With a rich, well-dated Early Upper Palaeolithic layer, the Mughr el-Hamamah cave site is key for understanding the Middle-Upper Palaeolithic transition in the Levant. The archaeological deposit consists of two units. Layer A resulted from pastoral activities during the 20th century and Layer B dated between 44.5 and 40.0 ky BP. During Layer A’s formation, shepherds disturbed Layer B, redepositing Early Upper Palaeolithic sediments and lithic artefacts in Layer A matrix. Activity from Layer A’s formation also resulted in spatially patchy percolation and bioturbation, leaving microarchaeological traces such as dung spherulites in some areas in Layer B. In contrast, contemporaneous chemical diagenetic processes from Layer B’s primary formation caused spatially uneven post-depositional dissolution of animal bone. In this article we present a multi-proxy microarchaeological approach to investigate the post-depositional processes in Layer B, focussing on possible impacts on the plant archaeological record. The identification of intrusive spherulites from shepherds’ activities define the limits of disturbance in Layer B. Micromorphological analyses have identified four intact micro-facies in Layer B, representing an interplay of natural and anthropogenic factors. Micromorphological details in bedded combustion features favour the interpretation that associated phytoliths represent fuel traces. Dicot fruit phytoliths occur in the western area of the cave, where well-preserved charred wood and seeds were also found. Grass-diagnostic phytoliths correspond to C3 and C4 taxa, indicating an overall humid environment with dry spells. Microarchaeological analysis identifies traces of both bedded and dispersed hearth materials, mixed with variable plant resources for food, fuel, and possibly other uses. This strengthens the interpretation of Mughr el-Hamamah Layer B as a dense, complicated palimpsest of recurring activities, formed over many millennia.

As a corridor for population movement out of Africa, the southern Levant is a natural laboratory for research exploring the dynamics of the Middle-to-Upper Paleolithic transition. Yet, the number of well-preserved sites dating to the initial millennia of the Early Upper Paleolithic (EUP; ~45–30 ka) remains limited, restricting the resolution at which we can study the biocultural and techno-typological changes evidenced across the transition. With EUP deposits dating to 45–39 ka cal BP, Mughr el-Hamamah, Jordan, offers a key opportunity to expand our understanding of EUP lifeways in the southern Levant. Mughr el-Hamamah is particularly noteworthy for its large faunal assemblage, representing the first such assemblage from the Jordan Valley. In this paper, we present results from taxonomic and taphonomic analyses of the EUP fauna from Mughr el-Hamamah. Given broader debates about shifts in human subsistence across the Middle-to-Upper Paleolithic transition, we also assess ev- idence for subsistence intensification, focusing especially on the exploitation of gazelle and the use of small game. Taphonomic data suggest that the fauna was primarily accumulated by human activity. Ungulates dominate the assemblage; gazelle (Gazella sp.) is the most common taxa, followed by fallow deer (Dama meso- potamica) and goat (Capra sp.). Among the gazelle, juveniles account for roughly one-third of the sample. While the focus on gazelle and the frequency of juveniles are consistent with broader regional trends, evidence for the regular exploitation of marrow from gazelle phalanges suggests that the EUP occupants of Mughr el-Hamamah processed gazelle carcasses quite intensively. Yet, the overall degree of dietary intensification appears low- —small game is rare and evidence for human capture of this game is more equivocal. As a whole, our results support a growing body of data showing gradual shifts in animal exploitation strategies across the Middle-to- Upper Paleolithic transition in the southern Levant.

Collections of old human remains in museums are currently under increased scrutiny and pressure. On the one hand they are problematised from a post-colonial and human rights point of view as the material remains of historic and ongoing structural violence connected to scientific knowledge production. On the other, new methods in archaeological science have led to increasing demand for destructive sampling. Without guidance and support by laws and formal standardised professional guidelines, museums may find themselves squeezed from two opposing sides. Based on an analysis of laws and professional guidelines, and a large-scale survey of the practical handling of old human remains in Swedish museums, this article argues that the lack of a shared professional process that recognises the complexity of old human remains as both objects of science and lived lives, risks undermining the role of museums in their relationship to both the public and the research community.

