The concept of the “status quo”1 was introduced in 1852, when the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Mejid, in a futile attempt to avoid a war, issued a decree freezing the rights of worship and possession of the religious communities in the Holy Places of Christendom. The decree terminated the bloody rivalry between the Greek Orthodox patriarchate and the Roman Catholic church for predominance in the Christian sanctuaries and recognized the paramount rights of the Greek Orthodox church in the Holy Places affirmed since 1757.2 In 1853, the sultan issued another decree, which transferred the power of jurisdiction over the sanctuaries from the local officials in Palestine to the Sublime Porte. Subsequently, Article 62 of the Treaty of Berlin (1878) proclaimed the inviolability of the decree of 1852 and declared it the “Status Quo of the Holy Places.” The successive governments of Palestine, the British Mandate, and the State of Israel further maintained the regulations as set forth by the status quo of 1852.3

The varied textual traditions of the premodern Islamicate World represent an opportunity and a problem for the Digital Humanities (DH). The opportunity lies in the sheer extent of this textual heritage: if we combine the textual output of premodern Persian and Arabic authors (not to mention Turkish and other less well-represented Islamicate languages), this body of texts constitutes arguably the largest written repository of human culture. Analytical methods developed for other linguistic heritages can be repurposed to make use of this wealth of texts, and efforts are now underway to apply to them a series of computationally enhanced methods that derive from a variety of disciplines (e.g., corpus linguistics, computational linguistics, the social sciences, and statistics). The application of these forms of analysis to these large new corpora promises new insights on premodern Islamicate cultures and the improvement of existing digital tools and methodologies.

One of the more important developments in Iraq since the 1958 overthrow of the Hashemite monarchy was the nationalization of the Iraqi Petroleum Company on 1 June 1972. The nationalization of the IPC was the culmination of a long-standing power struggle between the IPC and the Iraqi government. This analysis is concerned with that power struggle and the consequent nationalization of the IPC.

Around the mid-19th century, the cigarette, the latest fashion in tobacco consumption, gained popularity in Egypt, as it did globally and throughout the Ottoman Empire. Some fifty years later, the cigarette had become the predominant smoking preference in Egypt, and luxury Egyptian cigarettes were being exported around the world. Indeed, Egyptian and Turkish brands played a significant role in introducing cigarettes to different parts of the globe and thus in shaping world cigarette production. This article sets out to tell the fascinating story of the luxury Egyptian cigarette and uses this case to reflect on the development of modern markets in Egypt.

The 18th-century European Enlightenment championed rational philosophy and scientific methodology, rather than any form of traditional theology, as the way to understand the objective truth.1 In their quest for the fundamental truth, France's philosophes, the rational and anticlerical intellectuals of the Age of Reason, were forced to brave official censorship, persecution, and imprisonment as they disentangled themselves from their Christian heritage. Thus, the French Enlightenment was informed by a dualistic view of history—an ongoing contest between reason and faith. Although faith had gained ascendancy with Christianity's triumph over classical antiquity in the late 3rd and 4th centuries, according to the philosophes, many of whom served as key contributors to the Encyclopédie, religion and science had once again joined battle in the 18th century, this time with science and reason poised to overcome religious irrationality.2 In this context, the renowned philosophe Voltaire, in his highly controversial Dictionnaire Philosophique (1764), attacks Christian dogma, refutes the tenet of Christ's divine nature, and rejects the possibility of miracles as running contrary to all scientific evidence.3 Similarly, in Système de la Nature (1770), another philosophe, d'Holbach, deplores man's pursuit of the chimeras of religious revelation and refusal to engage in rational methods of inquiry.4 The arguments of Voltaire and d'Holbach are just two examples of the French Enlightenment tenet that knowledge can be based only on science and reason.

Although a great deal has been said and written about the religious groups in Lebanon, little reliable factual information exists about them. No doubt this is due to the nature of the Lebanese political system: Since obtaining independence Lebanon has preferred not to conduct a population census, owing to the fear that the results might strain the political formula by which it is governed. The last census of the Lebanese population, conducted in 1932 under the French Mandate, showed a total population of 793,246 with a Christian majority in the ratio of 6 to 5. This has been the basis of the political formula for assigning political and administrative offices for nearly four decades (Salem, 1973, p. 20). The recent events in Lebanon have made it clear that non-observance or denial of religious similarities and differences by no means guarantees political stability. On the contrary, it is the author's belief that the recognition of differences as well as similarities among the religious groups is an essential ingredient to future political stability. The purpose of this paper, then, is to provide a descriptive comparison of the major Lebanese religious groups along various demographic, social, and economic dimensions.

