This study examines the structures of thought behind a representative selection of recent Arab historical and social scientific works on the Ottoman era of Arab history to elicit their historically bound social uses.

In December 1977 an independent candidate named Mehdi Zana was elected mayor of Diyarbakır, one of the biggest cities in Turkey's southeastern region. His election was a striking event, upsetting the troika of class, party, and state that had maintained a tight hold over the local political apparatus in Diyarbakır since the 1940s. Unlike most prior mayors of Diyarbakır, Zana did not come from a prominent family of local notables but was a working-class tailor with a middle-school education. He was one of only two independent candidates who won electoral contests in Turkey's sixty-seven big-city races; his election therefore flew in the face of a national trend that favored candidates from the country's two main political parties. Zana was well known for his left-wing, Kurdist politics, and at the time of his election he already had spent several years in jail for his activism. In a system that suppressed collective expressions of Kurdish identity, he was thus a clear ideological interloper.

This article explores how the introduction of sound reproduction technologies inflects what were previously considered authoritative, standardized, and gender-specific forms of religious leadership and how these changes affect in turn the (gendered) subjects of media practice. Examining the recent, controversial public presence of female radio preachers in Mali, the article elucidates the often ambivalent reactions to their radio-mediated dissociation of voice and physical presence, ambivalences that are expressed in the form of gender-specific evaluations of the acceptability of preaching on radio. The article thus argues that analyses of the controversial position of Muslim women in religious debates might benefit from a close scrutiny of the media technologies that enable these women's public mediation and also from paying sustained attention to cultural constructions of the voice as a medium of transmitting religious knowledge.

Since the Second World War, United States currency has been accepted in almost every country in the world, and in many locations the ‘George Washington’ dollar has been in greater demand than local monies. In ancient, medieval and modern times, other currencies have had a similar success. Examples of this phenomenon are the ancient Athenian silver ‘owl’, the Byzantine gold solidus, the Florentine gold florin, and the Maria Theresa silver taler. In the late fourteenth century A.D. the florin was replaced by the gold coin of Venice, the ducat, as the ‘dollar of the Middle Ages’; that is, the international currency par excellence. The position of the ducat was associated with the international trading position of Venice as well as the fact that ‘the Venetian ducato, which was first coined in 1284, kept both its weight and fineness remarkably intact up to the end of the Venetian Republic’. The ducat's domination of the Eastern Mediterranean money market led to the appearance of a series of imitations, including Islamic imitations which were produced in response to the introduction of ducats into the internal economy of Mamluk Egypt. All the accounts based on Arabic sources date the domination of the ducat in the Mamluk market from a.h. 801/a.d. 1399. These same sources describe the various attempts by Mamluk sultans to meet the challenge of the ducat by coining imitations. Their efforts culminated in the ashrafî, first issued in 829/1425, which successfully replaced the ducat as the principal gold currency of the Mamluk Empire until the Ottoman conquest of 922/1517.

In the 1980s public policy shifted sharply in favor of market-based solutions, in contrast to the previously dominant “Keynesian” approach to economic management. A number of countries, irrespective of their regimes or stages of development, are currently implementing programs designed to reduce the size and scope of the public sector and strengthen the market. The privatization of public enterprises constitutes a key element in such a strategy.1 Yet hitherto, the extent of privatization—the number of enterprises involved as well as the scale of divestiture—has been extremely limited, especially considering the amount of rhetoric the idea has generated. In addition, the vigor with which privatization policies have been pursued also shows considerable variation among countries. These “stylized facts” of privatization clearly merit an explanation.2 Here I will look for that explanation by using the Turkish experience with privatization between 1980 and 1989 as a case study.

The notion of sectarianism can be useful in understanding the Middle East. As in India and Ireland, sectarian (or communal) identities have been crucial to the elaboration of modern politics in many parts of the region. Unlike India and Ireland today, however, the Middle East is subject to American domination. The result is that the study of Middle Eastern sectarianism is extraordinarily politicized. As scholars struggle to study sectarianism in such a climate, they need to recognize—and, ideally, find a way to move beyond—several problematic assumptions.

