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Korea Herald
3 days ago
- Politics
- Korea Herald
[Wang Son-taek] Why do we need the Ministry of Unification?
Few policy debates in recent memory have struck such a sensitive nerve as the question now emerging in South Korean political discourse: Should the Ministry of Unification be renamed? The idea, once considered fringe, is now circulating more seriously in the early stages of the Lee Jae Myung administration. Supporters argue that the word 'Unification' has lost relevance in today's geopolitical climate and that a more pragmatic label is needed. But for many Koreans, including myself, this is not simply a matter of nomenclature. It is about who we are as a people, what we have endured and what we still dream of becoming. The debate is emotional because it touches something deep in our collective consciousness: the pain of division, the hope of reunification and the identity of a nation that has, for centuries, understood itself as one people sharing one destiny. To casually rename a ministry that bears the title 'Unification' feels like giving up. In times of growing cynicism, it is tempting to cast off symbols and slogans as empty. But not all names are mere words. Some carry the weight of generations. Some bear witness to wounds still unhealed. I am clearly opposed to the renaming. My opposition is based on six interlocking reasons — constitutional, historical, diplomatic, strategic, political and, above all, human. First, such a move would run directly counter to the spirit and text of the Constitution, which mentions unification seven times as a national objective. Article 4, in particular, states that "The Republic of Korea shall seek unification and shall formulate and carry out a policy of peaceful unification based on the principles of freedom and democracy." Erasing the name "Unification" from a core ministry would not only weaken institutional memory but could also be construed as an abandonment of this constitutional mandate. It would be akin to erasing a promise etched into the founding law of the republic. Second, the name is not just a legal obligation — it reflects a historical yearning that has defined the Korean people for more than a millennium. Since the unification of the Three Kingdoms under Silla and the reunification of the Later Three Kingdoms by Goryeo, Korea has known itself as a singular entity. The division of the peninsula for 80 years is a wound still fresh when measured against over 1,100 years of unity. Some argue that division fatigue is understandable and that the younger generation lacks an emotional connection to the North. However, historical responsibility should not diminish with time. The Ministry of Unification represents the hope, grief, and sacrifice of generations who believed that someday, the divided land and people would be reunited. To rename it would be to dishonor that belief — and those who carried it through more challenging times than these. Third, we must never forget that Korea's division was not born of domestic will but imposed through foreign calculation. In 1945, Korea emerged from decades of Japanese colonial rule only to be divided by an arbitrary separation agreed upon by the United States and the Soviet Union. Korean voices were excluded from the process; national sovereignty was sacrificed for Cold War convenience. While we lacked the power to resist then, we possess it now. South Korea is a global economic and cultural power. To surrender our claim to unification now would be to legitimize a historical injustice — and to signal that sovereign rights can be obliterated if the world waits long enough. That message would not only betray our past but also imperil our future. Fourth, changing the name could send a damaging message to the international community. South and North Korea are recognized as separate entities by the United Nations. Should a crisis occur in the North, it might not be assumed that the South has any natural claim to leadership unless we have demonstrated, consistently and openly, that peaceful unification is a core interest. If the Ministry of Unification were to disappear, that message would become muddled. Our diplomatic position weakens. Other global powers, including the permanent members of the UN Security Council, may assert control, sidelining South Korea from its national destiny. Maintaining the name is a form of diplomatic signaling. To remove it would be an unforced error with high strategic costs. Fifth, renaming the ministry will not ease tensions with North Korea. Chairman Kim Jong-un's grudge toward the South is not rooted in semantics. It is rooted in frustration that it is impossible for the North to catch up with the South and to unite the two Koreas under his authoritarian leadership. Renaming the ministry will not change that reality. If anything, it emboldens Pyongyang by suggesting that South Korea's commitment to reunification is fading. We must instead show that our door remains open — not because we are weak, but because we are patient and principled. Keeping the Ministry of Unification is part of that message. Finally, on the domestic front, renaming the ministry would only inflame political divisions and complicate the administration's early governance. Conservative factions have long accused progressive leaders of being soft on North Korea. Renaming the Ministry of Unification would play directly into these narratives, providing ammunition to political opponents. South Korea has urgent work to do — restoring economic dynamism, investing in innovation, strengthening national security and enhancing global competitiveness. We do not need an unproductive controversy that will consume political assets. Practical governance demands focus, not distractions. This is not merely about preserving a name; it is about maintaining a national aspiration and the moral compass that keeps it alive. The Ministry of Unification stands as a testament to the unfinished work of healing a divided people. Its name is a promise to those who still believe that we can become family members again, especially those who still wait for a knock from a long-lost sibling across the DMZ. We simply must not give up on that promise. Wang Son-taek is an adjunct professor at Sogang University. He is a former diplomatic correspondent at YTN and a former research associate at Yeosijae. The views expressed here are the writer's own. — Ed.
