Arts and Culture

This film explores how the Spanish empire built its global dominance by fusing military conquest, religious conversion and imperial wealth.

At the heart of the Spanish expansion was the close alliance between crown, church and conquest. Military campaigns were inseparable from missionary efforts as conversion to Christianity became both a justification for empire and a tool of control. Faith and force advanced together, reshaping societies across the Americas.

Through the conquests of the Aztec and Incan empires, the documentary shows how Spanish power was established through violence, alliances and religious authority. The mission system spread across the Americas, reorganising Indigenous life around churches, labour regimes and colonial administration. Conversion promised salvation but enforced obedience and cultural destruction.

The film also examines the economic foundations of Spanish imperial power. Vast quantities of gold and silver were extracted from the Americas alongside the exploitation of Indigenous and enslaved labour. These resources fuelled European economies, financed global trade and helped integrate the Americas into an emerging world system built on extraction and inequality.

By tracing how faith, conquest and wealth operated together, the documentary reveals how Spanish colonialism shaped global capitalism, religious power and imperial governance. It shows how the legacies of conquest, forced conversion and resource extraction continue to influence social inequality, cultural identity and economic structures in the modern world and how current global superpowers like the United States and China adopt this model to their benefit. It also draws on the parallels between the erasure of cultural artefacts then and today’s “algorithmic colonisation”.

Cape Town, South Africa – Lucy Campbell, with her long grey dreadlocks, stands animated in front of the thick stone walls of the Castle of Good Hope in Cape Town’s city centre, her small frame accentuated by their towering height.

The 65-year-old activist-turned-historian has a message for the 10 American students who have come to hear her version of the city’s history. Dressed in a black hoodie and blue jeans, Campbell is well-spoken but shows her disdain for Cape Town’s colonial past, often erupting in harsh language for those she blames for its consequences.

“This castle speaks to the first economic explosion in Cape Town,” she says at the beginning of her five-stop tour of the city. “It’s an architectural crime scene.”

Campbell refuses to enter the 17th-century castle, which she sees as a symbol of the violence and dispossession that the colonial era brought to South Africa’s second biggest city.

“That is where they used to hang people,” she says, pointing to one of the castle’s five bastions. It was built by the settlers of the Dutch East India Company, commonly known by its Dutch acronym, VOC. The VOC built the fortress as part of its efforts to establish a refreshment post between the Netherlands and other trade destinations in the East. The castle is now run by the South African military.

Campbell, an accredited tour guide, has been giving privately run tours like this for 17 years, starting at the castle and offering a scathing critique of the city’s monuments and museums for dozens of people each year.

She says most official tributes, such as the Slave Memorial erected in 2008 in Church Square, fail to do justice to the enslaved people who contributed to the construction of Cape Town and often neglect to acknowledge the Indigenous population that lived here for hundreds of years before the Dutch arrived in 1652, displacing them and introducing slavery to the Cape.

Campbell can still see clear echoes in the city of the “genocide” and dispossession of the Khoi people, the Indigenous herders who lived on this land for thousands of years. She remembers her mother’s stories about how this history personally affected her family, who are descendants of the famously wealthy Hessequa, a subset of the Khoi. The Hessequa lost their land and livestock to the Dutch.

Known as “the people of the trees”, the Hessequa lived for centuries in the farming area now known as Swellendam, about 220km (137 miles) east of Cape Town. The arrival of European settlers transformed them from land and cattle owners to peasant workers employed by white people, conditions that in many places persist to this day.

Land ownership in Cape Town and South Africa as a whole remains overwhelmingly in the hands of the white minority. Rights groups have also accused white farmers of sometimes abusing predominantly mixed-race agricultural workers and evicting them on a whim, a practice that has carried on since the colonial era.

“Many of them have worked there for generations, and they are just being evicted,” Campbell says. “There’s no pension. There’s nothing. So the ailments of the past [continue].”

