The deportation of the majority of the Armenian population from the Ottoman Empire during World War I and the massacres that accompanied it are of commanding interest. The paucity of scholarly contributions in this area, however, has impeded the development of interest in the subject, thereby contributing to the nebulous state surrounding the conditions that led to the disappearance of an entire nation from its ancestral territories. Some maintain that this nebulousness is compounded by the intrusion of political calculation.1 At issue is whether or not the disaster was intentionally organized by the Ottoman authorities, and whether or not the scope of Armenian losses bore any relationship to that intention.

This article adopts the theoretical framework of complex realism to trace the evolution of the Islamic Republic of Iran's foreign policy and developmental activities in Africa between the 1980s and the 2000s. Contrary to common assumptions, the deradicalization of the Islamic Republic's foreign policy in Africa began not under the moderates in the early 1990s, but under the conservatives in the mid-1980s. This period marked the first time that the Islamic Republic instrumentalized development to advance its strategic interests in Africa—a policy that has continued despite the factionalization of Iran's political elite. Based on one year of archival research and interviews in Iran, this article is the first to investigate the history and activities of the Islamic Republic's rural development organization, Construction Jihad, in Africa. It posits that development, instead of arms or ideology, has enabled Iran to make the farthest inroads into the continent due to Africa's sizeable agrarian economies, widespread rural poverty, and formidable developmental challenges.

In the summer of 1555, by writ of Papal Bull, the ghetto of Rome came into being. Within less than half a decade, across the Mediterranean at the foot of the High Atlas Mountains, the Jews of Marrakesh met a fate not unlike that of their Italian co-religionists when they, too, were transferred to their own “city within a city.” Located where the Moroccan sultan's stables had previously stood, the new walled Jewish quarter of Marrakesh was in fact the second of its kind in Morocco, and like its predecessor in Fez it was called a mellah,2 a name that originally referred to the salty marsh area to which the Jews of the northern Moroccan capital had been transferred. The Roman ghetto had similarly appropriated its name from its predecessor, the Venetian foundry (getto or ghetto) where a policy of Jewish confinement was first put into official practice in Italy. The terms continued to follow parallel trajectories, moreover, with ghetto and mellah each coming to describe the generic Jewish quarter within its respective environment.

This article deals with the material aspects of the late Ottoman home in Beirut, focusing on the notion of taste (dhawq) and its role in constructing class boundaries. It looks at how intellectuals used taste to articulate a prescriptive middle-class domesticity revolving around the woman as manager of the house and privileging moderation and authenticity in consumption habits. Rather than take such tastes as representative of actual consumption habits of an emerging middle class, and arguing for an approach that goes beyond taste as a construct, the article investigates the potentiality of new objects for subverting the existing social order. Based on a marital-conflict case brought to the Hanafi court, the article explores how one such object, a phonograph, opened interpretive possibilities in the gendered rigidity of court procedures.

Few of the Egyptian schoolboys who now memorize the principles of Arab socialism have heard of Farah Antûn, Shiblî Shumayyil, or Niqûlâ Haddâd. Yet in the opening decades of the twentieth century this trio of Syrian Christians living in Egypt — along with the Coptic intellectual Salâmah Mûsâ — were among the foremost advocates of socialism in the Arab world. What was the connection between these Christian pioneers and the widespread but as yet ill-defined Arab socialism of today? The answer will fully emerge only as the roots of Arab socialism are probed. A beginning can be made by examining these writers themselves, why they were attracted to Western socialism, what they understood by it, and how they proposed to adapt and apply it to the Middle East. A correct evaluation of their positions depends to a considerable extent on understanding the precarious, but not entirely hopeless position, of the Christian minorities in a Muslim world which had long despised them.

This article explores the relationship between the administration of President John F. Kennedy and the Arab Baʿth Socialist Party's first regime in Iraq from February to November 1963. It demonstrates that Kennedy administration officials had adopted a paradigm of modernization through which they believed recently decolonized countries could achieve high-consumption economies with democratic governments. Because this process appeared threatened by communist-supported insurgencies, the administration developed a doctrine of counterinsurgency, which entailed support for the repressive capacities of developing states. Administration officials regarded the Iraqi Baʿth Party as an agent of Iraq's modernization and of anticommunist counterinsurgency. They consequently cultivated supportive relationships with Baʿthist officials, police commanders, and members of the party's militia, despite the regime's wide-scale human rights violations. The American relationship with militia members began before the coup that brought the Baʿthists to power, and Baʿthist police commanders involved in the coup were trained in the United States.

