The north-western Negev is an under-researched ecotonal region. We excavated two late Middle Palaeolithic open-air sites and recovered rich lithic industries that could be refitted, as well as remains of fauna, and charcoal. Palaeoenvironmental information and dates indicate interesting inter-site differences.

The absence of archaeological narratives in Australian museums reflects a complex post-colonial history of research and museology. In this context, Connections across the Coral Sea at the Queensland Museum (December 2021 to 9 July 2023), Brisbane, is a welcome contribution to the important mission of sharing the ancient Australian past with the public. This object-rich exhibition illuminates the lives of coastal peoples, as understood through the ‘Coral Sea Cultural Interaction Sphere’ hypothesis—that is, the idea that during the late Holocene, this was a region of substantial maritime-based exchange between mainland Aboriginal Australians inhabiting Cape York and the peoples of the south coast of Papua New Guinea and the Torres Strait Islands (see McNiven et al. 2004; Figure 1). The key archaeological content on display includes evidence from excavations on Lizard Island (Jiigurru) off the east coast of Cape York, short films on the Cultural Interaction Sphere hypothesis and how it has been investigated, and a 3D-printed stratigraphic section accompanied by an impressive interactive virtual stratigraphic section (Figure 2). Proponents of the Coral Sea Cultural Interaction Sphere hypothesis argue that, although groups shared ideas, they continued to maintain their individual identities, in many cases choosing not to adopt technologies used in other areas (e.g. the continued use of spear throwers in Australia versus bows and arrows in the Torres Strait Islands and Papua New Guinea).

For archaeology to survive in the present and for critical discourse on the past to thrive, archaeologists must advocate for the discipline's continued relevancy. In this Debate article, the authors illustrate the potential and challenges of such advocacy by examining contemporary perceptions of the Roman period Hadrian's Wall and how it relates to modern border landscapes—namely the US/Mexico border. They argue that archaeologists have not addressed the imagined continuity of socio-political narratives surrounding borderlands, calling for wider recognition of border materiality. The authors contend that the uncritical portrayal of the past, particularly in politically charged spaces such as border zones, can contribute to inequality and oppression in the present.

The wider case presented by Hanscam and Buchanan (2023), as I understand it, is for archaeologists to consider directly the relation of the past in shaping social and political narratives in the present. I agree that this should happen; I contend it is productively happening already. It is a stretch to argue that the misinterpretation of Hadrian's Wall has been a substantive tool for political justification of US-Mexico border policy, or that archaeologists should make a comparison between such sites just in case someone tries to do so. I am interested in having a conversation about the history of bordering regimes, but why would we make a connection that might be misused in order to clarify that these are not good cases for comparison, beyond that both are walls? In relation to the authors’ problem statement that history is being misused to justify the present, it is notable that the one quotation cited observing a relationship between Hadrian's Wall and present-day US-Mexico border barriers is from The New Yorker—hardly a bastion of jingoistic politics or a go-to source of journalism for the political right. Moreover, the quote expressed caution against making a comparison between Hadrian's wall and contemporary border walling projects.

Hanscam and Buchanan (2023) have written a timely and important contribution to the evolving discussion about the politicisation of archaeology, and the prominent role that intersections with Border Studies might play in future debates. I concur with many of their substantive points. Focusing on boundaries and bordering processes is a natural extension of the work on identities that has been a dominant theme in archaeology since at least the 1990s; it also provides a counterbalance to recent trends that seek to extend globalisation deeper into the past, not least in Roman studies (e.g. Pitts & Versluys 2014). As Hanscam and Buchanan note for the public sphere, there are also numerous academic contributions within the Border Studies literature that draw upon archaeological or historical examples, though often framed within outdated understandings of the meanings of these boundaries (e.g. Nail 2016; see Gardner 2022). Our role in engaging with these contributions is not simply to point out mistakes, but also to learn from this range of perspectives on the significance of boundaries in human societies, to fuse them with our own interpretations of ancient borderlands, and to contribute to contemporary debates that crystallise many of the most important issues of our times.

Hanscam and Buchanan (2023) give us an insightful comparative analysis of Hadrian's Wall and the US/Mexico border wall. Their analysis shows how critically to study and use these long walls in an explicitly political archaeology. I have engaged in archaeology as political action (McGuire 2008), and have researched the materiality of the US/Mexico border while doing humanitarian work along that border (McGuire 2013). Hanscam and Buchanan deftly employ archaeology as a political tool to challenge capitalist ideologies about borders. They plead for a politically relevant archaeology that engages the past to address modern issues. Without such relevance, they fear that archaeology will be made redundant. I emphatically agree with them that an activist archaeology makes our discipline more relevant. I fear, however, that these politics may be our demise rather than our salvation.

We are grateful for the participation of the respondents and heartened at the general agreement on the importance of a politically proactive archaeology. Inevitably, the authors offer differing perspectives on how best to achieve this goal, including the degree to which political engagement may foster the strength and relevance of the discipline (McGuire 2023), the limitations of landscape or assemblage perspectives for analysing these issues (Gardner 2023; Szary 2023), and whether or not such a call is even necessary because many archaeologists are already engaged with this type of research (Soto 2023). We appreciate the opportunity that these comments provide to us for critical reflection on our arguments; here, we briefly engage with the major themes raised as part of the ongoing dialogue.

Uivar “Gomilă”, a long-awaited and overdue first volume (of a planned set of three), presents, in seven chapters, a comprehensive account of the results of archaeological research on the site of Uivar, Romania. It reports on 10 seasons of investigation into the north-eastern periphery of the Vinča Culture phenomenon and the occurrence of tell settlements in the second half of the sixth millennium BC. Multiple contributors—mostly members of the original research team—present a well-defined case study of a Late Neolithic tell settlement, starting from general questions about the tell phenomenon in South-east Europe and the Neolithic of the Banat area, where “Gomilă” is located (Chapter 1).

Debates about archaeological interpretation are always healthy and welcome, and when, as here, arguments are not killed off, they inevitably become stronger. Importantly, the comments by Magli and Belmonte (2023) serve as a reminder that reconciling conflicting theoretical perspectives is never easy when times are changing. Grounded in positivism, their critique draws upon assumptions that become justificatory assertions. For better or worse, archaeological thinking has moved away from the processualism of the late 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s—a key turning point being Hodder's (1984) review of positivism in archaeological interpretation and his call for more contextualised approaches. The authors might usefully have consulted this and other works before setting out onto the choppy waters of post-processual archaeology. Many of their points simply escalate questions posed in my original text (Darvill 2022), and they often fail to distinguish between suggestions, arguments and more solid interpretative statements. Notwithstanding, they neatly arrange their response around three issues that are here addressed seriatim.