The coloniality of the museum

With a resume that includes posts ranging from trade union administrator and mechanic’s assistant to historian, Campbell started her tours after working at the Groot Constantia estate of the VOC colonial Governor Simon van der Stel, now a museum. This is where she got her first taste for history.

When she started working on the estate as an information officer in 1998, she found that the history of enslaved and Indigenous people was largely erased on the property, including the “tot” system, the use of wine as payments to workers that dates back centuries and was still in use on some Cape Town farms years after the fall of apartheid in 1994.

Alarmed by this erasure of her ancestors at the estate, Campbell resigned and pursued a degree in history. Armed with a postgraduate degree specialising in the history of slavery in the Cape, Campbell established Transcending History Tours in 2008.

Her academic research uncovered the inherently colonial nature of museums globally. She discovered that human remains were held in museums, universities and in private ownership, especially in Europe. The South African Museum, founded in 1825, housed human remains that were used in studies that sought to reinforce racist ideologies, such as seeking to prove that non-Europeans were racially inferior. Even though these studies have been halted, the remains continued to be housed by these institutions.

Campbell would prefer that the museums she tours be decentralised and relocated to the Cape Flats, a mainly nonwhite working-class area where Campbell and most descendants of the Khoi and enslaved people live. She argues this would make the museums more accessible to these communities, bringing them closer to their personal histories and demonstrating that their current difficult living conditions and marginalisation are not natural or inevitable, but rather the result of a cruel past.

“At night, this place is filled with homeless people,” she says on a sunny morning in September as the tour leaves the castle.

A few steps away, past two lions perched on pillars at the castle’s entrance and a moat filled with fish and pondweed, a barefoot man is asleep on the sidewalk while a woman in a bra and camouflage pants scrounges for food in the shrubs. Like most of the unhoused on the wealthy city’s streets, they are people of colour.

The tour passes the Grand Parade, the city’s public square and oldest urban open space, where the mud and wood predecessor to the existing castle stood. For many years, it served as a training ground for the colonial garrison before becoming a marketplace, surrounded by striking buildings, such as the Edwardian City Hall.

The parade’s most famous moment in modern South African history was as the setting of Nelson Mandela’s first public speech after his release from prison in 1990. Today, traders still gather here to sell everything from brightly coloured dashikis (colourful, traditional garments) to kitchen electronics.

A ‘trailblazer’

A few blocks away, the group stops to look at a plaque in St George’s Mall dedicated to one of Campbell’s heroes, Krotoa, a Khoi woman known as the progenitor of Cape Town’s mixed-race population after her marriage to a Danish surgeon.

The plaque dedicated to her in this busy modern commercial area feels misplaced and superficial to Campbell, who says it fails to celebrate the woman’s historical significance. Campbell also dislikes the commonly used image of Krotoa on the plaque, which she says is fabricated.

“The Krotoa that I know, she’s a trailblazer. She’s an interpreter. She’s a negotiator,” Campbell says.

The niece of the Khoi chief Autshumato, Krotoa joined the household of the first Dutch governor in the Cape, Jan van Riebeeck, at about the age of 12. As one of the first Indigenous interpreters, she became a mediator between the Dutch and the Khoi, playing a key role in the cattle trade, which was vital to the settlers’ survival at the Cape. She also negotiated in the conflict that arose between locals and the settlers.

Krotoa’s influence in van Riebeeck’s government eventually led to her becoming the first Indigenous person to be baptised as a Christian in 1662 and adopting the name Eva. She married a Danish soldier, who was later appointed as the VOC surgeon, Pieter van Meerhof, in 1664, and the couple became the Cape’s first recorded interracial marriage.

In the end, though, Krotoa was a controversial figure: Khoi leaders criticised her for adopting colonial ways, and both they and Dutch officials accused her of being a spy for the other side.

“She went right into the kitchens of the Dutch,” Campbell says. “She used to tell them, ‘I know you. I know who you are. You can’t do anything for yourself. Slaves have to do everything for you.’”