Based on interviews with Lebanese in over 150 mixed-religion marriages and their extended family members, I argue that sect may conceal or stand in for other forms of difference, including ideas about status and hierarchy related to class and regional origin in Lebanon. Because it is the most readily available discourse for understanding social difference, parents often use sectarian rhetoric to describe their concerns about a variety of problems they see in their children's chosen partners. By listening between the lines of parental objections, I suggest that expressions of bias against people of other sects may mask concerns with other forms of social difference, in effect reducing a complex and shifting social field of multiple axes of difference into sect. Rather than assume sectarianism's a priori importance, this approach allows me to bring other discourses of difference and analytic lenses to the foreground.

In a region which has witnessed so many violent seizures of power, violations of constitutional legality, and myriad varieties of dictatorship over the past few decades, it is often easy to forget that many parts of the Middle East enjoyed elements of democracy, including freedom of speech and assembly, a free press, and hotly contested elections, as far back as the late Ottoman period.

[It was a] mistaken belief that if 10,000 did so it would be recognized as an official religion. —A British statistical spokesman on the more than 390,000 people who listed their religion as “Jedi” on 2001 census forms

The fiction of the census is that everyone is in it, and that everyone has one—and only one—extremely clear place. No fractions.

—Benedict Anderson

This paper focuses on the relationship between social identity based on national, religious, or international affiliations and attitudes toward foreign policy in the Turkish context. Evidence is drawn from an original survey conducted among university students in Turkey. The results show that students' social identity has a significant correlation with their perceptions of foreign policy. Most Turkish university students provide conditional support for the new directions in Turkey's foreign policy, but those with an Islamic identity appear to be more supportive of the Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi's (Justice and Development Party) policies. Most university students believe that Turkey's future lies in the European Union and the Central Asian Turkic republics rather than in the Middle East. Overall, the perceptions of educated youth toward foreign policy are shaped by both social identity and their conceptions of national interest.

Recent contributions to the study of ethnic conflict, which attempt to explain why and under what circumstances members of ethnic groups, or communities,1 mobilize and engage in violence, include several works that are inspired by the “security dilemma”—a basic concept of the realist tradition of international theory.2 Barry Posen, for instance, argues that ethnic groups behave like sovereign states in the international system and are influenced by their proximity to other, similar groups in the same way that states are affected by their neighbors. Because security is the primary concern of these communities, each tries to enhance its security by strengthening its position. The actions the community takes, however, trigger the response of other groups, whose members intrinsically view it as offensive, regardless of its motives. A paradox thus emerges, as “what one does to enhance one's own security causes reactions that, in the end, can make one less secure.”3

An Iranian born in 1906, when the constitution was granted, would have had to wait until he was thirty-four to find a history of what was happening at the time of his birth. Kasravi's first volume appeared in 1940 and Malikzada's in 1948. Censorship was not the cause of this strange delay. Could it be that disillusion with the outcome of the movement ran so deep in the minds of intellectuals that no one wished to relive the story by writing it? The newly established Pahlavi state tried to glorify the ancient heritage of Persia and to shift the historical landscape from the immediacy of the constitutional era to the politically irrelevant past of pre-Islamic Iran. It is somehow peculiar—and perhaps a measure of the time—that an author of the Iranian constitution, the Mushir al-Daula (Hasan Pirniya) undertook, when in political retirement, to write not a history of the constitutional movement but a monumental work on ancient Iran. Kasravi speculated about the reasons for the nonexistence of a reliable history. The opportunist elitist reformers (“carpetbaggers”) who shifted sides during the movement “were reluctant to see the history of that movement truthfully written.” The Mushir al-Daula was one of them. Kasravi complained that when he began publishing his history, the sons, relatives, and followers of these men objected to his critical historical evaluation.

After France's 1830 invasion of Algeria, Algerians residing outside of the new French colony could potentially be considered French subjects. A number of Moroccans, eager to partake of the legal and financial advantages of foreign nationality, crossed the border into Algeria and obtained documentation falsely attesting to their Algerian origins; they then returned to Morocco, where they convinced French consular authorities to register them as French subjects. This article uses the story of one such pseudo-Algerian, Masʿud Amoyal, to explore the phenomenon of Moroccans who assumed the legal identities of Algerians. In Morocco and elsewhere in the Middle East, the responses of individuals like Amoyal to new legal categories created by European colonization point to the importance of expanding colonial historiography beyond the borders of imperial states. Examining the strategies of pseudo-Algerians in Morocco demonstrates the value of a transnational approach for understanding the full impact of European imperialism.