The Guardian
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Seeing climate change like this, it changes you': dance duo Bicep on making an album in Greenland
Russell glacier, at the edge of Greenland's vast ice sheet, sounds as if it's crying: moans emanate from deep within the slowly but inexorably melting ice. Andy Ferguson, one half of dance duo Bicep, walks around in its towering shadow recording these eerie sounds. 'Everyone comes back changed,' he says of Greenland. 'Seeing first-hand climate change happening like this.' It's April 2023 and, in the wake of Bicep's second album Isles cementing them as one of the leading electronic acts globally, Ferguson has travelled to Greenland as part of a project to collaborate with Indigenous musicians and bring the momentous struggle of this region – and even the planet – into focus. The project will take two years to come to fruition but next month sees the release of Bicep's first soundtrack and accompanying film Takkuuk, pronounced tuck-kook. It's an Inuktitut word that came from throat singing duo Silla, one of the Indigenous collaborators: 'It translates to literally 'look' but has the connotation that you're urging someone to look at something closely,' says Silla's Charlotte Qamaniq. 'The Arctic climate is changing rapidly so in the context of the project it's: 'look, the adverse effects of climate change are obvious.' But it's also: 'hey, look how cool Inuit culture is!'' I join Ferguson on this first trip along with representatives from EarthSonic, a non-profit organisation dedicated to raising awareness about the climate crisis through art projects. Ferguson's Bicep partner Matt McBriar stays home ahead of the birth of his first child. When we land at Kangerlussuaq airport, first opened as a US airbase in the second world war, it's -10C, bright and crisp. Ferguson is staying with our driver Evald who, on learning that Ferguson and I are Man United fans, exclaims: 'Manchester United is my religion! Old Trafford is my church!' His home has a huge Lego model of the stadium. Across the next week we see the northern lights – in Inuit myth, it's dead souls playing ball with a walrus's head – and ride dogsleds and snowmobiles, but there's a sobering tone to the beauty and adventure. Russell glacier is a 20km journey by four-wheel drive on a rough dirt road. The ice sheet covers 80% of the country, but loss of ice from Greenland and Antarctic ice sheets has quadrupled since the 90s due to climate change, and is the principal driver of rising sea levels. Scientists predict if the world continues on a course towards 2.5C heating it will take us beyond a tipping point for both ice sheets, resulting in a catastrophic sea level rise of 12 metres. Standing under a vast glacier that is hundreds of thousands of years old, but which could disappear within my daughters' lifetime, is discombobulating. Next morning it's on to Sisimiut for Arctic Sounds, a showcase for music from across the Arctic region and beyond. Sisimiut is Greenland's second city, home to 5,000, and a thriving metropolis compared with Kangerlussuaq. Rock and metal are the most popular music, alongside rap and other Indigenous music and the standout acts include an incendiary performance by Greenlandic rapper Tarrak. 'Seeing Tarrak perform was so powerful,' Ferguson says, with 'everyone chanting in this language I'd never heard before. It felt punk. It's rare to see that nowadays when everything is so homogenised.' The project is allowing Bicep to flex different musical muscles. Playing a simultaneously melancholic and euphoric style of tech-house and electronica, Bicep broke through in the mid-2010s. Their track Glue became a ubiquitous rave anthem among gen Z, and led to the success of Isles, which reached No 2 in the UK charts and earned them two Brit award nominations. Everything was rosy, but it was, in Ferguson's words, 'all sugar, no sour', so they created alter egos Chroma and Dove to show their harder, headier side. The Arctic was an opportunity to challenge themselves again. After Ferguson returned from Greenland, the first thing Bicep did was construct a drum kit from ice samples and other field recordings of local sounds including husky chains, then created demos, 'really just chord structures we know we can write around' and sent them to the Indigenous artists. They didn't expect to get almost full songs in return, but on hearing what came back, the duo realised 'we needed to step back and not be the focal point'. A gig on a glacier had been one initial mooted idea, but the Greenland trip made it obvious such a gig would be 'tone deaf', says Ferguson. Through conversations with Indigenous artists, 'it became clear this needed to be us shining a light on them'. At times, progress seemed suitably glacial, but eventually a collection of Indigenous artists from Greenland and the wider Arctic region recorded their contributions at Iceland Airwaves festival in Reykjavík in November 2023, where many of them were in town performing, including Tarrak, Silla, vocalist Katarina Barruk and more. When I catch up with Ferguson and meet his Bicep-mate McBriar in late 2024, they're buzzing about the results, and by late May, I'm finally able to hear the full thing in their Shoreditch studio. From the first bars of opener Sikorsuit, featuring Greenlandic indie band Nuija, it's clear the duo have managed to pull myriad styles and dialect into a cohesive whole. 