Campbell says Krotoa was instrumental as a mediator in the first Khoi-Dutch war, which lasted from 1659 to 1660 and was sparked by a campaign led by local Khoi leader Nommoa, or Doman, to reclaim the Cape Peninsula. The Dutch were victorious against the two Khoi groups, the Gorinhaiqua and the Gorachouqua, and expelled them from the peninsula to mountain outposts about 70km (44 miles) away.

Asked what she would consider a fitting memorial for Krotoa, Campbell says: “Monuments are Eurocentric and hierarchic. Where her memorial should be, I am not sure. What I know is that her story and her memory should be a popular memory and part of our learning in schools and in other tertiary learning. She and her Danish husband van Meerhof were sent to Robben Island. She also spent lots of time at the first castle, which is today’s Golden Acre [shopping mall], and her so-called plaque in Castle Street is a humiliation of the contributions she made in resisting the colony in favour of her people.”

Profits over people

Around the corner from Krotoa’s memorial in Castle Street, Campbell stops at another VOC landmark – the cobbled walkway featuring the VOC’s bronze emblem framed by an outline of the castle’s five ramparts.

“I want you to see how the VOC is embedded right in the fabric of the city,” she says, pointing to the insignia emblazoned in the street.

Then she directs her tour’s attention to nearby skyscrapers, which she views as symbols of wealth rooted in VOC exploitation.

As she speaks, workers on their lunch breaks walk by while others sell beaded jewellery, paintings, leather handbags and other wares in stalls dotted along the mall. Most of these workers live in overcrowded townships far outside the city, which is famed for its French Riviera-like lifestyle and has often been voted one of the world’s top tourist destinations.

“For me, it’s important to speak of that company, the first company that came here,” Campbell says, explaining the origin of capitalism in the region.

“It comes from there – profits before people. It comes from history. … The VOC is alive and kicking in the city.”

Restoring memory

The most haunting stop on the tour comes next: the Slave Lodge. It stands on the doorstep of the parliament precinct and the gardens that the VOC established to provide fresh produce to ships journeying between the East and the Netherlands.

Thousands of enslaved people from as far away as Angola, Benin, Indonesia, India and Madagascar were housed here from 1679 to 1811. Converted into a museum, it contains artefacts, including shackles and the reconstructed hull of a slave ship as well as a plinth recording the names of the enslaved people – names assigned to them by slave owners when they arrived at the Cape.

Campbell objects to the pristine exhibits, saying they are in stark contrast to the building’s dark history as a place of suffering and violence. One of the most horrific aspects of life there was the sexual violence inflicted by soldiers on women, including rape and coercion into sex work, often with payments made to the VOC.

This violent culture has had lasting effects, contributing to today’s high levels of sexual crimes and domestic violence on the Cape Flats, according to Campbell.

“The Slave Lodge does not get the reflection that it should get,” Campbell tells her tour. “It is very much veneered and made palatable to the visitors. It doesn’t bring the voices of the women in.”

The tour ends in the street behind the Slave Lodge, where Campbell shows the tourists a macabre landmark they might otherwise miss. On a traffic island in the middle of Spin Street is the spot where the city’s slave auctions were once held. A tree that marked the spot was chopped down in 1916. In its place, a slab of stone was installed in 1953, inscribed with a fading and barely legible message about its historical significance.

“It looks like a drain,” Campbell says, noting the sharp contrast between this neglected memorial and the bronze statue of Afrikaner leader Jan Smuts, oddly situated in front of the Slave Lodge, where the plaque bearing his name has been restored to a brilliant gleam.

In 2008, the city tried to rectify this oversight at the auction site, unveiling a commemorative art installation designed by prominent artists Gavin Younge and Wilma Cruise across the street. It consists of 11 granite blocks, roughly at knee height, inscribed with the assigned names of enslaved people and words that recall their tortured reality: “Suicide, infanticide, abscond, escape, flee.”

Activists have criticised the installation for being too cold and failing to convey the deep wounds left by nearly 200 years of slavery.

