This article describes how Islamic and Frankish legal devices complemented each other and were even combined to settle disagreements in the late medieval Middle East. For this purpose, it focuses on two legal institutions that provided responses to the biases of Islamic law against non-Muslims and to the prejudices of Franks against the local law. The first are the notaries sent to the Mamluk cities by the Venetian government to draw up legal documents and to support the transactions of Venetian merchants. The second are the new royal or siyāsa courts implemented by the sultans, where justice was dispensed by government officials instead of by traditional judges, or qāḍīs. Specifically, the article discusses, in a comparative manner, what constituted proof for Christians and Muslims, whether minorities could bear testimony or not, and how notaries and judges dealt with unbelievers. A common notarial culture, together with the expansion of siyāsa jurisdiction over the affairs of foreigners, brought about a much deeper legal interplay than has previously been understood. Ultimately, it is argued that Mediterranean medieval societies had evolving attitudes toward justice and diversity, and approached their own legal traditions in ways compatible with the conflict resolution, while constantly borrowing legal concepts about difference from each other.

This article analyzes the role of soil in the making of authoritarian regimes and illustrates twentieth-century practices and discourses related to fertility across the globe. It compares two different approaches to and understandings of soil fertility: the first emerged in North Libya under Italian Fascist rule (1922–1943), the second in Central Brazil during the civil-military dictatorship (1964–1985). We compare two soil-forming processes that changed physical and chemical properties of the original matter and were embedded within specific ideologies of modernization. In both cases, state agendas of agrarian production played a paramount role not only in socioeconomic projects but also as an instrument to suppress opposition. Technocratic and political aspects of building and maintaining fertility were interwoven, although in different patterns in the two countries. We show how the rejuvenation of land bled into the regeneration of communities through processes that anchored the self-definition and development of these authoritarian regimes, and argue that attempts at landscape transformations through agricultural activity and strategies of fertilization are inescapable features of dictatorships. In so doing, we elaborate the concept of “authoritarian soil.” The juxtaposition of these non-synchronous cases reveals how agricultural modernization developed throughout the twentieth century. Our study is rooted in environmental history and contributes to the ongoing dialogue between that field and science and technology studies. Its cross-temporal, comparative methodology draws upon sources and historiographical debates in English, Italian, and Portuguese.

This article uses commentary on and consumption of popular music as a lens to explore how Peruvian immigrants in Spain experience new notions of belonging and alterity as they tack between official Spanish discourses about difference and otherness and distinct notions of unity and sameness that circulate within the country's wider Latin American community. I examine the uneven, tentative emergence of a local Latino identity, and how this formation compares to the tenets that accrue to the formation found in the United States. I explain how the naturalization of this new and alien way of organizing national difference, in concert with native Spanish ideas about European modernity and the need to suppress ethnicity tout court, tends to marginalize distinctive experiences valued by indigenous and mestizo Peruvians from the country's Andean region. I show how they evade the homogenizing tendencies of Latino discourse, bypass native Spanish opposition to the very notion of deep difference, and seek out spaces for asserting difference. Considered also are challenges faced by a country that has undergone rapid and recent multicultural change, even as it seeks to become part of a European project that citizens view widely as an effort to transcend divisive particularity.

This essay focuses on the northeastern borderlands of the Central African Republic (CAR), an area that though formally part of a state is mostly left to its own devices. It has no single sovereign, but many people participate in the sovereign prerogative of enacting violence in such a way as to claim a right to determine how to live. These dynamics are particularly visible in the area's contests over armed conservation, my ethnographic and historical topic here. These sovereign claims take the form of denunciation: rallying people to take extreme measures against another whose egregious acts threaten fundamental values. In northeastern CAR, the value frequently fought for through denunciation is negative liberty—freedom from molestation for those who carve space for themselves by denouncing. In addition to excavating denunciation as a dynamics of sovereignty, this paper shows that the values motivating sovereign struggles can include not just autonomy—whether devoted to a principle of order or anarchy, as others have explored—but can also be devoted to creating exceptions for those who denounce, such that they are able to participate in projects and access terrains that extend beyond their place of residence without having to consistently abide by others’ rules. Denunciation is thus a dynamics of sovereign claim-making that can shape and mobilize solidarities that are in flux, rather than those calcified by the violent, exceptional decision of a unitary sovereign. Denunciation foregrounds relational and processual aspects of sovereignty and in so doing invites new comparisons.