Scholars have often been struck by the traditional and highly personal power relationships and manipulations that underlie the westernized and modernized forms of Iranian political machinery. Such analyses, stressing the continuity between traditional and modern Iran, are most enlightening, but they should not blind us to the very real changes in the power structure that have occurred in Iran between 1800 and the present. One can agree with analysts who stress traditional continuities that the change in power relationships has had rather little to do with the formal constitutionalist structure of Iranian politics since 1906. The real changes in the structure of power over the past century or more have been tied to social and economic changes that have reduced the power of certain social groups and classes while increasing that of others, and also of the central government. This essay will attempt a very brief and tentative analytic overview of the nature of these changes

On 4 February 1934, the secretary-general of the Republican People's Party (RPP) received an utterly distressed letter penned by Kerimoğlu Ethem, a young waiter employed at the restaurant of Şakir Usta, located in the small western Anatolian town of Bergama. Ethem's letter contained harsh complaints about the head of the RPP's Bergama branch, who had sworn at the waiter and beaten him because of a minor problem with service. “Except a few loyal supporters, no one likes him in Bergama,” wrote Ethem, “but people are afraid of raising complaints against him as he is the head of the party. I write to inform you about this immoral man, who degrades the esteem of the party in Bergama and openly defies the government's authority.” Upon receiving Ethem's letter, the secretary-general immediately ordered party inspectors to investigate the allegations. Ethem's complaint was just one among many that flooded the secretary-general's mailbox during the early 1930s.

Among the best books I read at this time… was Tarikh al-falak 'inda al-'Arab [The History of Astronomy among the Arabs] by Professor Nallino. I scrutinized it thoroughly, and I learned from it how the leading orientalists did their research, and how they persisted in their investigations, how they actually lived in the subject of their specialization, and how they proceeded carefully and deliberately from the simple to the complex in their research. It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that I learned the methodology of research from this book.

The production of silk on Mount Lebanon dates back to the time of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian. From his reign in the 7th century until the 19th century, despite fluctuations in the production of silk, Mount Lebanon and parts of the Bekaa valley continued to produce “Syrian silk.” In the latter part of the 19th century, silk production on Mount Lebanon and elsewhere even expanded, as new areas for growing mulberry trees were added along the coast from Antioch to Sidon.

Studies on silk production in Syria, such as those of Gaston Ducousso, Dominique Chevallier, Roger Owen, and Boutros Labaki, focus on the silk industry and trade, treating silk as a cash crop and analyzing its impact on the 19th-century Syrian economy, and deal only indirectly with subjects such as the land-tenure system, the peasants' dependence on the silk merchants, the decline of the landlords, and changes in the mushāc system, or collective use of land.

The purpose of this study is to examine the socioeconomic role played by the local foreign minorities in modern Egypt. Who were these local foreign minorities? And what do we mean by their socioeconomic role?

Local foreign minorities were those foreigners like the Greeks, the Armenians, the Italians, and other Europeans, who emigrated to Egypt during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and who kept their language and culture and did not get assimilated into Egyptian society. Other local foreign minorities included the Syrians and the Jews. The former were originally Arabic speaking but a large proportion of them tended later to acquire foreign nationalities and a Levantine outlook. A great number of Jews in Egypt were foreign emigrants who settled during the nineteenth century and early twentieth century in Egypt, whereas a section of the indigenous Jewish population acquired foreign protection and foreign nationalities during the same periods.

Conflict and conflagration are not unique to the Middle East. Rare is the region where, at some point in history, disparate peoples have not clashed and killed. Attempts to assert primacy, when unsuccessful, have often led to periods of retrenching. When successful, postures of victory are precarious, subject to the transient recuperation of the vanquished.

