The Neoliberal Landscape is a collection of nine essays exploring the economic, political, social, and historical dynamics behind the rise of Islamic political parties in the Middle East, particularly the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP) in Turkey. For scholars studying Turkey and the wider Middle East, understanding the rise of the AKP as well as its internal and external undercurrents has been a challenge. On the one hand, its founding leaders marketed their party as a democratic Islamic party, similar to Christian Democrats in Europe, and claimed to focus their efforts on democratizing Turkey by limiting the military and Kemalist hegemony. To this end, they formed alliances with the liberals and the liberal-left as well as the outward oriented business groups, and used the support of the European Union and the United States as leverage to increase their legitimacy. The AKP's strong neoliberal stance in economic policy also allowed it to win over domestic and international capital to its side. The changing times in global politics were also in the AKP's favor, coinciding with the post-9/11 period when the United States and its allies were desperate to find a liberal and democratic Muslim country with a market economy that they could use as a showcase. The AKP project, however, proved to be short-lived as it has increasingly become authoritarian at home, bordering on neo-fascist, and confrontational abroad. In fact, many analysts have suggested that what Turkey is experiencing is nothing short of a regime change, moving the country from a secular republic, albeit a semi-democratic one, to a neo-fascist one-party state with some Islamic flavor, ruled by a strong-man with no pretense of democracy. In fact, since the 7 June 2015 elections, the country has moved to a de facto presidential system, even without constitutional change.

They fight death and all its elements
While smiling

O how I suffer from the long nights
Witnessing those motherless divers
Every time a month passes by, another follows
Until the eyes grow old.

Oh, how lucky are the rich
Who no longer cross the ocean as me.

And again:
If I was rich and a merchant
I would never have endeavored
But I'm weak and all I have
Is my cane.

The Yemen Arab Republic (Sanca) is becoming day by day more accessible. Research conditions are changing weekly and the number of scholars working in the Yemen has increased dramatically. Accordingly, it seems that the very helpful article by Green and Stookey (MESA Bulletin VIII/3, 1974) needs to be expanded topically, as no single article can now detail all of the research possibilities and materials in the Yemen.

A well-known journalist in Cairo, Rajā’ al-Naqqāsh, wrote that, as a child, he thought “listening to Umm Kulthūm” meant “listening to singing.” When the adults around him listened to singing, they listened to Umm Kulthūm, thus “singing,” in his youthful experience, equated to “Umm Kulthūm.” While this attitude would be rare in Egypt now as listeners have moved other music into the domains of their daily life, Umm Kulthūm remains a formidable presence as she has been for nearly a century.

As an avowedly secular anthropologist who studies Islamic cultures, what better way to orient myself than a fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm. As the story of Rapunzel is spun, a young maiden is trapped in a tower by a wicked witch and forced to let down her golden hair for the old dame to climb. One day along comes a prince, who with the best of intentions tries to free the girl but is pushed out of the tower by the witch and blinded by thorns. In the children’s version the couple is eventually reunited and lives happily ever after. In the real world ever before us there are seldom such happy endings. As scholars of Islam, institutionally holed up in the Ivory Tower of Academic Isolation, there are not many opportunities to let down our doctored hair and allow our golden voices to escape the classroom. One such opportunity, seemingly out of a fantasy world not even imagined by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, is opened up by the Internet.

As protestors filled Tahrir Square in Cairo in January 2011, Western diplomats, academics, and political pundits were searching for the best political analogy for the promise—and problems—of the Arab Uprising. Whereas neoconservative skeptics fretted that Egypt and Tunisia might go the way of post-revolutionary Iran, Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright praised Indonesia’s democratization as the ideal model for the Arab Spring. During her 2009 visit to Indonesia, Clinton proclaimed: “If you want to know whether Islam, democracy, modernity, and women’s rights can coexist, go to Indonesia.” Certainly Indonesia of May 1998 is not Egypt of January 2011, yet some comparisons are instructive. Still reeling from the Asian financial crisis of 1997, middle class Indonesians were fed up with corruption, cronyism, and a military that operated with impunity. On 21 May 1998 Soeharto resigned after three decades of authoritarian rule. Despite fits of starts and stops, the democratic transition has brought political and economic stability. Whereas academics and pundits have debated the merits of the Indonesia model for democratic transition, in this article I consider how the notion of Indonesia as a model for the Arab Spring has reconfigured transnational Muslim networks and recalibrated claims to authority and authenticity within the global umma.

