The history of Ottoman transportation as a whole still remains to be written. To date, scholars have concentrated mainly upon the institutional aspects of the problem. Thus Cengiz Orhonlu in his pioneering work has dealt with attempts on the part of the Ottoman administration to maintain street and road paving, establish ferryboat services, control river navigation, and ensure the safety of public roads. Boat traffic within Istanbul, which linked the different parts of the Ottoman capital and thus ensured their mutual integration, was also treated mainly from the Ottoman administration's point of view.1 After Orhonlu's untimely death, research into the institutional framework supporting Ottoman communications was continued by other scholars. Particularly the arrangements intended to supply official couriers with post-horses have recently been made the object of several monographs.2

A principal belief of the Ahl-i Haqq, an esoteric sect centered in Iranian Kurdistan, is that the Divine Essence has successive manifestations in human form. The Ahl-i Haqq religious universe comprises two distinct yet interrelated worlds: the inner world (ʿālam-i bāṭin) and the outer world (ʿālam -i ẓāhir), each with its own order and its own rules. We as ordinary human beings are aware of the order of the outer world, but our life is governed by the rules of the inner world, where our ultimate destiny lies.

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.

Although the effects of the Revolution of 23 July 1952 on Egyptian politics and the economy are well known, its impact on Egyptian culture has not yet been satisfactorily explained. Politically and economically, the Revolution has gone thrsough two more or less distinct phases. During the first decade of its existence, it moved cautiously on all fronts, and its spokesmen were fond of pointing out that their ‘ideology’ was experimental, pragmatic, and flexible rather than bound to any set of predetermined ideas. Then in 1961 the government veered sharply to the left. The so-called Socialist Laws were issued, altering profoundly the ownership and distribution of wealth in Egypt.

On 19 January 1839, the South Arabian port town of Aden was bombarded by ships of the Indian Navy and occupied by soldiers of the East India Company. It was the first British colonial acquisition of the Victorian period.

The expert is a quintessential figure of modern bureaucratic rule, offering a “protean image of authority and rational knowledge.” Tracing the development of modern rule, Max Weber describes the emergence in European government of a “professional labor force, specialized in expertness through long years of preparatory training…[and] based on the division of labor” as a “gradual development of half a thousand years.” Different fields, Weber suggests, demanded experts at different moments, but in three areas—finance, war, and law—“expert officialdom in the more advanced states was definitely triumphant during the sixteenth century.” For the British civil service, the triumph of the expert has been located in “the nineteenth-century revolution in government” such that the “modern image of the expert, canonised and criticised, was well established by the 1920s.” With this consolidation of the expert's place in modern rule, it has been generally agreed that, whether for good or for ill, “the expert in the civil service is here to stay.”

The victory which the Zionists have achieved…lies not in the superiority of one people over another, but rather in the superiority of one system over another. The reason for this victory is that the roots of Zionism are grounded in modern Western life while we for the most part are still distant from this life and hostile to it. They live in the present and for the future while we continue to dream the dreams of the past and to stupify ourselves with its fading glory.1

What does it mean to “integrate” a complex and multifaceted tradition such as Islam into a transnational space as heterogeneous as that of modern Europe? And what kind of a project is precisely that of a “European Islam,” increasingly invoked today across the continent by a wide range of state and nonstate actors, including many Muslims? At a time dominated by variants of the clash of civilizations thesis, the project appears rather equivocal. What conceptions of Europe as a political space, and of Islam as a religious tradition, underlie the endeavor?

We did not see them growing up. We did not think these jaded middle-class boys and girls would one day be resilient and hold their ground. We did not realize that they would be brave, supremely articulate, and driven by aspirations beyond our dreams. The whole thing started with the desperate act of self-immolation by a young Tunisian man. His death sparked a wave of rage against poverty, social exclusion, and corruption. Almost overnight, young men and women created spaces in squares, streets, and alleys where we could imagine new Arab countries. Enraged yet nonviolent, they used technology and the vocabulary of democracy to connect and mobilize ordinary Arab citizens of all walks of life and capture the attention of the world. In Egypt, Tahrir Square became the epicenter of the people's demands for bread, dignity, and social justice. Without leaders or a timetable, but with unconditional demands for immediate change, online activists provided us with physical and social grounds to imagine a new country. We all brought something to the square: blood, medicines, bandages, food, water, blankets, generators, diapers, mobile-phone chargers, garbage bags, wipes, and our own personal notes to the regime (and the world) written in bold letters. Mine just said: “Leave.”