Recently, in this journal, René Millon and others discussed the results of their study of irrigation agriculture in the contemporary social setting of the Teotihuacan Valley, Central Mexico. In introducing their study, the authors briefly noted comparable investigations (including my own) and came to the general conclusion that “any system of irrigation agriculture creates its own distinctive potential for both cohesion and conflict, whatever may be the social system of the people who practice it.” Do social systems play as passive a role in determining the social effects of irrigation agriculture as the statement implies? I wish to suggest a distinction which may be important in seeking answers to this question and then to briefly compare certain aspects of Millon's Mexican example with my own study of irrigation agriculture and social organization in the Southern Euphrates Valley of Iraq.

“Unity and variety” in the Islamic cultural tradition has recently been made the centralizing theme of a number of essays by eminent orientalists in a volume edited by Professor von Grunebaum. Another important recent book by Professor W. C. Smith has a similar theme, though it is more concerned with the contemporary adjustment of Islam to new political and social conditions in a number of Muslim countries. Social scientists, however, as opposed to orientalists, have tended to disregard the unifying aspects of classical Islam and have concentrated upon the particular variety of Islam practiced in a particular place or that practiced by a particular group of people. Perhaps the only social area where both “unity” and “variety” are brought close enough for examination by the social scientist is in the study of the organization, the social and political role, and the ideology of the recognized learned man of Islam: the alim, mullah, akhund, or kijaji.

From its beginning Japanese industry was marked by a scattering of large and heavily capitalized enterprises which, as their size and number increased between 1890 and 1920, became the scene of labor unrest. In historical accounts of this early period of labor relations, workers are strangely shadowy figures, considering their centrality. They come into focus mainly at moments of crisis when they are seen to be overcoming their past, increasing their consciousness both of rights and of the need for organization and class solidarity. This developing consciousness issued at last in a sudden growth of unions between 1918 and the mid-1920s. Even before this time, however, because of fear of unions and government intervention and the need to reduce the amount of labor turnover, management had begun efforts to bring workers under greater psychological control. These efforts were now intensified, and the measures adopted—welfare services, greater security of employment, semiannual bonuses, separation pay, regular raises, factory committees—aided by a stagnant economy and unemployment throughout the 1920s, were spectacularly successful. By the early 1930s the unions were everywhere in retreat from large enterprises. The victory over worker consciousness seemed won and in fact held until 1945, when, in the aftermath of national defeat, the struggle was renewed.

I. The Political Meaning of Ethnic Conflict

If politics “in its broadest sense” is conceived as the “distribution of advantages and disadvantages among people” (Froman, p. 3), then the ultimate penalty is subordination (total exclusion from advantages) and the ultimate reward is dominance (total monopoly of advantages). The effort to change the balance of advantages and disadvantages between groups is the nexus of political conflict. In such conflict, ethnicity is a particularly important variable, precisely because it is one criterion found throughout the world by which groups are regularly assigned superior and inferior places.

Resurgent scholarly interest in the state has focused attention on the growth and decline of state power: Samuel Huntington's emphasis on the importance of state making and state decay, James O'Connor's anticipation of the financial crises of large states, Immanuel Wallerstein's identification of strong states with core areas of the world economy, Charles Tilly's accounts of European efforts to create more powerful states, and Theda Skocpol's analysis of revolutions as attempts to restore the strength of weakened central regimes.