The term humanitarianism finds its roots in 19th-century Europe and is generally defined as the “impartial, neutral, and independent provision of relief to victims of conflict and natural disasters.” Behind this definition lies a dynamic history. According to political scientists Michael Barnett and Thomas G. Weiss, this history can be divided into three phases. From the 19th century to World War II, humanitarianism was a reaction to the perceived breakdown of society and the emergence of moral ills caused by rapid industrialization within Europe. The era between World War II and the 1990s saw the emergence of many of today's nongovernmental and intergovernmental organizations. These organizations sought to address the suffering caused by World War I and World War II, but also turned their gaze toward the non-Western world, which was in the process of decolonization. The third phase began in the 1990s, after the end of the Cold War, and witnessed an expansion of humanitarianism. One characteristic of this expansion is the increasing prominence of states, regional organizations, and the United Nations in the field of humanitarian action. Their increased prominence has been paralleled by a growing linkage between humanitarian concerns and the issue of state, regional, and global security. Is it possible that, in the 21st century, humanitarianism is entering a new (fourth) phase? And, if so, what role have events in the Middle East played in ushering it in? I seek to answer these questions by focusing on regional consultations that took place between June 2014 and July 2015 in preparation for the first ever World Humanitarian Summit (WHS), scheduled to take place in Istanbul in May 2016.

In November 2005, the secretary generals of Yemen's largest Islamist party, the Reform Gathering (al-Tajammuʿ al-Yamani li-l-Islah, hereafter Islah); of the Socialist Party (YSP) that ruled the south prior to unification; of the Popular Nasirist Unity Organization; and of a small party consisting largely of liberal Zaydi intellectuals, the Union of Popular Forces (UPF), announced the publication of “The Program of the Joint Meeting for Political and National Reform,” in a joint press conference. The conservative Zaydi Party, al-Haqq, also signed the document. In July 2006, these same five parties upped the ante of their alliance by nominating Faysal bin Shamlan, a former oil minister and independent member of parliament, to oppose President ʿAli ʿAbdullah Salih in the 2006 election. The composition of the oppositional alliance that has come to be known as the Joint Meeting Parties (Ahzab al-Liqaء al-Mushtarak [JMP]) is particularly surprising when one considers that since unification in 1990 the ruling General People's Conference (GPC) and President Salih have sought to pit the JMP's two main parties—the YSP and Islah—against each other through a process of allying with or bolstering one at the expense of the other. As recently as 1994, these two parties were literally killing each other in Yemen's war of succession.

Going back to the early beginnings of democracy in Jordan in the [1950s], the Jordanian people, particularly the youth and the activist forces, were very enthusiastic about political parties, despite the fact that the level of political awareness then was not as advanced as it is now. Conditions on the domestic, Pan-Arab, and international levels were encouraging. Pan-Arabism was on the rise. There were goals for the Arabs to achieve, and there was a consensus that it was feasible to achieve those goals. Political parties at that time had a vast popular base. They were large and effective due to the large-scale popular participation in these parties. The situation at present is the opposite. When political parties were born again, they looked as if they were parties in the stage of formation.

Travelers to Iran in the 19th century often decried the startling rate of infant mortality. Writing in 1856, Lady Mary Sheil, wife of the British envoy to Persia, Sir Justin Sheil, remarked that “the mortality among children is immense, owing to neglect, ignorance, and laziness.” Citing the Shah's French physician, Sheil continued: “Dr. Cloquet … expressed to me his conviction that not above three children in ten outlived their third year.” Sheil faulted the local culture of child rearing, including women as the traditional caretakers of children, for this deplorable condition. She described a society in which fairly affluent mothers apparently disliked nursing infants and one that purportedly allowed “nurses” to calm children with bits of opium. Nearly four decades later, the British official George Nathaniel Curzon documented other scenarios to explain the high mortality of women and children. Upon visiting Iran in 1892, Curzon cited a report by the Austrian physician Jakob Polak that one of the “main causes of the decline of population” in Iran was related to the “unfavourable position of women, including the facility of divorce, early marriage, and premature age, the length of the suckling period, and the thereby impaired fertility of the sex.” Other possible reasons for population decline included the “decay of sanitary police, and consequent greater ravages by typhus, dysentery, cholera, plague, and, more particularly, owing to the inadequacy of inoculation, by small-pox—the mortality of children in the second year of their age being very striking.” Though pinpointing different reasons for the prevalence of infant mortality, Sheil and Curzon recognized this issue as a consequential social problem facing 19th-century Iranian society.

