The sixteenth century came to an end with the countries of the Ottoman Middle East falling into a grave economic and social crisis which presaged a decisive turning point in their history. The most symptomatic sign of what was, in fact, a structural crisis was a series of popular revolts which appeared most prominently among the Muslim Turkish population of Anatolia. Known as the Celali revolts, these uprisings developed into open civil war against the forces of the Ottoman state, and in their first phase lasted approximately fifteen years, from 1595 to 1610.

This article offers a reading of the groundbreaking book Bareed Mista3jil: True Stories, a collection of the narratives of Lebanese queers. Here, I argue, a burgeoning collective queer experience is being mapped from the conditions of Western imperialism and globalization, from the legacies of a colonial past, and from everyday life in postwar Lebanon. Resisting the urge to reduce Arab queer identities as either Western or traditionally Arab, the article suggests that though Western constructions of sexualities have certainly been influential, these identities are also responding to the local and cultural context. If we attune our readings to the affects that underlie the stories in this collection, it becomes clear that the emotional strategies to survive and negotiate the difficulties of postcoloniality are different from the strategies of post-Stonewall pride culture. Rather than stifle shame with the insistence of queer pride, this community is creating itself by expressing its suffering from the effects of shame and social humiliation. The narrative thread that comes through is not pride but hope. That is because shame, as Elspeth Probyn contends, gives access to what is most important and, as Eve Sedgwick has argued, is a resource for imagining change.

Popular belief, if not serious scholarship, maintains that the position of women in pre-twentieth-century Islamic society was an extremely depressed one. And although scholars were always cautious on this point, the popular belief, shared also, it would seem, by many Orientalists, is a stubborn one. The low status of women is said to have derived from the fact that the patriarchal family was supposedly the backbone of the social structure throughout Islamic society. Women, it was supposed, were often secluded in harems and, therefore, were barred from participating in public life, which meant that they could not pursue economic occupations, or go to court to defend their interests and legal rights. Moreover, it seems to have been generally agreed that women were frequently deprived of the benevolence bestwed on them by classical Islamic law, which mitigated the extremities of the pre-Islamic tribal law of Arabia. Thus, Islam reduced the number of women allowed to a man to four, in order to ensure their better treatment. Similarly, Islam denounced the usual deprivation of inheritance suffered by women, and assigned them a share in the estate of the deceased, although this was very much less than that assigned to male inheritors. It has generally been thought that even this modest improvement in the position of women was never, in fact, effected.

Since 2009, analyses of Iran have stressed the centralizing takeover of the country's economy by a single state institution, the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps. At the same time, however, Iran's factionalized political elite uniformly advocate for rapid privatization of state-owned enterprises. Underneath this puzzling contradiction is a complex shift of economic ownership away from the state toward a variety of parastatal organizations including banks, cooperatives, pension funds, foundations, and military-linked contractors. The result is not a praetorian monolith but a subcontractor state. This article draws on interviews conducted in Iran during 2009 and 2010, primary data from parliamentary and governmental reports, and secondary sources to show how intraelite conflict and nonelite claims have structured the process of privatization. Framed comparatively with privatization outcomes in other middle-income countries, Iran's subcontractor state can be seen as a consequence of the way in which politics and society shaped the form of capitalism that has taken root in the Islamic Republic.

Vote buying and vote selling are prominent features of electoral politics in Lebanon. This article investigates how vote trafficking works in Lebanese elections and examines how electoral rules and practices contribute to wide and lively vote markets. Using original survey data from the 2009 parliamentary elections, it studies vote selling with a list experiment, a question technique designed to elicit truthful answers to sensitive questions. The data show that over half of the Lebanese sold their votes in 2009. Moreover, once we come to grips with the sensitivity of the topic, the data show that members of all sectarian communities and political alliances sold their votes at similar rates.

Social policy constitutes an area that clearly reflects the nature of state–society relations and the content of citizenship in a given country. The present article develops this idea by situating the analysis of the Turkish modernization experience in a historical overview of perspectives on poverty and social policy in the republican period.

This article will examine the legal status of dhimmīs (non-Muslims) as documented in the sijills of the shariʿa courts of Ottoman Damascus in the 18th and 19th centuries. It will focus on two related aspects of dhimmī legal life: the extent of the judicial autonomy granted to non-Muslims and the kind of justice that dhimmīs obtained at the Muslim court.

Whatever their underlying causes, social upheavals and revolutions represent violent and often anarchic manifestations of the masses' frustrations and unfulfilled aspirations in the face of nonresponsive despotic rulers with an autocratic and suppressive bureaucratic machinery. Iran's revolution of February 1979 was first and foremost a popular uprising against the dictatorial rule of the Shah. The millions of people who throughout 1978–1979 joined street demonstrations were united in what they wanted to dispose of and whom they were fighting against. Mobilized under the tactical tripartite alliance of the ulama (men of religion), the bazaris (merchants, small traders, and shopkeepers), and the intelligentsia (secular liberal reformists and leftist revolutionaries), the masses were determined to topple the Shah's rule. The demise of the old regime seemed to be the only obstacle to a promising future. Beyond this immediate aim there was, and still is, no agreement as to the root causes of the February revolution and its ultimate objectives.

