For nearly a century of scholarship, uncertainties and paradoxes have beleaguered interpretations of the origins and meaning of Salafism (al-salafiyya). Although academics and journalists alike are well aware of the various definitions and conflicting narratives of Salafism, relieving some of the confusion that beclouds the term continues to prove difficult. Given that concepts are fluid and relational, this state of affairs may seem inevitable. Yet there are reasons to believe that the current confusion surrounding Salafism is in part attributable to faulty scholarship and that consequently the substance and history of this religious orientation will remain unnecessarily puzzling so long as the production of knowledge about Salafism goes unexamined. In that sense, recent scholarly efforts to remedy the situation by providing deeper insights into the intellectual, geographical, and political diversity of Salafism have produced mixed results, for they have largely overlooked two of the most persistent epistemological problems that are at the root of much of the present-day ambiguity.

When three articles with an environmental history theme were accepted in quick succession through our peer review process, it seemed like an opportunity to organize an IJMES Roundtable on how the incorporation of environmental history into Middle East studies affects our understanding of the region's past and present. We did not know that, as this issue was going to press, the United States would be facing what is widely considered the worst environmental disaster in its history, with over two million gallons of oil pouring into the Gulf of Mexico every day. As Giancarlo Casale points out in his contribution to the Roundtable, the catastrophe underscores both the concerns of today's students and the need for a reevaluation of the humanities that may culminate in a full-fledged “environmental turn.”

In his monumental “Introduction to History,” al-Muqaddima, Ibn Khaldun, the well-known Muslim historiographer and philosopher of history (d. 1406 a.d.), dedicates a whole chapter to midwifery (ṣināʿat al-tawlīd) that is as original in conception as it is rich in detail. The chapter is included in Part V, which offers a survey of professions and crafts—“the ‘accidents’ of sedentary culture”—that for Ibn Khaldun reflect the sophistication of urban life. Within this survey, midwifery ranks among the most basic crafts (ummahāt al-ṣanāʾiʿ), being “something necessary in civilization and a matter of general concern, because it assures, as a rule, the life of the newborn child.” Moreover, like “the art of writing, book production, singing, and medicine,” midwifery is regarded as a noble craft because of the subject that is at the heart of it (sharīf bi-l-mawḍūʿ).

This edition of the journal appears under my name and that of the new managing editor, Sara Pursley, but the articles ran the gauntlet of the review process under the watchful eyes of Judith E. Tucker and her able managing editor, Sylvia Whitman. I am enormously indebted to them for handing off the journal in such excellent shape, leaving us with detailed instructions and supplying a backlog of accepted articles to help cushion the landing of the journal at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. The transition of the editorial office could not have been accomplished without the support of our provost, Chase Robinson, whom many of you know as a specialist in early Islamic history. Colleagues affiliated with the Middle East and Middle Eastern American Center and the Programs in History at the Graduate Center and City College have welcomed the journal to its new home across the street from the Empire State Building.

International fairs—the “folk-festivals of capitalism”—have long been a favorite topic of historians studying quintessential phenomena of modernity such as the celebration of industrial productivity, the construction of national identities, and the valorization of bourgeois leisure and consumption in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in Europe, the United States, and Latin America. To date, however, such spectacles occurring in the modern Middle East remain largely unexamined. This article, an analysis of the discourse surrounding the first Damascus International Exposition in 1954, is conceived in part as a preliminary effort to redress this historiographic imbalance.

As editor of IJMES from 2004 to 2009, I spent the last five years in the catbird seat of Middle East studies, where I had the privilege of reading well over 500 article submissions that flowed into the editorial office, some 100 of which were ultimately destined for publication. I characterize the experience as very gratifying on the whole; ours is a field that has attracted talented and skilled scholars who are doing some very creative work—this is not a change per se, although it can be argued that we have a new generation involved in increasingly more theoretically informed projects. Have there been other, more tangible, developments in the field as reflected in submissions to IJMES? I mention four trends I have spotted over time that may suggest some of the recent shifts—in region, topic, scope, and critical engagement—in research foci.

Drawing on a range of recent studies and original sources, this article calls for a revision of the usual paradigm of disease in Ottoman history by applying a more interdisciplinary approach and new insights from environmental history. The historiography of disease in the Middle East developed from the late 1970s to the early 1990s envisioned a steady mortality from inevitable cycles of bubonic plague supposedly accepted with pious resignation by Ottoman Muslims. Focusing on the period from circa 1500 to 1800, the article advances three arguments. First, Ottoman Muslims sometimes did take action to escape or contain epidemics. Second, the region actually suffered from a variety of other infections that together had an equal or greater impact than bubonic plague. Third, shifting political, social, and environmental conditions—especially Little Ice Age climate fluctuations and population movements during the 17th century—played a major role in disease mortality and Ottoman demography.