Foucauldian analyses and studies in the sociology of knowledge have provided vibrant accounts of the effects and lives of knowledge practices, yet they have been less attuned to their unexpected consequences upon reception in disparate settings. This article examines the employment of survey methodology as a means to enact modernization theory in non-Western areas during the early phases of the Cold War. An examination of the original questionnaires employed in sociologist Daniel Lerner's seminal text, The Passing of Traditional Society: Modernizing the Middle East, reveals an alignment between the ideal subject of modernization theory and the expectations placed upon the respondent. These expectations included familiarity with the conditions of the survey setting, impersonal relationships, the promise of anonymity, and the capacity for having and voicing opinions regarding otherwise improbable situations. Lerner's work and the studies it spawned did not merely measure and describe the attitudes of peasants, students, and administrators; they were intended to be performative: the interviews were designed to occasion the forms of subjectivity and interpersonal relations articulated and idealized by modernization theory. However, the researchers’ interest in the very activity of survey-taking as a modernizing edifice was undercut by skeptical respondents, disorderly interviewer behavior, and the relentless remaking of coding procedures. In this reading, the questionnaires and their specific stipulations surface as artifacts of knowledge practices that nonetheless overflow the intentions of their coders, sponsors, and creators.

In the thirteenth century the county of Flanders was the leading commercial and industrial region of Western Europe. It had easy access by water and overland routes to the German Rhineland and to the fairs of Champagne. As the Italians from the later thirteenth century began to use a direct maritime link with the North, Bruges, on the North Sea, became the major clearing house for goods coming from Italy and the Hanse towns of northern Germany. Flanders originally had a large wool production; this led to its early preeminence in textile manufacturing. Although the growing urbanization of thecounty soon severely curtailed facilities for grazing, Flanders easily obtained English wool, which was simultaneously of a higher calibre and a cheaper price than the native product. At a time when the towns of northern Italy were still very largely finishers of cloth brought from outside, the towns of Flanders, and particularly the five great towns of Bruges, Ghent, Ypres, Lille, and Douai, had prosperous industries in textiles of varying types, but specialized in luxury cloths designed for export.

In this article I shall argue that a fundamental and often overlooked trait of ideas and opinions is their controversial or, if you prefer, dialectical character. This means that an idea or an opinion—the words here being used in a general sense—must be seen in connection with its opposite, especially if we are concerned to find its social roots and meaning. To express an idea, to state one's view about something, is a certain kind of action. The purpose of this action is not only to establish a fact but also to exclude other opinions about this fact and, directly or indirectly, to argue against competing opinions, ideologies, theories, and groups. The local or temporal dominance of any particular opinion prompts the question, Why was this position so emphatically maintained? Which were the competing opinions to be excluded?

The notion that “Westernization” is a process that is unconditionally positive in its impact has dominated both Western and Soviet accounts of Russian intellectual and cultural history during the period before the Emancipation of 1861. As a consequence, Westernization has been described as synonymous with progress, rational economic behavior, greater tolerance, civilization, and the advancement of individual freedom. Although this rather uncritically pro-Western approach to the study of Western influences has produced important research and analytical insights, the assumption that a homogeneous Western culture everywhere generates liberal and democratic influences is in fact highly problematic. As I have suggested elsewhere, it is very difficult to make the empirical case that any one Western political or economic model can be applied to Germany, France, and Italy as well as England. And in the Russian context, a belief in the unmixed benefits of Westernization obscures some of the most important ironies and contradictions that characterize Russian economic debates and strategies in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

With the continuing rapid growth of cities in Asia, Africa, and Latin America, social scientists have expected a clear shift of political power from rural to urban-based groups. The usual assumption is that this shift would stem from the process of urban economic growth which would lead to political centralization and political integration, both centered in the city. Such assumptions are found most explicitly in many ofthe theories of modernization developed in the 1950s and 1960s. Such theories were often derived from a so-called “Western” or European model.