On 24 July 1660, a great conflagration broke out in Istanbul. An Ottoman writer conveys the horror of the event: “[t]housands of homes and households burned with fire. And in accordance with God's eternal will, God changed the distinguishing marks of night and day by making the very dark night luminous with flames bearing sparks, and darkening the light-filled day with black smoke and soot.” The fire began in a store that sold straw products outside the appropriately named Firewood Gate (Odun kapısı) west of Eminönü, and it devastated densely crowded neighborhoods consisting of wooden homes. The strong winds of Istanbul caused the fire to spread violently in all directions, despite the efforts of the deputy grand vizier (kaimmakam) and others who attempted the impossible task of holding it back with hooks, axes, and water carriers. Sultan Mehmed IV's boon companion and chronicler, Abdi Paşa, notes that the fire marched across the city like an invading army: the flames “split into divisions, and every single division, by the decree of God, spread to a different district.” The fire spread north, west, and to Unkapanı. According to Mehmed Halife, in Süleymaniye the spires of the four minarets of the great mosque burned like candles. The blaze reached Bayezid and then moved south and west to Davud Paşa, Kumkapı, and even as far west as Samatya. The flames did not spare the Hippodrome (At Meydanı) in the east or Mahmud Paşa and the markets at the center of the peninsula, either. Abdi Paşa estimated that the fire reduced 280,000 households to ashes as the city burned for exactly forty-nine hours. Two-thirds of Istanbul was destroyed in the conflagration, and as many as 40,000 people lost their lives. Although fire was a frequent occurrence in 17th-century Istanbul, this was the worst the city had ever experienced. Thousands died in the plague that followed the fire as rats feasted on unburied corpses and spread disease. Because three months prior to this fire a conflagration had broken out in the heart of the district of Galata, across the Golden Horn from Eminönü, much of the city lay in ruins in the summer of 1660.

For many years the class category of the state bourgeoisie has had considerable currency in the analysis of states and societies in the Middle East and in the developing world in general. In part, resort to this category has been driven by the remarkable expansion of the economic roles of these states, an expansion that has required that we try to understand the managers of the process. In that respect what is undertaken here fits into a broader and older effort to make sense, in class terms, of the owners of intellectual or technical capital—white-collar workers, civil servants, public-sector managers, and those in the service sector. These are awkward strata in that they neither own (much) capital nor do they provide labor to the owners of capital in the same manner as peasants and the proletariat. They are frequently portrayed as “intermediate” and “in transition.” They are situated between capital and labor, and, in Marxist analysis, are seen as the witting or unwitting agents of the dominant class as it emerges or as it consolidates its grip on the economy and the state apparatus.

In the summer of 1925, a revolt erupted in the French mandated territories of Syria and Lebanon and rapidly spread throughout the area. The French army of the Levant seemed powerless to halt it. By autumn, no part of Syria or Lebanon was secure against sudden disruption of life and property. Stories of French incompetence, impotence, and arrogance were widely circulated in the Syrian and European press. The Permanent Mandates Commission of the League of Nations, in a rare exercise of its limited powers, refused to accept the French report for 1925, which covered only the comparatively calm period preceding the revolt, and demanded instead a full account of the disturbances, as well as the restoration of peace in the mandate. In October, when rebels infiltrated Damascus, the French military administration took a drastic step to end the revolt. Without warning, General Sarrail, the high commissioner, ordered the ancient city bombarded continuously for nearly twenty-four hours. When the smoke lifted, much of Damascus was in ruins; the reported loss of life and property appalled world opinion and galvanized Arab dissidents. A torrent of violent and emotional criticism was unleashed. In some quarters it was even hinted that the League of Nations would remove the mandate from French control. Yet less than a year later, the revolt had been quashed and France's hold on the mandate was so secured internationally that it survived into World War II.

Ṭughril Beg, first Sultan of the Saljûq dynasty, entered Baghdâd and put an end to the Buwaihid dynasty in 447/1055. By 451/1059, he had eliminated all pretenders to the supreme amirate, himself becoming the supreme amîr, the Sultan.

The Saljûq dynasty itself dates from the year 429/1037, when Ṭughril seized Nîsâbûr. This also was the occasion for the first known relations between the Saljûq warrior and the Abbâsid Caliph al-Qâim,1 when the latter sent a mission2 to Tughril, admonishing him to refrain from destroying the conquered cities and mistreating the Caliph's subjects.