In his studio in Beirut in 1929, the young artist Moustapha Farroukh (1901–57) envisioned a composition to change his society. He hoped his oil painting would incite broad support among his fellow Lebanese for a revolution in conventional gender relations and women's participation in the urban social order. He titled the picture The Two Prisoners and based it on a European convention for representing the East: the Nude odalisque (Figure 1). The resulting painting exemplifies the complex role Arab intellectuals of the early 20th century played in the formation of modern art and universal modernity. Leading artists in Mandate-era Beirut felt compelled to paint Nudes and display them as part of a culturing process they called tathqīf (disciplining or enculturing). To a large extent, tathqīf consisted of recategorizing norms for interaction and self-scrutiny. Joseph Massad has revealed that one crucial component of tathqīf was the repudiation of behaviors and desires associated with the Arab Past, such as male homosexuality. An equally important component was the cultivation of “modern,” “masculine” heterosexual eroticism and a dutiful feminine compliance associated with ḥadātha (novelty) and muʿāṣira (contemporaneity). This was accomplished through the use of a genre that was deliberately new and alien in both its material media and its impact on makers and viewers.

I begin with a pair of narratives:

Using both Ottoman Turkish and Arabic archival materials, this article narrates the history of irrigation in Fayyum during the first half of the 18th century. Its environmental perspective shows how a shared reliance on natural resource management bound together extremely rural regions of the Ottoman Empire like Fayyum with centers of power in Istanbul and Cairo. It seeks to make two historiographical interventions. First, its focus on irrigation reveals how the center–periphery model of early modern empires fails to capture the complexity of relationships that rural regions of the Ottoman Empire maintained with other provinces and towns both in the empire and beyond. Water in Fayyum grew food that forged connections of commodity movement with areas of the Mediterranean and Red Seas. Second, through an examination of such intraimperial and transregional ties, this article argues that Egyptian peasants held much of the power in these relationships.

What has changed in the field of Middle East studies over the last five years, especially when perceived from the vantage point of the United States? Certainly a lot, due mostly to the reverberations of the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the ensuing haphazard U.S. adventure first into Afghanistan and then Iraq in apparent search for the culprits, accompanied by a strong underlying interest in gaining access to oil and other natural resources, as well as sustaining world supremacy. Perhaps as a consequence of these developments, MESA membership escalated, especially among younger cohorts of Americans now interested in the culture and languages of the region, and studies of Middle East and Central Asia as well as Islamic studies once again increased in public significance. Yet the dark side of these developments was of course present once again in the—once again haphazard—associations often made in popular culture among Islam, the region, and terrorism: orientalism tended to rear its ugly head, as all of these were analyzed as the “other,” entirely distinct and separate from “us.”

In late 1931, German sexologist and gay-rights activist Magnus Hirschfeld, quoted above, visited Palestine for a lecture tour that attracted hundreds in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Haifa, and kibbutz Beit Alfa. By this time, the Jewish settlers' community (or Yishuv) in Mandate Palestine had already been exposed to the science of sexology and to the reform movement it inspired. Sexual-hygiene manuals had been translated into Hebrew and Yiddish in both Tel Aviv and Warsaw. Hebrew readers had access, for example, to translations of Auguste Forel's Sexual Ethics and Max Hodann's A Boy and a Girl. Finally, in the fall and winter of 1931–32, three sex consultation centers were opened in Tel Aviv.

What does it mean to “integrate” a complex and multifaceted tradition such as Islam into a transnational space as heterogeneous as that of modern Europe? And what kind of a project is precisely that of a “European Islam,” increasingly invoked today across the continent by a wide range of state and nonstate actors, including many Muslims? At a time dominated by variants of the clash of civilizations thesis, the project appears rather equivocal. What conceptions of Europe as a political space, and of Islam as a religious tradition, underlie the endeavor?