It is well known that the Hashemite Dynasty in Iraq was the creation of the British in 1921. Less well known are the circumstances that led to the hasty installation of Faisal as king and the emergence of ‘Independent Modern Iraq’.The 1920 revolt forced the hesitant British to enact a solution which for thirtyseven years was maintained by force. During this time, the British were obliged to force-feed an artificial and outmoded system that was barely capable of holding primordial sentiments in check. The state apparatus that the British set up as a means of containing these sentiments was not a genuine structure developed to meet expressed needs, nor did it serve to forge the various segments of the society into an organic nation.

For nearly three centuries after the famous Battle of Poitiers (Tours), which is usually regarded as the high-water mark of Arab/Muslim expansion into Western Europe, the Muslims continued to maintain a series of relatively isolated presences in regions of Western Europe outside the Iberian Peninsula. Although these presences have tended to be forgotten within the larger picture of Muslim/Christian relationships during the medieval period, the researches of some nineteenth and twentieth century scholars would seem to indicate that they left behind a considerably larger legacy than has previously been suspected.

Compiled in 987–88, Ibn al-Nadim's work al-Fihrist (The Catalogue) needs little introduction to scholars of Middle Eastern and Islamic history. Countless specialized studies have used the Fihrist as a source of data. Because it includes the titles of a large number of works that are no longer extant, as well as biographical information on little-known early authors, it throws light on otherwise obscure facets of medieval Islamic intellectual history in many fields. Choice anecdotes, such as the account of al-Maءmun's (r. 813–33) conversation with Aristotle in a dream, considered to have triggered the translation movement, have been quoted in numerous studies. Little attention has been paid, however, to Ibn al-Nadim as a thinker, despite the fact that the Fihrist, like Dewey's decimal system, is as much an exercise in mapping out the organization of human knowledge as a simple inventory of book titles. The following remarks focus first on the methods Ibn al-Nadim adopted in compiling the Fihrist and second on the arguments he makes about the history of Islamic sciences, in many cases not explicitly but through order, presentation, and the calculus of inclusion and exclusion, emphasis and de-emphasis. Particular attention will be paid to the Islamic legal madhhabs and theological schools. Determining Ibn al-Nadim's views on these topics, as an Imami Shiʿi and Muʿtazili theologian, promises to provide a better understanding of his conception of the Islamic sciences, the overall message of his work, and Islamic intellectual history itself.

It would probably be quite curious, if not confusing, for uninformed readers of Turkish politics who are interested in learning more about Turkey's ruling party, the AKP (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi/Justice and Development Party), to pick up these five books, all written by scholars of Turkish politics, all dealing with the ideology of the AKP and the social and political conditions that gave rise to it, all published by prestigious publishers, and realize that they make almost completely opposite claims. For example, while Banu Eligür in The Mobilization of Political Islam in Turkey claims that the AKP is an Islamist party that is “opposed to democracy” (p. 11), William Hale and Ergun Özbudun in Islamism, Democracy and Liberalism in Turkey: The Case of the AKP see the AKP as a secular, conservative-democratic party that clearly rejects Islamism as a political ideology and is perhaps making the most significant contribution to the expansion of democracy in Turkey.

With socioeconomic liberalization and development, especially since 1980, Turkey has witnessed rapid changes in consumption patterns and fashion styles. Often one fad rapidly follows another, creatively combining symbols of the Ottoman era, foreign influences, and regional traditions. Kandiyoti argues that “[t]here is little doubt that class cultures in Turkey are increasingly being shaped and redefined through the medium of consumption.” Thus, consumption has emerged recently as a central concern and analytical tool in historical, anthropological, and sociological works on Ottoman and Turkish society. One trend focuses on the secular high-income class' “globalized” consumption patterns and lifestyle, especially as expressed through shopping patterns and the commoditization of symbols of Turkish secularism. Another, more prevalent, trend is more concerned with the upwardly mobile Islamists' attempt at articulating their newly gained economic status through consumption. A third directs attention to the history of consumption and “the everyday” to counter a previous emphasis on production and state politics in the Ottoman Empire.

The following study is aimed at describing social, political, and religious aspects of Mamluk society in the context of a political disturbance in Damascus in 1386. It is mainly based on historiographical and prosopographical evidence. Readers who are familiar with medieval Islamic chronicles and biographical dictionaries will know that these sources do not provide satisfactory answers to all the questions concerning the socio-political structure of Islamic societies as raised by modern scholarship. Nevertheless, the information collected in the course of our examination will permit us to draw conclusions concerning three major issues of Mamluk and Islamic history, respectively: