Bones, Brennan, and Beyond: The Real Work of Forensic Anthropology

Richard Jonathan O. Taduran, Ph.D.  |  24 July 2025

There’s a persistent image of the forensic anthropologist as simply a “bone expert.” It’s not hard to guess where that comes from. The TV series Bones introduced millions to the sharp-minded, socially awkward Dr. Temperance Brennan—modeled after real-life forensic anthropologist and author Kathy Reichs. One day, I hope to follow in her footsteps and write forensic novels of my own.

But behind the lab coats and skeletal reconstructions is something far deeper. Forensic anthropology is not just about bones. It is about what it means to be human—and how our biology and evolution write themselves into every corner of the body.

To be an anthropologist means to study anthropos—human beings—and to do so holistically. As a biological and forensic anthropologist, I live at the intersection of science and story. My work is rooted in two foundational fields: human evolution and human variation. And in complex cases like the missing sabungeros, these foundations are what allow us to sort meaning from chaos.

Humans Are the Same

When mixed remains are recovered, as in the recent case in Taal Lake, the first question we ask is surprisingly simple: Is this human?

Answering that begins with evolution. Bipedalism reshaped our anatomy from head to toe. Our skulls are positioned to balance atop the spine. Our pelvis became bowl-shaped to support upright posture. Our long bones reflect weight-bearing adaptations, and even our teeth have evolved to favor grinding over tearing. Compared to many animals, human bones are more porous and thinner in cross-section. These clues are what help us distinguish human from nonhuman—long before DNA testing is even considered.

Once we identify human bones, we move to estimate the Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI). This involves determining how many people are represented by the bones at hand—by looking at repeated elements (e.g., two left femurs means at least two individuals). But in highly fragmented, commingled contexts—such as bones submerged for 3.5 to 4 years—disarticulation and scattering make this task more complicated. Still, it is a necessary step toward naming the dead.

Humans Are Different

From there, we build a biological profile: sex, age, ancestry, and stature. This is where the science of human variation takes center stage.

• Sex is estimated primarily through the pelvis and skull—traits shaped by reproductive function and muscle attachment.
• Age is assessed by looking at dental eruption, bone fusion, and degenerative changes.
• Ancestry, though controversial and culturally sensitive, can sometimes be inferred from craniofacial traits—but always with caution and appropriate context.
• Stature is calculated using long bone lengths and regression formulas.

We also sometimes encounter cultural modifications in bones and teeth—intentional filing, decorative inlays, or habitual wear patterns—especially in Philippine contexts. These, too, can aid identification.

This ability to decode the biological profile becomes essential in cases involving decomposed, burnt, dismembered, or fully skeletalized remains—when traditional methods of identification have failed. These are the cases forensic anthropologists are most often called to assist with: when the flesh is gone, but the story remains in bone.

A Lack of Local Standards

Here’s the problem: very few of the formulas we rely on are based on Filipino skeletal samples.

Take sex estimation, for example. Dr. Lee’s formula for Filipinos is based on only 39 individuals—25 males and 14 females. My own contributions are based on 200 individuals, but limited to dental measurements. For age, the most cited local study comes from Dr. Memorando, who focused on the development of the third molar—but not everyone even has third molars anymore. Due to evolution and shifts in diet and food preparation, our jaws have been shrinking. A few hundred years from now, that tooth may disappear entirely.

Stature? Dr. Oropilla derived a height formula for Filipinos, but again, the dataset was small—just 28 cadavers.

This is why we often rely on regional alternatives. Thai and Malaysian datasets, for example, provide stronger statistical grounding. Thailand, in particular, is home to the Khon Kaen University Human Skeleton Research Centre, which houses 745 modern Thai skeletons. These donations, largely from adults with an average age at death of 62, support a wide range of forensic, medical, and archaeological studies. That is the kind of resource we still do not have.

The Science Gap—and the Justice Gap

Forensic anthropology in the Philippines is not well understood. It’s seen as “just bones.” But bones are where human evolution and variation converge, and it takes deep training in anthropology to interpret them correctly. You cannot be a forensic anthropologist without being an anthropologist first.

The science gap is real. But so is the justice gap. We don’t have a national skeletal reference collection. We don’t have a body farm to study decomposition in our unique tropical conditions. And without these, it is hard to build robust, population-specific standards that would hold up in court.

We need these facilities—not just for academic curiosity, but for practical justice. The court demands reliability. The families demand answers. And science demands evidence that can be tested, verified, and replicated.

Forensic science shows like Bones popularized the field—but beyond the stylized lab scenes and witty banter is the real work of forensic anthropology: silent, meticulous, and deeply human. We don’t just examine bones—we examine lives interrupted, stories silenced, and identities lost. To do that well, we need to understand not just what bones are, but what they mean—in the long story of human evolution, and in the short tragedy of a missing person.