by the time the authorities arrived to preserve the structure, the locals had dismantled it and used the stone in the foundations of their mosque. It was lost, the only evidence of its existence being the archaeologist’s illustration, which ended up in Turkey’s government collections.
“The 3200-year-old text turned out to be all Zangger might have hoped for”
By the 1950s, Luwian hieroglyphs could be read and Turkish archaeologists led an international project to decipher the Beyköy text, along with several others. Mellaart became involved – which is how, according to his notes, he obtained copies of the material. But the project stalled and publications never materialised. By the time Zangger and Mellaart corresponded in the 1990s, Mellaart was the sole survivor of the project, and as far as we know the only living person aware that it had ever existed. The story does seem to have echoes of the Dorak affair.
But Zangger is convinced the Beyköy text is genuine. He says it contains far more detail about Bronze Age Anatolia than a forger would be comfortable including, for fear of making errors that would expose the deception. Even more significantly, Zangger says, Mellaart was apparently unable to read Luwian hieroglyphs, let alone use the writing system to forge such an ambitious document.
As things stand Zangger admits it is impossible to know for sure whether the Beyköy text is genuine. But publicising it is the only way to find out, he says, and he has little time for those who would stand in the way. “Is it right that certain scholars decide for the rest of us if something like this is published?”
Already, he says, some researchers have begun examining the text and investigating Mellaart’s story. Of course, Zangger hopes they will conclude the text is genuine support for his ideas. But if the upshot is simply added impetus for excavating western Turkey’s Bronze Age sites, he will still view that as a victory. “I don’t think there’s any place in the world where discoveries can be made so easily as they can in western Anatolia.” One way or another, the story of the Bronze Age collapse seems to be falling into place.
This article appeared in print under the headline “The champion of World War Zero”