“Birds s*** on it, people sit on it, but they don’t know what it is,” Campbell says. “They have the names of the slaves that were held at the Slave Lodge, but there’s no story. … It’s a monument that only serves the master, at the end of the day, because it doesn’t bring out the pain of the people.

“I would have loved to see a high rise to bring out the memory of the people, … something more visible.”

Residents of Saint-Tropez paid tribute to French film icon Brigitte Bardot on Monday outside her home, a day after the actress died at the age of 91. The actress-turned-far-right agitator will be buried in a seaside cemetery near the southern town, local officials said.

Horsemen from across Afghanistan converged for the dramatic final match of the nation’s prestigious annual buzkashi tournament on Kabul’s outskirts, attracting crowds that included high-ranking Taliban officials witnessing this centuries-old sporting tradition.

Buzkashi, Afghanistan’s national equestrian competition, showcases elite riders who must carry a leather-wrapped bundle – historically a goat carcass but now a weighted facsimile – across a designated goal line to earn points.

Amid swirling dust clouds kicked up by galloping horses, a victor ultimately prevailed. The winning team took a celebratory circuit around the field, proudly displaying their flag in triumph.

Afghanistan’s cherished buzkashi tournament maintains its status as a traditional sport characterised by limited formal rules and fierce physical competition.

In its classic format, two teams compete to score using what was traditionally a goat carcass, though contemporary matches utilise a leather-and-rope substitute filled with straw to replicate the weight of an animal.

Competitors – with 12 riders on each side – demonstrate extraordinary horsemanship, stretching dangerously from their mounts to retrieve the bundle from the ground before racing towards the goal while pursued by opposing riders.

Though prohibited during the Taliban’s earlier governance in the 1990s, buzkashi experienced a revival following their removal and has continued since their return to power in 2021, with government officials now attending competitions.

In this week’s championship, northern Sar-e-Pul province overwhelmed northeastern Badakhshan with a commanding 7-0 victory, concluding the 11-day national tournament. Baghlan claimed third place, while Kunduz finished fourth among the 11 provincial teams competing.

The competition featured eight international participants from Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, according to Atal Mashwani, spokesman for Afghanistan’s General Directorate of Physical Education and Sports.

Corporate sponsorship from a petrol company funded the tournament, providing automobiles as prizes for the top four teams, alongside trophies, medals, and certificates.

Thousands of male spectators filled the stands at the central Kabul venue, with enthusiastic fans even climbing nearby trees and electricity pylons to gain better vantage points of the action.

Dar es Salaam, Tanzania to Kapiri Mposhi, Zambia — In Dar es Salaam’s train station, hundreds of passengers sat amid piles of luggage as a listless breeze blew through the open windows. Shortly before their scheduled 3:50pm departure on the Tanzania-Zambia Railway Authority’s (TAZARA) Mukuba Express train, an update crackled over the tannoy: the train would be leaving two hours late.

A collective groan rippled through the crowd, and under the soaring roof of the station, pigeons darted back and forth, disappearing into holes left from rotted-out ceiling tiles. But nobody was really surprised. Given the train’s reputation for unreliable service, the passengers knew a two-hour delay for the TAZARA was practically on time.

The railway runs from Tanzania’s largest city through the country’s southern highlands and across the border into Zambia’s copper provinces, finally pulling into the town of Kapiri Mposhi some 1,860 kilometres (1,156 miles) away. It’s a journey that, according to official timetables, should take about 40 hours.

For regular passengers, it’s a cheap way to reach parts of the country that are not located near main highways. For foreign tourists, it’s a unique way to see Tanzania’s landscapes far from the bustling cities and overcrowded safari parks, provided they are not in a hurry. A first-class sleeper car all the way to Mbeya, a travel hub and border town just to the east of Zambia, surrounded by lush mountains and coffee farms, is just over $20.

This year, the railroad celebrated its 50th anniversary, but it has struggled for most of its existence, requiring foreign investment for basic upkeep and failing to haul the amount of freight it was built to carry. Inconsistent maintenance and limited investment have seen its infrastructure and cars deteriorate from decades of use.