'It doesn't sound anything like us – and it doesn't sound like them,' McBriar says. 'That's what you hope to achieve from a collaboration.' Tarrak collaboration Taarsitillugu opens with a sparse breakbeat and becomes a full-on rave banger, while on her track Dárbbuo, Barruk sings in Ume Sámi, an endangered Uralic language spoken by fewer than 20 people. 'I went in to the studio and just poured my heart out because of the tragic state the world is in,' she says, 'then Matt and Andy worked their magic.' There was synchronicity, despite different languages. 'It shows a strong connection between us Indigenous sister and brothers,' explains Barruk, who is Swedish. 'Without me knowing takkuuk means look, I created lyrics which ask the other person to vuöjnniet, to see, so one doesn't need to feel so alone. Alone in the fight for our lands, our ways of living, our language, culture and taking care of the Earth.' As the project developed it was clear it needed context, so Bicep asked Zak Norman, who designs their brilliant on-stage visuals, to create an immersive installation. Norman worked with Charlie Miller, a documentary film-maker who went on the original Greenland trip, on a film that introduces the artists and explores the displacement and marginalisation of their communities, cultures and language. Norman used adapted infrared cameras to give the footage otherworldly pink and purple hues, reminiscent of Richard Mosse's 2013 video artwork The Enclave. The film is a series of vignettes for each track, and it certainly deepens the music, with eerie landscapes layered with interviews. The work will premiere on the giant wraparound screens at London's Outernet next month, before touring venues and festivals across the world. The project has taken on yet another hue in the wake of Donald Trump's recent expansionist proclamations. 'It's a circus,' says Tarrak. 'The first time Trump asked to buy Greenland [during his first. term as president] we took it as a joke. Now I can see there's some seriousness – but it's still just weird, in 2025, to try and buy a country. I know they're more interested in what's under the ground than the people, but we have to be smart about it as Greenlanders, stick together and be aware of people trying to divide us.' Bicep experienced their own existential crisis when McBriar had to have surgery for a large tumour on his brain's pituitary gland last year, from which he's thankfully made a good recovery. They're now deep into their third album proper, though it won't see daylight from their basement studio for at least another year. 'We wrote [Isles] pre-pandemic so it's a complete different world now. With Chroma we wanted to get that aggression out and cleanse ourselves of what we wanted to do, just straight club tracks. Now I think we're coming full circle.' How will you judge the success of Takkuuk, I ask. 'You can't quantify awareness,' says Ferguson. 'If it starts people on a journey to learn more about Greenland then it's achieved something. 'It's easy to switch off with climate change, I switch off myself sometimes,' he continues. 'But if you start telling the story in different ways, different narratives, ways people can visualise it, at least it's a start. Because for the next generation it's going to be the focal part of their life.' Takkuuk premieres at Outernet, London, 3 July, then tours. The soundtrack Takkuuk is released by Ninja Tune on 25 July
The Guardian
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Seeing climate change like this, it changes you': dance duo Bicep on making an album in Greenland
Russell glacier, at the edge of Greenland's vast ice sheet, sounds as if it's crying: moans emanate from deep within the slowly but inexorably melting ice. Andy Ferguson, one half of dance duo Bicep, walks around in its towering shadow recording these eerie sounds. 'Everyone comes back changed,' he says of Greenland. 'Seeing first-hand climate change happening like this.' It's April 2023 and, in the wake of Bicep's second album Isles cementing them as one of the leading electronic acts globally, Ferguson has travelled to Greenland as part of a project to collaborate with Indigenous musicians and bring the momentous struggle of this region – and even the planet – into focus. The project will take two years to come to fruition but next month sees the release of Bicep's first soundtrack and accompanying film Takkuuk, pronounced tuck-kook. It's an Inuktitut word that came from throat singing duo Silla, one of the Indigenous collaborators: 'It translates to literally 'look' but has the connotation that you're urging someone to look at something closely,' says Silla's Charlotte Qamaniq. 