If the U.S. invasion of Iraq in 2003 has produced unprecedented consequences for the internal policies of Middle Eastern regimes, this is not related to the upsurge of democratization that was supposed to spread like a contagion through the neighboring countries. Rather, it is due to the increased impact of the Shiʿi issue on the national political agendas of many Arab states. Following the collapse of Saddam Hussein's regime, many observers thus drew attention to the emergence of what they regarded as a Shiʿi “revival” in the Middle East—a perception that the military success of the Lebanese Hizbullah against Israel in the summer of 2006 seemed to confirm.

Over the past five years, from volume 37, number 1 (February 2005) to volume 41, number 3 (August 2009), IJMES published thirty-seven articles that deal with politics in the contemporary Middle East, broadly understood. This is my count, of course, and others might add or drop some articles. I define contemporary as post World War II and have a relatively expansive definition of politics. My count does not include short features, only full articles.

Through a reading of 19th-century Persian travel narratives, this article locates the history of Iran and Central Eurasia within recent literature on global frontier processes and the encounter between empire and nature. It argues that Persianate travel books about Central Eurasia were part of the imperial project to order and reclaim the natural world and were forged through the material encounter with the steppes. Far from a passive act of collecting information and more than merely an extension of the observer's preconceptions, description was essential to the expansion and preservation of empire. Although there exists a vast literature on Western geographical and ethnographic representations of the Middle East, only recently have scholars begun to mine contacts that took place outside of a Western colonial framework and within an Asian setting. Based on an analysis of Riza Quli Khan Hidayat's Sifaratnama-yi Khvarazm, the record of an expedition sent from the Qajar Dynasty to the Oxus River in 1851, the article explores the 19th-century Muslim “discovery” of the Eurasian steppe world. The expedition set out to define imperial boundaries and to reclaim the desert, but along the way it found a permeable “middle ground” between empires, marked by transfrontier and cross-cultural exchanges.

This article seeks to address how Lebanese youth are dealing with the legacy of civil war (1975–90), given the national backdrop of official silence, persisting injustice, and competing memory discourses. Drawing on Marianne Hirsch's concept of postmemory, it explores the memory of a generation of Lebanese who have grown up dominated not by traumatic events but by narrative accounts of events that preceded their birth. This residual form of memory carries and connects with the pain of others, suffusing temporal frames and liminal positions. The article examines how postmemory is mediated and transformed through the mnemonic lenses of visual landscapes and oral narratives. Consideration is given to the dynamic production of “memoryscapes”—memories of violence localized in particular sites—and to narrative constructions of the past implicated in the ongoing search for meaning, historical truth, and identity. This article seeks to challenge pervasive notions of Lebanese postwar amnesia and of a generational detachment from the residual effects and future implications of war recollections.

In February 1939, the Syrian government received two documents from ʿulamaʾ protesting two decrees of the French High Commission that were intended to reform personal status law in Syria: decree 60/L.R. of 13 March 1936 and decree 146/L.R. of 18 November 1938. The first was a petition signed by Muslims from Homs to the Syrian prime minister (pictured); the second was a letter from the Damascus Association of ʿUlamaʾ to the Syrian interior minister.

For several months after the September 2005 publication of twelve cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten, the debate was largely confined to a Danish context. Early international protests of the cartoons were voiced by government officials in several countries, including Pakistan, Iran, and Egypt. However, until late December 2005, in what I will call phase one of the controversy, Danish Muslims fought a primarily domestic battle for some kind of recognition from the newspaper and the Danish government that the cartoons had hurt religious feelings. In October 2005 an ad hoc coalition of Danish Muslim organizations, with The Community of Islamic Faith (Det Islamiske Trossamfund) and its affiliated imams at the lead, tried to put pressure on the Danish government through ambassadors from Muslim countries posted in Denmark. The ambassadors' request for a meeting with the Danish prime minister was turned down, as were other attempts by Danish Muslims to raise claims with the government.

The July 2006 Lebanon war was an important turning point for West African Lebanese. For the first time since their formation as a community, the Lebanese in Senegal organized a demonstration in Dakar displaying solidarity with Lebanon. This protest illuminates the dynamics between global forces and local responses. Hizbullah's effectiveness in winning the international public opinion of both Sunni and Shiʿi Muslims in the war against Israel led to a surge in Lebanese diaspora identification, even among communities who had not been similarly affected by previous Lebanese wars. By analyzing the role of a Lebanese shaykh in bringing religious rituals and a Lebanese national identity to the community in Senegal, this article explores how members of the community maintain political ties to Lebanon even when they have never visited the “homeland” and sheds new light on the relationship among religion, migration, and (trans)nationalism.