It’s hard to determine exactly where a trip on the TAZARA will be at any given time, due to the myriad delays and breakdowns that randomise each journey. Simple derailments from poorly loaded cars and deteriorating tracks are common, and then there’s the occasional unfortunate brush with nature — in August, service was cancelled after a passenger train struck an African buffalo while passing through Tanzania’s Mwalimu Julius Nyerere National Park.

But since the beginning of 2025, the TAZARA has been plagued by more serious incidents — and fatalities — that reveal the desperate need for an overhaul of both ageing infrastructure and poor safety management. In April, two locomotives being moved from Zambia to a workshop in Mbeya for repairs derailed at a bridge in southern Tanzania, killing both drivers.

Two months later, in June, a train derailed in Zambia and was then struck by the “rescue train” dispatched to assist it. The collision killed one TAZARA employee and injured 10 staff and 19 passengers, according to a media release from the railway.

Citing “unexpected operational challenges,” passenger service was briefly suspended in early September. As it turned out, the few operational locomotives the TAZARA could field were stuck in Tanzania, after a fire damaged one of the hundreds of bridges along the track.

But big improvements for TAZARA are on the horizon, thanks to a major investment by the China Civil Engineering Construction Corporation (CCECC), which has pledged $1.4bn to refurbish the ageing rail line over the next three years. Though the continuation of passenger service is mentioned in the agreement, construction work will necessitate some pauses to regular service as the project is completed.

Most of the money will be spent on rehabilitating the tracks, but $400m will go toward 32 new locomotives and 762 wagons, “significantly increasing freight and passenger transport capacity,” according to a TAZARA statement. In return, the Chinese state-owned corporation will receive a 30-year concession to run the TAZARA railway and recoup its investment before turning day-to-day management back over to Tanzanian and Zambian authorities.

Celebrated director of ‘Jenin, Jenin’ documentary leaves behind legacy of artistic resistance.

Acclaimed Palestinian actor and filmmaker Mohammad Bakri has died in northern Israel, ending a five-decade career that established him as one of the most influential voices in Palestinian cinema.

Bakri died on Wednesday at Galilee Medical Centre in Nahariya after suffering from heart and lung problems, hospital officials said.

His passing removes a towering figure whose work directly challenged Israeli narratives and whose decades-long legal battles over censorship became a defining chapter in Palestinian cultural resistance.

The 72-year-old was best known for his 2002 documentary, Jenin, Jenin, which captured testimonies from Palestinian residents following a devastating Israeli military operation in the refugee camp that killed 52 Palestinians.

The film ignited years of controversy in Israel but elevated Bakri’s status as a creative and would overshadow the remainder of his life.

Israeli authorities banned the documentary from screening in 2021, with the Supreme Court upholding the prohibition in 2022, deeming it defamatory.

“I intend to appeal the verdict because it is unfair, it is neutering my truth,” Bakri told the Walla News website at the time.

Five soldiers sued Bakri, and courts eventually fined him hundreds of thousands of shekels while ordering all copies seized and online links removed.

In an interview with the British Film Institute earlier this year, Bakri said, “I don’t see Israel as my enemy … but they consider me their enemy. They see me as a traitor … for making a movie.”

Born in 1953 in the Galilee village of Bi’ina, Bakri was a Palestinian citizen of Israel who studied Arabic literature and theatre at Tel Aviv University. He made his striking film debut at age 30 in Costa-Gavras’s Hanna K, playing a Palestinian refugee attempting to reclaim his family’s home.

His role as a Palestinian prisoner in the 1984 Israeli film Beyond the Walls earned international acclaim and an Academy Award nomination for the production.

But it was Bakri’s commitment to telling Palestinian stories that defined his career. He appeared in more than 40 films and directed several documentaries examining the experiences of Palestinians living under occupation and within Israel.

His solo theatrical performance of The Pessoptimist, based on Emile Habibi’s novel about Palestinian identity, was performed more than 1,500 times worldwide and cemented his status as a cultural icon.

Bakri is survived by his wife Leila and six children, including actors Saleh, Ziad and Adam, who have followed him into cinema. His funeral was held the same day in Bi’ina.

Beyond armies and violence, France built its empire through language, schooling and cultural influence. This film explores how assimilation became a method of rule and a source of resistance.

At the heart of French colonial rule was the mission “civilisatrice”, a doctrine that claimed to lift up colonised societies through education, administration and the French language. In practice, this system sought to reshape colonised people’s identities, loyalties and cultures, replacing local traditions with French norms while maintaining strict political and economic control. Schools, legal systems and bureaucracies became tools of empire as powerful as armies.

Through case studies in Algeria, Indochina and West Africa, the documentary shows how colonial administrations operated on the ground. In Algeria, settler colonialism and mass repression led to war. In Indochina, education and bureaucracy coexisted with exploitation and nationalist resistance. In West Africa, language policy and indirect rule reshaped social hierarchies and governance.

This episode examines how resistance movements challenged the promise of civilisation, forcing France to confront the contradictions at the heart of its empire. Anticolonial struggles, intellectual movements and armed uprisings not only weakened imperial rule but reshaped French politics, culture and identity itself.

The documentary also places French colonial strategies in a broader modern context. In the contemporary world, the United States projects influence less through formal empire and more through soft power. Hollywood cinema, television and digital platforms circulate American values, lifestyles and narratives globally, shaping cultural imagination in ways that echo earlier imperial projects. At the same time, US dominance in higher education, academic publishing and institutional standards helps define what knowledge is valued, taught and legitimised worldwide.

It also draws direct connections between French colonialism and the modern world. Contemporary debates over language, immigration, secularism and inequality are deeply rooted in colonial systems designed to classify, discipline and extract. Many modern state institutions, education models and economic relationships reflect structures first imposed under empire.

By tracing how cultural control, education and administration functioned as instruments of power, the documentary reveals how the legacy of French colonialism continues to shape modern capitalism, global inequality and postcolonial relations today.

The 50-year-old comedian is already facing similar charges, including rape and sexual assault, involving four women.

British authorities have brought new counts of rape and sexual assault against comedian Russell Brand, who is already facing similar charges involving four women.

The United Kingdom’s Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) said on Tuesday that the new charges – one count of rape and one of sexual assault – against Brand were in relation to two further women. The alleged offences took place in 2009, the CPS said.

Brand, 50, had already been charged in April with two counts of rape, two counts of sexual assault and one count of indecent assault. The charges were brought after an 18-month investigation launched when four women alleged they had been assaulted by the comedian.

Prosecutors said these offences took place from 1999 to 2005, one in the English seaside town of Bournemouth and the other three in London.

Brand pleaded not guilty to those charges in a London court.

He is expected to appear at Westminster Magistrates’ Court on January 20 in relation to the two new charges. A trial has also been scheduled for June 16 and is expected to last four to five weeks.

The Get Him to the Greek actor, known for risque stand-up routines and battles with drugs and alcohol, has dropped out of the mainstream media in recent years. He built a large following online with videos mixing wellness with conspiracy theories as well as discussions about religion.

When the first group of charges was announced in April, Brand said he welcomed the opportunity to prove his innocence.

“I was a fool before I lived in the light of the Lord,” he said in a social media video. “I was a drug addict, a sex addict and an imbecile. But what I never was, was a rapist. I’ve never engaged in nonconsensual activity. I pray that you can see that by looking in my eyes.”

Detective Chief Inspector Tariq Farooqi said the women involved in the case “continue to receive support from specially trained officers”.

He added the police investigation was ongoing and urged “anyone affected by this case or anyone with information to come forward”.

Police say there is ‘insufficient evidence’ to bring charges after investigating comments made at Glastonbury festival.

British police have said they will take no further action over comments made by punk-rap duo Bob Vylan about the Israeli military during a performance at the Glastonbury music festival in June.