On 11 November 1851, Nasir al-Din Shah (r. 1848—96), the 20-year-old Qajar ruler of Iran, dismissed from the post of premier his guardian-tutor (atābak) and brother-in-law Mirza Taqi Khan Farahani, Amir(-i) Nizam, better known to posterity as Amir Kabir. He allowed him to continue in the post of commander-in-chief of the army (amārat-i niẓām), however. “Since the office of the grand vizierate in volves too much labor,” the shah wrote to Amir Kabir, “and the burden of such a task was arduous for you. we have relieved you of this duty. You must continue as commander-in-chief with full confidence.”1 Only two months later, on 10 January 1852, Amir Kabir was secretly put to death in the Fin royal garden near Kashan, where he had spent the last days of his exile.

The legitimacy of stationing British troops on Egyptian soil for the defence of the Suez Canal, and maintaining a base in the Near East, were Britain's special requirements in Egypt. Accordingly, the security of these two vital imperial interests was the motive that dictated Britain's policy towards Egypt. The political pattern in the country, reflecting a continuous struggle between those two significant forces, the popular nationalist Wafd party and an autocratic palace, largely determined the course of Anglo–Egyptian relations.

Research on the social strata that made up Ottoman society is still very much in its beginnings; extensive studies on the peasantry, the bureaucracy, the ‘ulemâ and others will have to be undertaken before any far-reaching conclusions can be drawn. This study focuses on the 'ulemâ of the late sixteenth century, their social composition and mobility within the hierarchy. Materials dealing with the 'ulemâ are more easily accessible than those dealing with other segments of the grup that governed the Ottoman empire, because, as in most other Islamic cultures, there was a great deal of contemporary interest in the lives of poets and learned men.

The problematic status of the historical urban core raises analogous questions for city planners in cities otherwise as diverse as Paris, Istanbual, or Mexico City. In the case of medinas of the Islamic world the historical core is less the site of monuments pertaining to our common heritage than it is a discrete part of the urban fabric which, while adapting somewhat to larger milieu, still stands apart as a striking testament to a peculiarly local way of life.

In the course of a visit to Libya in 1964, the writer was informed by the Archivist at the Libyan Government Archives in Tripoli, Sayyid Muhammad al-Usta, of the existence of Ottoman documents in Istanbul concerning a sixteenth-century embassy to Turkey from the West African state of Bornu.

The construction of heritage can be a violent process. Authorizing state-sanctioned narratives and the spaces that materialize them are belligerent acts. Crafting and territorializing a singular history out of many entangled ones necessarily relies on the destruction, containment, and/or silencing of the evidentiary terrain—of people, places, and things. In this sense, the construction of the past—to play on Carl von Clausewitz's well-known maxim—is the continuation of war by other means. As networks of knowledge production and transmission, “lieux de mémoire” are everyday sites of violence that embody ongoing social relations and the attendant struggles over power. In times of peace as in war, they are terrains of symbolic and material contestation whose creative destruction can be deployed as political spectacles and projections of power. Examples of such dynamics abound, whether in the Standing Rock Sioux reservation in North America or Palmyra, Baghdad, and Mecca in the Middle East. In its varied forms, then, heritage is as much a cause for celebration for some as it is a cause of injury for others. Heritage reflects the power to subjugate the past to the politics of the present and to dictate the future, both of which are intrinsic to state and subject formation.

In recent decades, Iran has witnessed radical transformations concerning the conceptualization of and procedural standards for changing sex. Psychologists, medical and legal practitioners, law enforcement officials, and scholars of fiqh have debated the advisability (in debates among health and legal professionals) or the permissibility (among scholars of fiqh) of sex-change. This article asks what historical transformations of the concept of jins/genus have informed the debates and enabled the contemporary dominant concepts and practices that shape them. How has jins come to mean sex and how does this matter? The article first maps out the historical genealogy of these reconfigurations. What were some of the 19th- and pre-19th-century concepts that could be considered disparate precedents to this cluster around sex/jins? It then reviews some of the late-19th- and 20th-century reshaping of biomedical knowledge and marital practices that have contributed to the contemporary meanings of jins.

This article explores how the Great Depression in 1929 led to the expansion of illicit circuits globally, and examines the ways in which the introduction of anti-smuggling campaigns came to consolidate the border regimes in Turkey and French Syria. The global economic downturn in the late 1920s led states to embrace protectionist measures such as heightened tariffs and import quotas, all designed to protect local industries and maintain a favorable trade balance. The introduction of such measures, however, often resulted in the emergence of highly profitable illicit circuits, including in the borderland between Turkey and Syria. Here, a sturdy coalition of producers, shop owners, smugglers, trackers, and peddlers began to smuggle into Turkey a range of goods from silk textiles to cigarette papers, while funneling out narcotics into Syria. By seeking the global trajectories of such commodity flows, this article examines the impact of these borderland mobilities on the making of Turkey's southern border by exploring the local and bureaucratic responses to a rapidly changing world economic order in the aftermath of the Great Depression.