The status of women in Turkey may be examined from several perspectives. One perspective might focus on the public sphere and take into account the legal, political, and institutional reforms of hte Republican era and their reflection in the increasing literacy rates, educational attainment, political participation, labor force participation, and professionalization of women in Turkey. A second perspective might focus on the private sphere, mainly the family, and consider family dynamics and interaction patterns as well as the place of the woman in the family. This paper will adopt the second perspective. Before taking it up in detail, however, it may be helpful to consider briefly the general picture of the public sphere. This should provide us with necessary backgorund and help put our findings into context.

Sunni Islam recognizes four sources from and through which the laws governing its conduct are derived. These are the Qur'an, the Sunna of the Prophet, the consensus (ljmā') of the community and its scholars, and qiyās, the juridicological method of inference. The first two sources provide the jurist with the material from which he is to extract through qiyas and ijtihād (the disciplined exercise of mental faculty) the law which he believes to the best of his knowledge to be that decreed by God. Except for a relatively limited number of cases where the Qu'an and the Sunna offer already-formulated legal judgments, the great majority of furū' cases, which constitute the body of positive and substantive law, are derived by qiyas. Thus, qiyas may be used to “discover” the judgment of a new case provided that this case has not already been solved in the two primary sources. The process of legal reasoning which qiyas involves is charged with innumerable difficulties not the least of which is finding the circle of common similarity, the 'illa, between the original case in the texts and the new case which requires a legal judgment. Since finding the 'illa entails a certain amount of guesswork (zann) on the part of the jurist and since it is highly probable that the 'illa is extracted from a text which is not entirely reliable or a text capable of more than one interpretation, Sunni jurists deemed the results of qiyas to be probable (zannī). It is only at this point that consensus may enter into play in the legal process. Should Muslims, represented by their jurists, reach an agreement on the validity of a zanni legal judgment, such judgment is automatically transferred from the domain of juristic speculation to that of certainty (qat', yaqīn). Consensus then renders this judgment irrevocable, not to be challenged or reinterpreted by later generations. Furthermore, this judgment, being so irrevocable, acquires a validity tantamount to that of the Qur'an and the highly reliable traditions embodied in the Sunna of the Prophet. Thus, such a case with its established judgment becomes a precedent according to which another new legal question may be solved. It is only in this sense that consensus functions as a source of law, a source which is infallible.

This article explains the endurance of sectarian identities and modes of political mobilization in Lebanon after the civil war. This is done by examining three case studies that demonstrate a recursive relation between sectarian elites and civil society actors: on one side of this relation, sectarian elites pursue their political and socioeconomic interests at the expense of civil society organizations (CSOs); on the other side, civil society actors instrumentalize the sectarian political system and its resources to advance their own organizational or personal advantage. These mutually reinforcing dynamics enable sectarian elites to penetrate, besiege, or co-opt CSOs as well as to extend their clientelist networks to CSOs that should otherwise lead the effort to establish cross-sectarian ties and modes of political mobilization or that expressly seek to challenge the sectarian system. The article fills a gap in the literature on sectarianism in postwar Lebanon and helps explain a puzzle identified by Ashutosh Varshney in the theoretical debate on ethnic conflict, namely the reasons behind the “stickiness” of historically constructed ethnic identities.

Looking at the trajectories of people of Muslim origin in Egypt who express religious doubts, I argue in this article that doubt and nonreligiosity are not necessarily a child of a Christian genealogy of the secular and definitely not alien to Muslims. Instead, we have to understand them as an intimate moral discontent with the contemporary age of Islamic revival, even if their shape and some of their positive claims are borrowed from notions of Western origin and global currency—most notably, human rights and feminism. There are reasons and ways to become a nonbeliever in a society profoundly affected by a religious revival, and these reasons and ways can be telling about the nature of doubt and certainty in general. They also offer a perspective on the problematic of secularism that focuses on issues of belief and existential trust rather than governmentality and discursive power.

Population movements have always played a dynamic role in the transformation of human society throughout history. Indeed, there is not a single phase of history anywhere in the world which has not been related in some way to low or high rates of birth and mortality, to migration and settlement and to their social, cultural, economic, and political effects. The history of the Middle East supplies excellent examples to support this contention. The Muslim calendar begins with an act of migration, that is the hejira of a.d. 622. Migrants going from the countryside to urban centers or fleeing from areas hostile to Islam have always exerted a crucial influence upon the social and political destiny of Muslim countries. The refugees from Spain to North Africa in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the forced migration of Muslims from Russia (the Caucasus and Crimea) in the eighteenth to twentieth centuries, the shift of population in India, Pakistan, and Palestine in the 1940s, to cite just a few examples, have been major factors accounting, at least in part, for the social transformation of the Muslim world in general, and of the Middle East in particular.