Avon and Somerset Police said on Tuesday that the remarks did not meet the criminal threshold required for prosecution “for any person to be prosecuted”.

During the performance, the group’s lead singer – Pascal Robinson-Foster, known by his stage name Bobby Vylan – led chants of “death, death” directed at the Israeli military over its genocidal war in Gaza.

Police said there was “insufficient evidence to provide a realistic prospect of conviction”. The force added that it interviewed a man in his mid-30s and contacted about 200 members of the public as part of the investigation.

The chant, which was livestreamed by the BBC as part of its Glastonbury coverage on June 28, prompted a widespread backlash. The broadcaster later apologised for transmitting what it described as “such offensive and deplorable behaviour”, and its complaints unit found the BBC had breached editorial guidelines.

Avon and Somerset Police said it had considered the intent behind the words, the wider context, relevant case law and freedom of expression issues before concluding the investigation.

“We believe it is right this matter was comprehensively investigated, every potential criminal offence was thoroughly considered, and we sought all the advice we could to ensure we made an informed decision,” the statement said.

“The comments made on Saturday 28 June drew widespread anger, proving that words have real-world consequences.”

Following the performance, the United States revoked the visas of Bob Vylan, forcing the cancellation of a planned US tour scheduled to begin in October.

Bob Vylan have launched defamation proceedings against Irish broadcaster RTE, alleging it falsely claimed they led anti-Semitic chants during the Glastonbury performance.

In July, the British police also dropped an investigation into the Irish-language rap group Kneecap after chants of “Free Palestine” during a performance.

Detectives sought advice from the Crown Prosecution Service and decided to take no further action, citing “insufficient evidence to provide a realistic prospect of conviction for any offence”.

Relatives of the late President John F Kennedy slammed the centre’s board, saying the name cannot be changed under law.

Donald Trump’s name has been added to the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, just one day after his hand-picked board members controversially voted to rename the arts venue, the first time a national institution has been named after a sitting US president.

Workmen added metal lettering to the building’s exterior on Friday that declared, “The Donald J Trump and the John F Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts.”

“Today, we proudly unveil the updated exterior designation – honoring the leadership of President Donald J Trump and the enduring legacy of John F Kennedy,” the centre said on social media.

Family members of former President Kennedy, who was killed by an assassin’s bullet in 1963, as well as historians and Democratic lawmakers, have criticised the move, saying only an act of Congress could alter the name of the centre, which was designated as a living memorial to Kennedy a year after his assassination.

“The Kennedy Center was named by law. To change the name would require a revision of that 1964 law,” Ray Smock, a former House of Representatives historian, told the Associated Press (AP) news agency. “The Kennedy Center board is not a lawmaking entity. Congress makes laws,” Smock said.

The AP reports that the law naming the centre explicitly prohibits the board of trustees from making the centre into a memorial to anyone else, and from putting another person’s name on the building’s exterior.

Kerry Kennedy, a niece of former President Kennedy, said in a post on social media that she will remove Trump’s name herself when his term as president ends.

“Three years and one month from today, I’m going to grab a pickax and pull those letters off that building, but I’m going to need help holding the ladder. Are you in?” she wrote on X.

Naming a national institution after a sitting president is unprecedented in US history. Landmarks such as the Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and indeed, the Kennedy Center were all named after the deaths of the renowned US leaders.

Kennedy’s grandnephew, former Congressman Joe Kennedy III, also said the Kennedy Center, like the Lincoln Memorial, was a “living memorial to a fallen president” and cannot be renamed, “no matter what anyone says”.

Trump claimed on Thursday that he was “surprised” by the renaming of the Kennedy Center, even though he personally purged the centre’s previous board after calling it “too woke”.

He has also previously spoken about having his name added to the centre and appointed himself chairman of the centre’s board earlier this year.

Trump has sought to rein in the Kennedy Center since the start of his second term as part of an assault on cultural institutions that his administration has accused of being too left-wing.