In their article, Jane Anderson and Sonya Atalay propose that we rethink repatriation. Instead of viewing it as mainly about transfer of ownership, they propose that we also understand it as a pedagogic opportunity. The power of this suggestion lies not only in the benefits of learning, which, of course are fundamental, but also in the realization that repatriation is necessary—not only for descending communities but also for the institutions that are in possession of their cultural heri- tage and ancestors. I argue that while native interest and survival are and should remain central to repatriation as a process, it is increasingly also becoming about the survival of these institutions—their reputation, their legitimacy, and their sustainability. Perhaps we have reached a point where museums and other institutions holding collections from indigenous communities need the process of repatriation as much as the communities of origin.

The world is on fire, and European archaeologists are starting to feel the heat. With the war in the Ukraine, the rise of polarizing politics and global authoritarianism, and the climate emergency pushing us closer to the tipping point of planetary destruction, we cannot help but to feel deeply affected. In the face of these challenges, we want to act, but what we do as archaeologists can sometimes seem trivial and insignificant. Even worse, a critical examination of our disciplinary history can lead us to conclude that we are complicit in the injustices and even partially responsible for the current situation.

From the perspective of the Swedish bioarchaeologist Liv Nilsson Stutz, death triggers a double crisis for the bereaved: A partof social life is lost – and there is a dead body. Here, she addresses the universal significance of the ritual care of the corpse and its different cultural manifestations.

The electronic sounds of the recreated voice of a male mummy reaches me through the speakers, and I am mesmerized. I know that it is generated from the recreated anatomical materiality of a human being that has been dead for two thousand years. Yet, the synthesized voice sounds electric, as if from a future I have not yet seen. I feel suspended - like a lost point in a scatter diagram in a constant flow of time. Is this a person’s voice I am hearing? How much of him still resides in what is left in his body today?  Human remains, from the fresh cadaver preserved in an old anatomical collection, to the burnt, broken and dissolved fragments carefully curated in museums, constitute something elusive and enigmatic that escapes our fundamental categorizations. Situated on a moving scale between scientific specimens and biomaterial on the one end, and the materiality of a lived life and past personhood on the other, they transgress fundamental boundaries of human culture as they are both object and subject, both life and death. In her essay The Powers of Horror[1], linguist, psychoanalyst and philosopher Julia Kristeva discusses the concept of the abject as a category situated between the subject and the object. The cadaver, she argues, is the ultimate example of this. By challenging fundamental categories of human culture, the abject inspires conflicting responses in us, such as horror and dread, even disgust – but also, and simultaneously, fascination and desire. It is this situatedness in-between categories that makes human remains both problematic and fascinating. 

A few weeks ago, I was standing next to what is arguably one of the more contested monuments in Europe today: the Equestrian Statue of Leopold II (1835-1909), at la Place du Trône in Brussels. The bronze statue is banal in its familiar form, yet masterfully sculpted by Thomas Vinçotte in 1914. The king holds his head high, his gaze is directed forward and up to the left, and he sits with both commanding and relaxed posture on a muscular horse that bends its neck elegantly, signaling submission to its rider. This is power and control embodied. When the sculpture was erected in 1926, the king had been dead for 17 years, and the country had emerged from the horrors of World War I with the iconic Western Front trenches cutting across its territories. The German occupation forced many Belgians to become refugees, while others were conscripted into forced labor, or killed for suspected resistance and sabotage or simply as the outcome of collective punishment. Germany viewed the Flemish as an oppressed people and made efforts to support their cause, which risked undermining the cohesion of the young nation. The project to raise the statue had been in the making since the death of the king in 1909, and even included a successful public fundraising effort, but had been put on hold during the war. When it finally was erected in 1926 it commemorated the king as builder and colonizer, but probably also as a national hero and a unifying symbol of a Belgian past – happy, prosperous, and united.

Forskarvärlden kan inte alltid hålla fast vid rätten att studera mänskliga kvarlevor på sina egna villkor. Att återlämna dem till kulturer där de har sitt ursprung kan dessutom berika historien, skriver bioarkeologen Jonny Geber och arkeologiprofessorn Liv Nilsson Stutz.