For many years the class category of the state bourgeoisie has had considerable currency in the analysis of states and societies in the Middle East and in the developing world in general. In part, resort to this category has been driven by the remarkable expansion of the economic roles of these states, an expansion that has required that we try to understand the managers of the process. In that respect what is undertaken here fits into a broader and older effort to make sense, in class terms, of the owners of intellectual or technical capital—white-collar workers, civil servants, public-sector managers, and those in the service sector. These are awkward strata in that they neither own (much) capital nor do they provide labor to the owners of capital in the same manner as peasants and the proletariat. They are frequently portrayed as “intermediate” and “in transition.” They are situated between capital and labor, and, in Marxist analysis, are seen as the witting or unwitting agents of the dominant class as it emerges or as it consolidates its grip on the economy and the state apparatus.

During the past two decades, historians of the last Ottoman centuries have produced ground-breaking research documenting the increasing economic interaction between Europe and the Middle East. Relying on information about the empire's trade with Europe, scholars have concluded that the 19th century was a time of transformation–in culture, in politics, and in economics. By thus calling our attention to changing circumstances, these historians, economists, art historians, and sociologists have outlined a general landscape of upheaval and change.1 Monographs on Ottoman cities, focusing on the effects of international trade on coastal areas, have begun to sketch in the epicenters of massive economic dislocation.2

For more than century, race was a major interest in anthropology. Buildingon Johan Blumenbach's 1795 color classificaiton dividing humanity into white, black, brown, yellow and red, anthropologists further subdivided the people of the world into finer taxonomic categories. Hair form, shape of the nose, pigmentation of the eyes and the hair, stature, and the shaps of the head were among the many characteristics race classifiers added to skin color to enable them to fit populations into the typologies they designed. By the end of the 19th century, numerous races and subraces had been described, laying the groundwork for the direction the discipline would follow until the mid-20th century. It was expected that the development and refinement of a racial typology would lead to a framework for tracing lines of human evolution and routes of human migration.

Whoever builds a mosque for God, even like the nest of a bird to lay her eggs, God will build for him an abode in paradise.1.

In 1774, the Mamluk shaykh al-balad Muhammad Bey Abu al-Dhahab began the construction of a large mosque-madrasa-takiyya in one of central Cairo's prime locations. The complex bearing the name of the donor lies within a rough triangle formed by the main gate of al-Azhar, the Khan al-Zarakisha, and the wikāla of the 16th-century Mamluk ruler Qansuh al-Ghawri and forms the most important part of Muhammad Bey's waqf. Extensive agricultural lands and urban properties were included in the waqf by the donor to support the personnel of the mosque, school, and rakiyya, to pay for the religious activities stipulated by the terms of the waqf, and for the upkeep of the buildings.

While I was working on my Ph.D. thesis on Ikhwan in the Sudan,1 a Sudanese colleague of mine working in a related area used to joke that we have all become “Orientalists.” There was a certain sense of irony—and truth—in this “accusation.” Our endeavor was either the negation and supersession of Orientalism, or its final triumph. For here we are, fiery Islamic militants, squatting meekly and dutifully at the feet of our Orientalist sheikhs, hoping to drink at their hands the cup of knowledge on which we had simultaneously turned our backs. Is this conceding defeat or starting an invasion?