During the long 19th century, British coal proliferated throughout the Ottoman Empire in increasing quantity, rapidity, and regularity via junctions and political arrangements that became evermore stable and dominant. The British used coal export to project their power elsewhere, offshoring the Industrial Revolution by building an infrastructure that could support it overseas and connect it to existing facets of the imperial project. Examining this “outsourcing” and the importance of foreign coal markets to industrialization helps provincialize the steam engine and anchor it in a global context. It also allows us to explore the impact of fossil energy on the Middle East and the ways coal both set the stage for the arrival of oil and informed the possibilities for translating carbon power into politics. Coal, the article suggests, animated political participation in England while reinforcing authoritarian tendencies in the Middle East.

At a time when the history of relations between the United States and the former Iranian regime (as well as other autocratic states) is being reconsidered, it is important to recognize that U.S. support for one-man rule in Iran did not commence in 1953 subsequent to the fall of the government of Dr. Mossadegh. A study of the diplomatic records of the U.S. State Department and the British Foreign Office indicates an earlier beginning.

When Winston Churchill visited Palestine in March, 1921, the debate over the future of Palestine and the recriminations over the broken promises of the past were at a fever pitch. It had become clear that British control over Palestine would be formalized by a League of Nations Mandate which would then irnplement the provisions of the Balfour Declaration. In Haifa, a delegation of Muslim and Christian Arabs met with Churchill to express their views on the intensifying conflict in Palestine. Churchill was given a prophetic warning, the accuracy of which has been of profound significance in the recent history of the Middle East:

Today the Arabs belief in England is not what it was.… If England does not take up the cause of the Arabs, other powers will. From India, Mesopotamia, the Hedjaz andPalestine the cry goes up to England now. If she does not listen, then perhaps Russia will take up their call some day, or perhaps even Germany.

In 1999, Sudan's Arabic periodical press observes its hundredth anniversary. A century before, and one year after the collapse of the Mahdist state (1881–98), the Britishdominated “Anglo-Egyptian“ regime (1898–1956) launched an official Arabic-English gazette. Four years later, Lebanese journalists founded the region's first independent Arabic newspaper, catering to an audience of Egyptians and Lebanese employed by the new government. These expatriates sparked an interest in journalism among educated Northern Sudanese men, who within a few years of the newspaper's debut were avidly subscribing and contributing to journals.

In the 18th century, non-Muslims and women crossed social boundaries during a period of increased global consumption, prompting intervention on the part of Ottoman officials. On the imperial level, the sultan promulgated edicts to restrict such crossings, following the path of earlier laws that had regulated public spaces including bathhouses. In Aleppo, a local reflection of these 18th-century trends was increased monitoring of nudity and of contact between Muslims and non-Muslims within the city's bathhouses. Regulations required that bathkeepers provide separate bath sundries for Muslims and non-Muslims and prohibited co-confessional bathing for women in particular. With the assistance of guilds—and to a lesser extent millet representatives—complex bathing schedules for Muslim and non-Muslim women were registered at court to support segregation policies. Jurists discussing modesty requirements for Muslim women declared that non-Muslim (dhimmī) women were to be treated as unrelated men in that they were forbidden to gaze upon a naked Muslim woman. Shariʿa court rulings were constructed along similar lines, indicating that the dhimmī woman was an unstable, liminal social category because in some circumstances her gaze was gendered male. Muslim male elites and local guilds ultimately instituted segregated bathing schedules to protect the purity of Muslim women from the danger posed by the dhimmī female figure.

A century after the Armenian Genocide and its ongoing denial by the Turkish state, there has emerged a notable and unprecedented interest in the Armenian past and present both in civil society discourse and scholarship in Turkey, accompanied by various reconciliation iniatives at the state and society levels. Observers have suggested that this increased engagement with Turkey's suppressed past is an outcome of its EU candidacy, the democratization reforms of the early 2000s, and the shockwave among liberal segments of Turkish society caused by the 2007 assassination of Armenian journalist Hrant Dink. I argue that this shortsighted analysis, which completely ignores the Kurdish movement's transformative challenge to Turkish denialism since the 1980s, echoes the key fallacy of present discussions of Turkey's engagement with its past: compartmentalization and disjunction of interlinked state crimes.