The researchers and writers of the Arab Human Development Report 2005 (AHDR 2005) include activists, social critics, intellectuals, and feminists who aspire for izdihār (flourishing) in the Arab world “based on a peaceful process of negotiation for redistributing power and building good governance.” This passage suggests that the aims the AHDR 2005 shares with the previous three volumes are to encourage state apparatuses and officials to transform themselves by changing policies and surrendering some of the power and resources they have fortified vis-à-vis their citizenries. This article argues that rather than encouraging the rise of women or any group interested in political or social transformation, the AHDR 2005 works within a U.N. development framework that strengthens states and political elites in relation to their populations by constituting the former as the causes of underdevelopment and thus the primary agents for economic, social, and political improvement.

[Reza Khan] seemed to me a strong and fearless man who had his country's good at heart. —Sir Edmund Ironside, recalling late 1920 Reza… has never spoken for himself, nor… [his] Government… but only on behalf of his country… —Sir Percy Loraine, January 1922 He is secretive, suspicious and ignorant; he appears wholly unable to grasp the realities of the situation or to realise the force of the hostility he has aroused. —Harold Nicolson, September 1926 I fear we can do nothing to humanise this bloodthirsty lunatic. —Sir Robert Vansittart, December 1933 Born in obscurity about 1878 and soon orphaned, Reza Pahlavi enlisted at fifteen in a Russian-officered Cossack brigade. Rising through the ranks, he provided force for a February 1921 coup d'état, seizing power for journalist Sayyid Zia alDin Tabatabai. Reza Khan provided strength in the new government and rose from army commander to minister of war (April 1921) to prime minister (1923) and, after failing to make a republic in 1924, to the throne in 1925. As shah he ruled with increasingly arbitrary power until Britain and Russia deposed him in 1941. He died in exile in 1944.

The creation of Pakistan was a crushing blow to those hoping to establish autonomous, ethnically defined states in the western borderlands of the Indian empire. The best known of these movements, the Red Shirts (Khudai Khidmatgar), was active in the North-West Frontier Province since the 1920s and moved from affiliation with the Indian National Congress to advocating sovereignty and ultimately an independent Pushtun state when faced with the inevitability of Partition.1 Similar Pushtun and Balochi movements arose in the last decades of the Raj in the areas that now constitute the Pakistani province of Balochistan. In the pivotal years of 1947 and 1948, the Muslim League was able to outmaneuver and suppress these ambitious young movements, but they did not die. In subsequent decades, Balochi and Pushtun nationalism became key elements in the political discourse and the equation of power in Balochistan, and they remain so today.

With the dust settling on Operation Iraqi Freedom in the spring of 2003, the U.S. Army 4th Psychological Operations Group developed for the occupation forces a special deck of playing cards that featured head shots of the most wanted Iraqi regime officials. Saddam Hussein figures prominently as the Ace of Spades. The experiment was repeated in the autumn of 2007, but this time the cards represented some of Iraq's and Afghanistan's archaeological sites (Figure 1).

In the late 1930s, the first independent Arab banks in Palestine, the Arab Bank and the Arab Agricultural Bank, sued customers who had defaulted on loans in an attempt to maintain solvency. Their indebted customers, unable to pay, fought back to prevent their lands from being foreclosed and sold to Zionist buyers. Each party claimed that its position was consistent with, indeed essential to, the anti-Zionist nationalist cause. The story of these pioneering Arab banks and their legal battles with their customers in the wake of the 1936-1939 revolt provides insight into Arab financial life in Mandate Palestine. It reveals the banks’ struggles to survive; complicates notions of Arab-Palestinian landlessness and indebtedness; and argues that political and economic exigencies, not reductive notions of collaboration or patriotism, produced the banks’ antagonistic relationship with their customers, whereby the survival of one came at the expense of the other.

