Jaroslav Brůžek – The Story of an Anthropologist with His Heart Half in the Czech Republic, Half in France
The Beginning of My Journey and the Path to Anthropology
I was born in Písek and spent my childhood in Bavorov, a small town in the foothills of the Bohemian Forest, nestled in the picturesque valley of the Blanice River. My father was an electrician passionate about his work; my mother worked as a cook but above all, she was the head of the household and of us children. We didn't waste much at home, but neither did we skimp—on food, love, or humor—and that still serves me well today.
I had a long-standing uncertainty about my future profession, unlike my parents, who had clear ideas. While my mother envisioned a forestry engineer in the family, my father dreamed—perhaps projecting his own unrealized aspirations—of a son who would become a high school teacher or even a doctor. I ruled out medicine but compromised for my father: after graduating from high school in Vodňany, I enrolled in a combined program in biology and chemistry at the Faculty of Science at Charles University, though I later switched to focus on biology. Over time, I realized that purely experimental disciplines didn’t resonate with me, and I couldn’t find much joy in systematic biology. I began to ask myself what I would genuinely enjoy. The turning point came during a student field trip to Pálava, where one of the teaching assistants was Vratislav Mazák, who had described Homo ergaster, a key species in human evolution. He took us to the Anthropos Pavilion in Brno-Pisárky, and amid the wine-themed atmosphere of the trip, I experienced a clear and sobering realization: I wanted to become—and would become—an anthropologist. I then found myself the sole student enrolled in the anthropology program that year, which meant I didn't attend traditional lectures but had personalized instruction in a collegial and pleasant setting.
Early Professional Years
After completing my anthropology studies, I found my first job in České Budějovice, at the sports medicine department of the regional hospital. I was involved in selecting talented athletes and providing care for them. However, my time there was interrupted by a draft notice. I was called up for a two-year military service—a consequence of ignoring the university pre-service preparation for one-year duty. Suddenly, I was no longer a civilian anthropologist but a soldier alternating between defending the homeland under socialism and caring for military athletes at the Military Hospital in Pilsen. After returning from the army, I went back to my alma mater—Faculty of Science at the Charles University. I initially filled in for colleagues on maternity leave and later focused on preparing my so-called candidate thesis, today's equivalent of a PhD.
A key figure at that time was Prof. A. Doležal—a gynecologist with a Renaissance soul. Together, we organized an exhibition on the anthropology of motherhood and collected clinical material for my first doctoral thesis, which earned me the RNDr. title. As is often the case, when one starts gaining momentum, new opportunities open up. During my PhD preparation, I received a French government scholarship and spent half a year in Paris—specifically at Université Pierre et Marie Curie. There, in a lab led by the successors of the renowned Prof. G. Olivier, I immersed myself in the world of bones, especially pelvises. After returning, I settled at the Motol University Hospital, working at the Research Institute for Child Development, which is now part of the 2nd Faculty of Medicine at Charles University. My anthropological work took on a new dimension and pace. I was completing my dissertation on sexual dimorphism of the pelvis and methods for sex estimation. I worked as a clinical anthropologist and auxologist, collaborating with physicians across disciplines — from endocrinology and nephrology to genetics. We monitored children with cystic fibrosis, studied growth trends, and sought ways to help children suffering from this life-shortening congenital disease.
France – A Test of Resilience
The year 1986 marked a major shift—not just geographically, but in the rhythm of my life. I emigrated to France to join my wife. Unfortunately, according to French authorities, I had the education, but not the "right stamp." If I wanted to continue in anthropology, I had to redo my doctoral studies—this time at a French university. In addition to the academic requirements, the main obstacles were the language barrier and financial security. So I took a job as a warehouse worker in the Auchan supermarket. I studied French at night, stocked shelves by day, cared for my wife—who was becoming seriously ill—and worked on my French dissertation. I joined the lab of Professor Denise Ferembach at EPHE (École pratique des hautes études), who provided me with invaluable support and a friendly atmosphere that sustained both my research and me personally through a very difficult time. In 1991, I defended my doctorate at the Institute of Human Paleontology (Muséum national d'Histoire naturelle) in Paris under the supervision of Prof. Henry de Lumley, with great help from Denise Ferembach and many wonderful people, such as Albert Ducros, Patrick Pasquet, and Jean-Jacques Hublin.
Despite now having the required qualifications, breaking into the academic world was far from easy. I repeatedly applied to the national CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique) competitions, and after several attempts and five long years, I was finally accepted as a Chargé de Recherche in a CNRS team at the University of Bordeaux, led by Prof. Bernard Vandermeersch. At Bordeaux, I joined a small but close-knit lab—there were barely ten of us—and the atmosphere was familial. I felt more than welcome. Colleagues such as Anne-Marie Tillier, Henri Duday, Eric Crubézy, and later Pascal Murail, Dominique Castex, Bruno Maureille, and Pascal Sellier helped create an environment where research and life both thrived. I discovered field anthropology and paleoauxology, participated in excavations in Corconne and Villedubert, as well as in Mongolia and the remote Marquesas Islands in the Pacific. We worked in a team, published together, traveled across Europe and beyond—and when the lab doors closed, wine bottles opened.
The warmth of that welcome inspired me to pay it forward. I became an informal mentor to several younger colleagues from the Czech Republic, helping them enroll in co-tutelle PhD programs between France and the Czech Republic. My large apartment in Bordeaux became a sort of transfer station—buzzing with Czech and French, lively with debates on anthropology and life. My once solitary life gradually transformed into an open station filled with visits from friends, colleagues, and students. Over time, Bordeaux became home. Yet my need for frequent returns to Prague gave me the feeling of having more than one home—and more than one professional base.
Between France and the Czech Republic
While still at CNRS, I briefly worked at the newly formed anthropology department at the University of West Bohemia in Pilsen. In 2008, I returned to where it all began—Department of Anthropology and Human Genetics at the Charles University. This time, not as a student, but as a member of the 3D Imaging and Analytical Methods Laboratory, led by Professor Jana Velemínská. Whether it was skull modeling or fossil digitization, the work brought fresh challenges and ideas. Together with Jana and Petr Velemínský, we salvaged a unique set of historical glass negatives documenting human fossil finds—mammoth hunters from Předmostí in Moravia. This important cultural and scientific heritage was at risk of being lost in forgotten drawers. Our efforts led to a research grant and ultimately the 2008 book Early Modern Humans from Předmostí: A New Reading of Old Documentation.
With Viktor Černý, who pioneered archaeogenetics at the Institute of Archaeology in Prague, we formed a well-coordinated duo—backpacks on our backs, sampling kits in suitcases, mosquitoes on our necks, and Africa ahead. Around the turn of the millennium, our search for genetic material took us to many sub-Saharan countries, where we encountered fascinating communities, fieldwork challenges, and remarkable life stories. Our journeys and research culminated in a 2008 exhibition at the National Museum and the accompanying book Between the Sahara and the Tropical Rainforest: People of the Mandara Mountains.
Soon new projects came. A Franco-Czech team set out to study the health and lives of the Great Moravian population from the 9th to 11th centuries. Our research extended across Czech, French, and Slovak collections.
Farewell to France and Return to the Czech Republic
Over the years, I steadily climbed the academic ladder in France—step by step, with qualifying exams, publications, and new research. The lab grew, perhaps tenfold, over two decades. In 2014, I ended my active service as Directeur de Recherche 1er classe—effectively the highest rank a scientist can attain in France. It wasn’t a quiet exit, but rather a nod of recognition that the path I had walked in France was meaningful.
My Czech path, however, continues. In a twist of irony, after returning to the Czech Republic, I experienced what I had once gone through in France—the Czech academic system did not recognize my French habilitation. I had to undergo the entire process again. And since I was already in the rhythm, I completed the professorship too.
I have supervised and continue to supervise Master and PhD theses—because what is a scientist without students to whom he can pass not only knowledge, but also questions, doubts, and the joy of discovery? Working with young people keeps me alert, challenges me to think differently, and sometimes to admit that “today’s generation” really does things I can now only admire from a distance. Even today, I’m involved in research projects focused on the paleobiology of past populations—from the Upper Paleolithic to the Middle Ages.
Together with members of an international team, especially Frederic Santos, Eugénia Cunha, and Rebeka Rmoutilová, we have developed a number of sex estimation methods with wide applicability, which we also used in our research.
I didn’t pursue the path of great paleoanthropological discoveries. I’m not a fossil hunter, but rather a broadly focused anthropologist who often ventured where no path was yet laid. Most paths are narrow trails and dead ends that go undocumented. All the more rewarding when something succeeds. Like the "Man from Menton," who turned out to be a woman—this finding was published in the book The Lady of Cavillon. Or the sex estimation of the triple burial of mammoth hunters from Dolní Věstonice, previously interpreted as a failed childbirth, where my analysis showed that all three individuals were male—later confirmed by genetics. I’m also proud that our team proved the true significance of the overlooked skull of the woman from Zlatý kůň, previously misdated due to sample contamination. It is now recognized as a 45,000-year-old find—one of the oldest known modern human remains in Europe.
Looking back—on a journey that led through Bavorov, Prague, Paris, Bordeaux, and back again—it was worth it.
Prague, Easter 2025
Note: The English version of Jaro’s memories was produced using AI-assisted translation, followed by careful human editing to preserve his voice and intent.