'The Arctic climate is changing rapidly so in the context of the project it's: 'look, the adverse effects of climate change are obvious.' But it's also: 'hey, look how cool Inuit culture is!'' I join Ferguson on this first trip along with representatives from EarthSonic, a non-profit organisation dedicated to raising awareness about the climate crisis through art projects. Ferguson's Bicep partner Matt McBriar stays home ahead of the birth of his first child. When we land at Kangerlussuaq airport, first opened as a US airbase in the second world war, it's -10C, bright and crisp. Ferguson is staying with our driver Evald who, on learning that Ferguson and I are Man United fans, exclaims: 'Manchester United is my religion! Old Trafford is my church!' His home has a huge Lego model of the stadium. Across the next week we see the northern lights – in Inuit myth, it's dead souls playing ball with a walrus's head – and ride dogsleds and snowmobiles, but there's a sobering tone to the beauty and adventure. Russell glacier is a 20km journey by four-wheel drive on a rough dirt road. The ice sheet covers 80% of the country, but loss of ice from Greenland and Antarctic ice sheets has quadrupled since the 90s due to climate change, and is the principal driver of rising sea levels. Scientists predict if the world continues on a course towards 2.5C heating it will take us beyond a tipping point for both ice sheets, resulting in a catastrophic sea level rise of 12 metres. Standing under a vast glacier that is hundreds of thousands of years old, but which could disappear within my daughters' lifetime, is discombobulating. Next morning it's on to Sisimiut for Arctic Sounds, a showcase for music from across the Arctic region and beyond. Sisimiut is Greenland's second city, home to 5,000, and a thriving metropolis compared with Kangerlussuaq. Rock and metal are the most popular music, alongside rap and other Indigenous music and the standout acts include an incendiary performance by Greenlandic rapper Tarrak. 'Seeing Tarrak perform was so powerful,' Ferguson says, with 'everyone chanting in this language I'd never heard before. It felt punk. It's rare to see that nowadays when everything is so homogenised.' The project is allowing Bicep to flex different musical muscles. Playing a simultaneously melancholic and euphoric style of tech-house and electronica, Bicep broke through in the mid-2010s. Their track Glue became a ubiquitous rave anthem among gen Z, and led to the success of Isles, which reached No 2 in the UK charts and earned them two Brit award nominations. Everything was rosy, but it was, in Ferguson's words, 'all sugar, no sour', so they created alter egos Chroma and Dove to show their harder, headier side. The Arctic was an opportunity to challenge themselves again. After Ferguson returned from Greenland, the first thing Bicep did was construct a drum kit from ice samples and other field recordings of local sounds including husky chains, then created demos, 'really just chord structures we know we can write around' and sent them to the Indigenous artists. They didn't expect to get almost full songs in return, but on hearing what came back, the duo realised 'we needed to step back and not be the focal point'. A gig on a glacier had been one initial mooted idea, but the Greenland trip made it obvious such a gig would be 'tone deaf', says Ferguson. Through conversations with Indigenous artists, 'it became clear this needed to be us shining a light on them'. At times, progress seemed suitably glacial, but eventually a collection of Indigenous artists from Greenland and the wider Arctic region recorded their contributions at Iceland Airwaves festival in Reykjavík in November 2023, where many of them were in town performing, including Tarrak, Silla, vocalist Katarina Barruk and more. When I catch up with Ferguson and meet his Bicep-mate McBriar in late 2024, they're buzzing about the results, and by late May, I'm finally able to hear the full thing in their Shoreditch studio. From the first bars of opener Sikorsuit, featuring Greenlandic indie band Nuija, it's clear the duo have managed to pull myriad styles and dialect into a cohesive whole. 'It doesn't sound anything like us – and it doesn't sound like them,' McBriar says. 'That's what you hope to achieve from a collaboration.' Tarrak collaboration Taarsitillugu opens with a sparse breakbeat and becomes a full-on rave banger, while on her track Dárbbuo, Barruk sings in Ume Sámi, an endangered Uralic language spoken by fewer than 20 people. 'I went in to the studio and just poured my heart out because of the tragic state the world is in,' she says, 'then Matt and Andy worked their magic.' There was synchronicity, despite different languages. 'It shows a strong connection between us Indigenous sister and brothers,' explains Barruk, who is Swedish. 