Ever since it had been recognized that the decay of the Ottoman Empire could not be arrested by traditional methods, foreigners and non-Muslims had played a significant part in the Empire's modernization. The Compte de Bonneval and Baron de Tott were only the most famous of a group of foreign advisers who were employed by the Ottoman government to help reform the military establishment during the eighteenth century. During the Tanzimat era, 1839–1876, when the Porte became irrevocably committed to modernization, foreigners and non-Muslims were employed in a multitude of capacities. They ranged from the Prussian Von Moltke who was to advise on the vital problem of reorganizing the army, to Giuseppe Donnizetti, brother of the composer, who was charged with the somewhat less important task of organizing a Western-style military band.

The Iranian economy under the Islamic Republic has been strongly influenced by factors which lie for the most part outside the Iranian government's control, in particular lower oil sales due to the Iraqi attack and to the world-wide oil glut. One should not underestimate, however, the impact of the policies which have traditionally most concerned economists, namely, the government budget and monetary matters. The major thesis of this article is that the Islamic Republic's economy has been heavily influenced by an overvalued exchange rate which has: (a) forced reductions in government development spending; (b) fueled inflation as the government printed money to finance its deficit; (c) worsened the imbalance in foreign trade by encouraging imports and discouraging non-oil exports; (d) subsidized the consumption of imported goods, primarily benefiting the urban population, especially the rich; (e) distorted the allocation of resources in favor of commerce at the expense of production; and (f) benefited well-to-do merchants at the expense of poorer farmers and artisans.

Recent scholarship has taken great strides toward integrating the history of the late Ottoman Empire into world history. By moving beyond the view that the West was the prime agent for change in the East, historians have shed new light on indigenous efforts aimed at repositioning the state, reconceptualizing knowledge, and restructuring “society.”1 A comparative perspective has helped students of the period recognize that the late Ottoman Empire shared and took action against many of the same problems confronting its contemporaries, East and West. The assertion of Ottoman agency has been critical to finishing off the stereotype of the “sick man of Europe,” but the persistent legacies of modernization theory and nationalist historiography continue to obscure our view of the period.

According to its constitution and the ideology of the ruling Ba?th party, Syria is a socialist people's republic with a planned socialist economy. This does not mean, however, that there is no place for a private economic sector: agriculture is almost entirely private,1 as is small-scale industry, almost 90 percent of internal trade, most road transport, tourism, construction, and up to one-third of Syria's foreign trade. There is also a Syrian bourgeoisie apparently flourishing under the auspices of Syrian socialism. Since independence, however, the specific development of Syria's private sector has to a large extent been determined by political decisions, i.e., by decisions of those running state affairs.

On 14 October 1973 Turkish voters went to the polls for the seventh time since the advent of multiparty politics twenty-three years earlier. This election was the subject of unusual interest because it followed the 12 March 1971 military intervention. It was also of intrinsic analytical interest because it afforded an opportunity to determine whether previous electoral trends were continuing or not.

A public discourse of “youth crisis” emerged in 1930s Egypt, partly as a response to the widespread student demonstrations of 1935 and 1936 that ushered in the figure of youth as an insurgent subject of politics. The fear of youth as unbridled political and sexual subjects foreshadowed the emergence of a discourse of adolescent psychology. By the mid-1940s, “adolescence” had been transformed into a discrete category of analysis within the newly consolidated disciplinary space of psychology and was reconfigured as a psychological stage of social adjustment, sexual repression, and existential anomie. Adolescence—perceived as both a collective temporality and a depoliticized individual interiority—became a volatile stage linked to a psychoanalytic notion of sexuality as libidinal raw energy, displacing other collective temporalities and geographies. New discursive formations, for example, of a psychology centered on unconscious sexual impulses and a cavernous interiority, and new social types, such as the “juvenile delinquent,” coalesced around the figure of adolescence in postwar Egypt.