A Populist newspaper in North Carolina commented in 1890 that agrarian unrest was common just about everywhere, in “high tariff and low tariff” countries as well as in “monarchies, empires, and republics.” Historians of this discontent have neglected the international dimension of protest that was so striking at the time. The countries that produced the most vigorous agrarian movements, Germany and the United States, have been especially well protected from the scrutiny of comparison. One reason for this neglect is that scholars in both countries emphasize their nations' peculiarities and capacity to make their own histories. The most influential study of American Populism, for instance, is still John D. Hicks' The Populist Revolt (1931). Hicks ascribed the movement to the closure of the frontier, the “safety valve” once thought to be the special feature of American history. Most scholars today reject the “Turner thesis,” but continue to see populism as uniquely democratic. Just as American Populists have been celebrated as “good guys,” German agrarian leaders have been demonized. The marked anti-Semitic aspect of agrarian movements in the 1890s has led historians to link them more or less directly to national socialism, the arguably unique “outcome” of German history. Whatever the sources of this exceptionalism, the constrained view has distorted the understanding of a crucial historical conjuncture.

At 7:00 a.m. on 16 July 1833, M. Minder, owner of a cotton mill at Sainte-Marie-aux-Mines, a small textile center in Alsace, announced to his spinners that he would henceforth be charging them 1 franc 20 centimes per week for dévidage, that is for the reeling and unreeling of roving or finished thread—a task accomplished by women in a separate workroom. In response, his spinners walked out of the mill. A local arbitration board (the Conseil des Prudhommes) would later rule that M. Minder had broken the work contract (the contrat du travail) since he had not given proper advanced notice to his laborers of the new charge for dévidage. In other words, the board ruled that the laborers had in fact become legally free to leave work by virtue of Minder's improper announcement. Even though all ninety-five of them walked out en masse, they did not thereby constitute an illegal coalition since their unwritten contract with M. Minder as denned by law had been broken first by Minder's failure to give notice. The laborers' subsequent actions, however, did constitute a coalition; and ten of them were later prosecuted under the anti-coalition statutes. They marched directly to several neighboring mills and tried to induce their fellow spin- ners to join them in the streets. Everyone in town knew that M. Minder had not acted alone, that most local mill owners planned to institute a charge for dévidage.

Workers have figured prominently in a series of political confrontations that have changed the face of modern China. From the May Fourth Movement of 1919 to the June Fourth Massacre of 1989, working-class participation has proven critical. Although these famous milestones in Chinese history are, for good reason, usually regarded as student—rather than labor—protests, the involvement of members of the working class was far from incidental. The spectacle of workers marching outside their factory gates to engage in protest not simply as laborers, but also as citizens, has been a notable feature of Chinese contentious politics at critical junctures throughout the twentieth century. This phenomenon, moreover, carries implications that extend beyond the borders of China itself. Worker participation in the watersheds of Chinese political history turn out to hold international ramifications as well.

This article rethinks the nature of power and its relation to territory in the photographic event. Focusing on thousands of photographs taken during the British Younghusband Expedition to Lhasa between 1903 and 1904, it reorients understandings of photography as either reproducing or enabling the “negotiation” or contestation of power inequalities between participants. It shows how, in the transitory relations between Tibetans, Chinese, and Britons during and after photographic events, photography acted as a means by which participants constituted themselves as responsible agents—as capable of responding and as “accountable”—in relation to one another and to Tibet as a political entity. Whether in photographs of Tibetans protesting British looting or of their “reading” periodicals containing photographs of themselves, photography, especially Kodak photography, proposed potential new ways of being politically “Tibetan” at a time when the meaning of Tibet as a territory was especially indeterminate. This article therefore examines how the shifting territorial meaning of Tibet, transformed by an ascendant Dalai Lama, weakening Qing empire, and Anglo-Russian competition, converged with transformations in the means of visually reflecting upon it. If photography entailed always-indeterminate power relations through which participants constituted themselves in relation to Tibet, then it also compels our own rethinking of Tibet itself as an event contingent on every event of photography, rather than pre-existing or “constructed” by it.