An increasing body of scholarship devoted to global Muslim networks offers important insights into the longue durée of merchant traders and itinerant preachers connecting the Middle East with Southeast Asia. In his critique of Benedict Anderson’s famous explanation of “imagined communities” as the result of print capitalism within national borders, historian Michael Laffan argued that Indonesian nationalism had important roots in global Muslim networks connecting the Dutch East Indies with Cairo’s famous al-Azhar University.

While the literature on folklore and traditional culture of the Middle East is quite extensive overall, relatively little has appeared on the Arabian Gulf. Unfortunately, this region has undergone rapid socioeconomic change stimulated by the impact of oil wealth. Much of the traditional way of life in the Gulf, as in the case of pearl diving, has disappeared except in the memories of the older generation. In late 1983 an institution was formed as an initiative of the GCC (Gulf Cooperation Council) to document and preserve the folklore of the region. This is the Arab Gulf States Folklore Centre (Markaz al-Turāth al-Sha‘bī li-Duwal al-Khalīj al-Arabīya), located in Doha, Qatar. The center is housed in a complex of five buildings with facilities in support of research projects, documentation, and archives, and a library on the folklore of the region. Several major conferences and a number of small workshops have been sponsored here on issues related to the collection of folklore in the Gulf. The center publishes books in Arabic and English, as well as a quarterly journal, Al-Ma’thūrāt al-Sha‘bīya (MS). This article provides an introduction to the AGSFC as the primary resource for research on the folklore of the Arabian Gulf.

Tangible “heritage” (artifacts, buildings, and sites) has always played key roles in identity and nation-building in the Middle East. As countries in the Middle East face unprecedented disorder and violence we lack more nuanced answers to what preservation was, is, and what it can be in the future. This roundtable—initiated as a session at the Middle East Studies Association's annual meeting in 2016—offers a much-needed perspective and critical voice in a debate that has become increasingly monolithic. In other words, current notions of what “cultural heritage” is and how it should be preserved are limited and often dismiss the limitations, complexities and ironies of iconoclasm. Objects seen as valuable by some but “idolatrous” to others, for example, have sometimes been destroyed precisely because they were considered worthy of preservation by opposing parties. Further, preservation and destruction were rarely exclusive binaries, but rather connected and identified in crucial ways. They are, in other words, two sides of the same coin: Archaeological excavation has destroyed buildings and deposits in strata above selected layers or artifacts, often removing sites that are meaningful in other ways, such as Islamic shrines.

What does it mean to be “safe,” and what does it mean to be “endangered”? Who defines these terms, why, and what does this act of definition allow them to do? In December 2016, a conference entitled Safeguarding Endangered Cultural Heritage took place in Abu Dhabi, organized jointly by the governments of the United Arab Emirates and France, and held under the patronage of UNESCO. The Crown Prince of Abu Dhabi, Shaykh Mohammed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, was in attendance, as was French President François Hollande and the Director-General of UNESCO, Irina Bokova; many other dignitaries joined them. The diplomatic spectacle was a sight to behold. The assembled, distinctly elite, group seemed to have given itself sole authority to speak for and about cultural heritage around the world.

Are Western Muslims integrating? Can Western Muslims integrate? Over the past 20 years, significant attention has been invested in examinations stimulated by the extensive public commentary addressing such questions. This brief review aims to demystify the examination of Western Muslims’ integration in the interest of re-embedding this subject matter in the broader scholarship about immigration and settlement. Within this expanding field of study, Western Muslims can (and should) be examined at the community level, where specific ethno-cultural groups represent but case studies among hundreds of Western Muslim communities that differ in their immigration context, countries of origin, sects, and ethno-cultural backgrounds. Simultaneously, the collection of statistical data should be used to test hypotheses that are developed in studies of such communities. The dialogue between qualitative and quantitative approaches provides research openings to more rigorously push the state of knowledge in this area, and I describe some of these openings below.