In the 1980s, after a decades-long emphasis on economic growth as the primary engine for development, a number of prominent economists and development practitioners heralded a new era in the conceptualization of development as primarily a human endeavor with improved life chances and quality of life as the proper end. Thus was coined the term “human development,” followed by subsequent efforts to delineate the essential dimensions of human development and the appropriate measures of a development endeavor that no longer had “growth” (and, more narrowly, increased income) as its primary indicator but now sought to measure human ends, capabilities, and opportunities. Of most prominence, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) took up this charge in the form of an annual global human development report, releasing the first one in 1990. Perhaps no other human development reports have received as much attention in the past few years as have the Arab human development reports.

Starting in 2010, movements of transformation, spaces of sociability, relations of power, and economies of affect in the Middle East plunged into a time of radical dislocation. Fearless, dissident solidarities challenged patterns of identity, normativity, and authority that had constituted the region for more than a generation. One epoch ended, in which struggles over power seemed all too often restricted to constrained contests between nongovernmental organizations, religious dissidents, and security-state repressors. In their place new insurgencies came to question the narratives, binaries, and regimes of feeling pinned to “identity politics” as defined by categories of class, gender, sexuality, and religion. Curious forms of revolutionary social uprising exploded among gender, labor, and community dissidents at street level, generating novel popular cultures, rebel counterpublics, and carnivals of new-media experimentation.

In the 1990s, the concept of civil society has inspired a variety of publications by Western scholars studying the Middle East and has become the rallying cry for representatives of Western governments interested in promoting democracy in the region. The great majority of such publications and government promotions assume that the Middle East does not have, or has only in very weakly developed forms, the institutions that constitute a civil society. By “civil institutions” they mean such things as labor unions, political parties, independent newspapers and universities, and, most important, voluntary associations—for example, human-rights organizations, professional associations, charitable organizations, and non-governmental organizations.1 Discounted in this discussion is the possibility that the Middle East has its own resilient civil institutions undergoing their own transformations in the global society at the end of the century. In Jordan, this gigantic oversight reflects a misunderstanding of what “tribal” institutions are and do.

Preventing the development of an ethnic Kurdish cultural and political movement has been a priority of the Turkish state since the Kurdish-led Shaykh Said Rebellion of 1925.' Nevertheless, beginning around 1959 this effort was steadily if slowly undermined, and events of the past ten years suggest that it has indeed failed. Not only have Kurdish activists gained some measure of international recognition for themselves and for the concept of Kurdish ethnic rights,2 but promoting the notion of specifically Kurdish cultural rights has almost become a standard litany for a wide array of Turkish civic and state actors, from Islamist political parties to business organizations, human-rights groups, prime ministers, and mainstream newspaper columnists. Although the separatist Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK) and its insurgency against Turkey have claimed a great deal of academic and popular attention, it is these diffuse but public re-considerations of minority rights taking place within legitimate Turkish institutions have contributed the most to the sense that past policies of coping with the “Kurdish reality” are ultimately unsustainable, and that it may be difficult, if not impossible, to return to the climate of earlier years, when discussions of ethnic difference were suppressed, limited to the private realm, or confined to the fringes of radical politics.

Similar to many previous and contemporary Islamic states, the basis of classical Ottoman administration and military was a highly elaborate system of slavery. Slaves, carefully recruited and educated, made up the bulk of the central army and filled many of the administrative posts of the empire. To the traditional sources of slaves the Ottomans added a new one: the levy of children from non- urban, mostly Christian subjects of the empire (devşirme). The motive behind this elaborate system of ‘slaves of the sultan’ is obvious: to provide the sultan and the central government with an efficient, well-trained and loyal professional army. The basis of the loyalty was that theoretically they were without root and without ties.

At the turn of the century the societies of the Near East provided materials for some of the most pressing anthropological and sociological issues of the day. W. Robertson Smith, Marcel Mauss, and Max Weber, to name only one representative of three national traditions, all devoted considerable attention to Semitic societies. Since that time, fewer sociologists and anthropologists have had a background in Semitic languages and literatures, and new materials from outside the classical and Semitic cultures have seemed to offer fresher, more challenging problems. In recent decades, Near Eastern societies have come to play a minor role in the development and discussion of anthropological problems. In general, only the tribal societies have maintained any prominence, and even these societies have only been test cases for a theory that was formulated by Evans-Pritchard for the Nuer of sub-Saharan Africa.

This article focuses on one of the most striking ideas to come out of the radical Islamist movements of recent decades: the doctrine of jāhiliyya presented by the Egyptian activist Sayyid Qutb (1906–66) in his latest writings.