'Without me knowing takkuuk means look, I created lyrics which ask the other person to vuöjnniet, to see, so one doesn't need to feel so alone. Alone in the fight for our lands, our ways of living, our language, culture and taking care of the Earth.' As the project developed it was clear it needed context, so Bicep asked Zak Norman, who designs their brilliant on-stage visuals, to create an immersive installation. Norman worked with Charlie Miller, a documentary film-maker who went on the original Greenland trip, on a film that introduces the artists and explores the displacement and marginalisation of their communities, cultures and language. Norman used adapted infrared cameras to give the footage otherworldly pink and purple hues, reminiscent of Richard Mosse's 2013 video artwork The Enclave. The film is a series of vignettes for each track, and it certainly deepens the music, with eerie landscapes layered with interviews. The work will premiere on the giant wraparound screens at London's Outernet next month, before touring venues and festivals across the world. The project has taken on yet another hue in the wake of Donald Trump's recent expansionist proclamations. 'It's a circus,' says Tarrak. 'The first time Trump asked to buy Greenland [during his first. term as president] we took it as a joke. Now I can see there's some seriousness – but it's still just weird, in 2025, to try and buy a country. I know they're more interested in what's under the ground than the people, but we have to be smart about it as Greenlanders, stick together and be aware of people trying to divide us.' Bicep experienced their own existential crisis when McBriar had to have surgery for a large tumour on his brain's pituitary gland last year, from which he's thankfully made a good recovery. They're now deep into their third album proper, though it won't see daylight from their basement studio for at least another year. 'We wrote [Isles] pre-pandemic so it's a complete different world now. With Chroma we wanted to get that aggression out and cleanse ourselves of what we wanted to do, just straight club tracks. Now I think we're coming full circle.' How will you judge the success of Takkuuk, I ask. 'You can't quantify awareness,' says Ferguson. 'If it starts people on a journey to learn more about Greenland then it's achieved something. 'It's easy to switch off with climate change, I switch off myself sometimes,' he continues. 'But if you start telling the story in different ways, different narratives, ways people can visualise it, at least it's a start. Because for the next generation it's going to be the focal part of their life.' Takkuuk premieres at Outernet, London, 3 July, then tours. The soundtrack Takkuuk is released by Ninja Tune on 25 July
Hamilton Spectator
06-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hamilton Spectator
Inuit throat-singing duo Silla set to release double album this summer
Inuit throat-singing duo Silla is getting ready to release a unique double album in June and July. Formed by Charlotte Qamaniq and Cynthia Pitsiulak, the duo has released two powerful singles: Kaukuarjuk and The Great Angakkuq featuring Kevin Qamaniq-Mason, which will be featured on both upcoming albums: Inua, which is due out June 21, and Sila is Boss, which will premiere July 9. Kaukuarjuk, as well as its album Inua, will be a traditional Inuit throat-singing album, Qamaniq said, while The Great Angakkuq and its album, Sila is Boss, will be a blend of traditional Inuit throat singing and contemporary sounds, each offering something unique. Silla emphasized that every track on both albums was created with purpose. 'Each one has its own story or message. We tried to be really intentional with every song title and every sound,' Pitsiulak said. While the traditional album shares the raw experience of Inuit throat singing, the contemporary album covers a wide range of styles. Some tracks are heavy and guitar-driven; others are upbeat and electronic. 'We want people to move and dance and enjoy, feeling something in their bodies when they listen,' Qamaniq said. Creating new songs in this style is a bold step that both women are proud of. Silla is also preparing to bring their new music to live audiences. Although some of the tracks have already been released, many will be performed live for the first time during their shows in Ottawa and Saskatoon. 'We're really excited to perform these new songs,' Pitsiulak said. 'We recently had the chance to sing a couple of them live in Igloolik, and it was such a great experience. There's a special energy that comes with live performance.' Throat singing is best experienced live, Qamaniq said. While recorded music allows listeners to hear the songs anytime, it can't fully capture the energy and emotion of a live show. Some of their most powerful performances have left audience members speechless or even in tears. 'There's no second take,' she said. 'You feed off the crowd's energy and give them what you're feeling in that exact moment. It's more raw and real.' Another exciting aspect of the project is the number of collaborators involved. The duo worked with producers from Greenland and Nunavik with musicians like Charlotte's brother, Kevin Qamaniq-Mason, and visual artists from across the Inuit community who made cover art for each track. 'We wanted to highlight Inuit excellence,' Qamaniq said. 'Every track features artwork made by an Inuk artist and was produced or composed by an Inuk. That's really important to us.' These albums have been years in the making as Qamaniq and Pitsiulak began planning them over two years ago, wanting to take more control over their music, careers, and how they present themselves. 'We've released albums before, but this is the first time we really got to shape everything ourselves,' Qamaniq said. They also wanted to make sure traditional throat singing was part of the release, even if it's not what most online listeners seek out. 'It's important for Inuit to have access to those songs,' said Qamaniq. They also wanted to create something that could educate others about Inuit culture. Like any big creative project, the process wasn't without its difficulties, Qamaniq said. They had to switch producers early in the process, and working with so many different people meant a lot of juggling schedules and time zones. 'It was a learning curve for sure. But every challenge brought something new, and we just kept focusing on the end goal - making something we could be proud of,' she said. Qamaniq and Pitsiulak both grew up in Nunavut, though they moved to Ottawa at different times. That's when they met and started singing together not long after. Their long friendship and shared history come through in their performances. 'Our connection is really strong. You can feel it when we sing together,' Qamaniq said. Inuit throat singing nearly disappeared due to colonization, but artists like Silla are part of a movement to bring it back, Pitsiulak said. 'It's very old and was passed on orally. There were no recordings. It's important for us to honor that and keep it going.' Another big part of the message behind these albums is about Inuit kinship and naming. In their culture, many Inuit have multiple names that come from family and ancestors. Qamaniq, for example, has five names. Through their songs, the group wants to help people understand these cultural ideas and why they matter so much. Silla hopes their new songs, both traditional and original, will continue that legacy, Qamaniq said. 'It's also a way for us to express ourselves. It's fun, it's spiritual, it's emotional. It helps us take care of ourselves.' The duo have one more live show scheduled for Arts Court (Pique Summer Edition) in Ottawa on June 7. Error! 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Yahoo
24-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Archaeologists Find Surprising Bathroom Fixture at Ancient Site
Archaeologists excavating the site of a former palace discovered a surprising bathroom fixture, the Korean Heritage Service announced in a statement. Researchers scouring a site in Korea, which was formerly a royal palace, discovered a flush toilet dating back 1,300 years and was reportedly used by the region's prince. "These flush toilets are the first of their kind," Kim Gyeong Yeol, an archaeologist with the service, explained to Live Science. 'They wouldn't have worked like modern-day flushing toilets do; rather, someone, a servant perhaps, would have poured water into them to allow them to flush. The water would have then carried the waste through a drain that emptied out at the end.' Kim added that the fixture, which was used by the prince and the women closest to him, was hooked up to a device which "directly discharge[d] human waste into the river through a drain." "That [it] directly discharges it into the river seems to have a hierarchical meaning," the archaeologist mused. The kingdom, dubbed 'Donggung' or 'Crown Prince,' was erected in 674 A.D. during the first chapters of the country's "unified Silla" period, which dated from around 668 A.D. to 935 A.D. This most recent excavation is just the latest in a long series of searches conducted on the grounds. Previous expeditions have revealed 26 buildings to date, as well as a wealth of artifacts such as bowls, plates, and bricks decorated with a flower early flush toilets are the earliest known examples of such an invention in Korea, but they were used in other countries prior to 674 A.D. According to a 2016 study, Pakistan introduced flush toilets sometime between 2,600 B.C. and 1900 B.C., around the time the Egyptian pyramids were being built. These toilets were connected to drains, which emptied into a more advanced sewage system closer to those in use today. In 2021, scientists excavating a site in Jerusalem found a 2,700-year-old private toilet standing above a septic tank. The fixture was carved in limestone and used exclusively by 'rich people,' according to researchers.