Clothing constitutes a cultural statement. It is a manifestation of culture, no less than art, architecture, literature, and music. Like all cultural phenomena, it communicates a great deal of information both on the physical and symbolic level about the society in which it is found. Fashions, or modes of dress, reflect not only the æsthetics of a particular society (what might be called the “adornment factor”), but also its social mores and values (the “modesty/immodesty factor,” or “reveal/conceal factor”). Furthermore, dress is often a clear economic indicator. The fabric, quality of cut, and ornamentation of a garment are commonly badges of socioeconomic status. More subtly and often symbolically, clothing reflects religious and political norms. In Islamic society, clothing has historically been intimately connected with notions of purity and impurity (tahāra and najas), ritual behavior (sunna), and the differentiation of the believer from the unbeliever (ghiyār), as well as the separation of the genders (hijāb). Thus, within Islamic society clothing constitutes a cultural complex, or what Roland Barthes has dubbed a “vestimentary system.” (Barthes 1957).

Evliya Çelebi (d. after 1685), in his Seyahatname, Book of Travels, completed circa 1683, records a host of languages and dialects spoken within the Ottoman Empire at the time and provides practical word lists in transcription, especially for those less familiar to his Turkophone audience, such as Hungarian in the western borderlands and varieties of Kurdish in the eastern regions. Evliya also remarks of places where he met bilingual speakers. For instance, about the city of Ohrid in the central province of Rumelia, he informs us that, though its people mainly speak Greek or Bulgarian, they could converse in “elegant Turkish,” some in a “very urbane and witty” manner typical of Ottoman literati. Yet curiously, about the capital of Istanbul, his hometown, Evliya says nothing specific about any interaction, besides that he had learned “fluent Greek and Latin” from a Christian goldsmith, to be able to read certain chronicles, and in exchange instructed Persian to the craftsman.

Democracy has returned to the center stage of American political science. Before World War I, political science assumed the universality of democracy in America. Its educational mission was to inform American citizens of this, its research mission to identify the imperfections of this democracy in order to reform it and to provide academic expertise to strengthen the American state administratively in its democratic mission.’ Post-behavioral political scientists in the 1990s also assume the universality of democracy, now on an international and cross-cultural basis. They also wish to inform the American public of this, and when they uncover it they also wish to reform it through their writings and through the support of indigenous intellectuals and scholars. The incentives, coercion and pressure of the US government assist them in their efforts. They are also engaged in the strengthening of the capabilities of the American state in spreading the democratic message abroad. This collaboration of government and scholar from the 1986 announcement of the Reagan Doctrine and the founding of the National Endowment for Democracy until today has been termed “Operation Democracy.”

In the immense corpus of pre-19th-century Arabic literature, the only dramatic works extant are three shadow plays by Shams ad-Dīn Muḥammad ibn Dāniyāl (1248–1311), an oculist turned both popular and court entertainer.

To explain this paucity, conjectures have been offered ranging from the contention that Islam (whose very name implies the total submission of man to the will of Cod) leaves no room for tragic conflict to the argument that Arabs remained attached to a literary ideal born in nomadism, whereas the theater can arise only in a settled community.

This last part of a survey of the state of research on Islamic coins and money is intended as a guide for the non-specialist historian to catalogues and studies of the issues of individual dynasties, regions and periods. Within broad chronological periods (ca. A.D. 632–750, 750–946, 946–1250, 1250–1517, 1517–1900) the treatment is regional. The body of numismatic literature is vast and scattered; this survey attempts to cite only general references and the most recent work for each subject. It must be said, however, that few topics have as yet been adequately treated in the secondary literature. Especially when important conclusions are to be drawn, it is essential to look also at the original sources—the coins themselves.

The wave of the study of women which led directly into the formation of the new discipline called women’s studies started in the 1960s in the Middle East and the United States concurrently. A generation earlier, foreshadowing the creation of the new field, Zahiyya Dughan, a Lebanese delegate to the Arab Women’s Conference in Cairo in 1944, called upon Arab universities to accord the intellectual and literary heritage of Arab women a place in the curriculum by creating chairs for the study of women’s writings. By now, at the end of the 1980s, women’s studies as a distinct field has found legitimacy in the academy. In the United States there are women’s studies programs in all major colleges and universities—more than sixty graduate programs offer M.A.’s and Ph.D.’s—and fifty major research centers, most of which are attached to universities. The National Women’s Studies Association (NWSA) and the Middle East Studies Association equally claim some three thousand members. However, the study of women remains marginal within Middle East studies, while women’s studies still remain largely centered on the West.