Islamophobia was originally developed as a concept in the late 1990s by political activists to draw attention to rhetoric and actions directed at Islam and Muslims in Western liberal democracies. In recent years, Islamophobia has evolved from a primarily political concept toward one increasingly deployed for analytical purposes. Researchers have begun using the term to identify the history, presence, dimensions, intensity, causes, and consequences of anti-Islamic and anti-Muslim sentiments. In short, Islamophobia is an emerging comparative concept in the social sciences. Yet, there is no widely-accepted definition of the term. As a result, it is extremely difficult to compare levels of Islamophobia across time, location, or social group, or to levels of analogous categories like racism, anti-Semitism, or xenophobia.

Twenty-first century Turkey has been shaped by two conflicting trends: all-encompassing reform in almost all aspects of law that were transformative if not altogether progressive, and an increasing erosion of the rule of law, which finally culminated in a nation-wide emergency regime and the April 2017 constitutional referendum. The pressing question for many is why the promising reform era was abandoned for crude repression? In this essay, we answer this question by challenging its very foundation and pointing instead to an alternative line of inquiry concerning Turkish politics and society, one that focuses precisely on the interplay between reform and repression. The constitutional referendum of April 2017 compels observers and scholars of Turkey to reevaluate the interplay between reform and repression. Rather than reading contemporary Turkey as a case of relapse from reform into repression, as many commentators do, we suggest approaching reform and repression as concomitant and complementary modes of government.

The hugely popular proto-Ottoman television serial Resurrection Ertuğrul (Diriliş Ertuğrul, 2014–) is the culmination of a series of attempts by Turkish government broadcaster TRT to produce a historical drama in line with the values of the governing AKP. Far from being confined to the television screen, Resurrection is called upon by the government for multiple extra-textual engagements with the public. This essay traces some of the ways in which the serial has been used instrumentally by the AKP, blurring traditional distinctions between entertainment and official (state sanctioned) history, and intervening in political discourse. It first introduces the notion of prescriptive activation to describe the extra-textual use of media texts by those in power for political ends. Next, it examines the trappings of death that surround Resurrection, suggesting that the serial partakes in a representational necropolitics that fetishizes death for the nation. Finally, it explores the stakes of such representation, turning to a case in which text-inspired and literal necropolitics converge.

Turkey has switched to a presidential system via a referendum held in April 2017 that will take full effect after the 2019 presidential elections. Turkish presidentialism increases the prominence of the executive at the expense of the legislative branch and concentrates power in the office of the president. Executive aggrandizement will deepen ideological polarization and electoral mobilization by significantly raising the stakes of the game for both the incumbent and the opposition. As such, we posit that the new presidential system will institutionalize the de facto personalism and majoritarian rule that the AKP has hitherto established in recent years. This trend is likely to trigger a transition from a competitive authoritarian to hegemonic electoral authoritarianism in case of Tayyip Erdoğan's election, thus placing Turkey on par with the strongest executive systems around the globe such as Russia and Venezuela.

A complete bibliography of just German-language literature dealing with the Turkish minority in Germany could easily double as a coffee table. The best one can do for a short introduction to German-, English- and Turkish-language sources is to separate out major categories into which one can organize the thrust and style of these writings and to select several examples of particularly representative or insightful recent publications. Of necessity that leaves a large barrel untapped. For those interested in acquiring a more complete bibliography, to furnish their home or not, I have appended several sources.

Immigration research poses special problems, but survey researchers studying immigrant groups rarely write about the problems they encounter in the design and conduct of their surveys (Hurh and Kim 1984). Three areas of particular importance are: (1) securing the approval of community leaders or persons of influence; (2) identifying adequate frames for relatively small immigrant populations, from which random samples can be selected; and (3) conducting the fieldwork, including recruiting and training interviewers fluent in immigrant languages.

The main objective of this paper is to describe various stages of our recently completed survey of Iranians in Los Angeles (see Figure 1). We pay particular attention to the problems we have faced in carrying out this study, and how resolving some of them reshaped our original research design.

The office of MESA president is mainly honorific; the associated duties are normally not particularly onerous. The very capable staff of the secretariat does most of the hard work involved in running this organization. None of you could have known at the time of the MESA elections in the summer and early fall of 2000 that you would be giving me the opportunity to serve as your president in the post-September 11, 2001 era, when public interest in the Middle East, demands on those with expertise in the region, and incongruously, attacks on MESA, university-based programs in Middle East Studies, and more than a few individual MESA members have reached unprecedented levels. Serving as your president in this period has been a more exciting ride than it would have been at almost any other time I can imagine; I thank you all for making it possible. I would also like to acknowledge my wife Miriam, who also received a fuller plate than she could have imagined as a result of my serving as MESA president. Her support has always been indispensable in everything I have done.

Social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter were heralded circa 2009–2011 as ‘liberation technology’ that would facilitate mass mobilization against Middle Eastern authoritarians. In this article, however, we present evidence from the ongoing Gulf Crisis (2017-present) that regimes can now exploit Twitter as an outlet for political propaganda. Drawing in part on novel data collected by the authors, we present strong evidence of state actors manipulating discourse on Twitter through direct intervention, offline coercion or co-optation of existing social-media “influencers,” and the mass production of online statements via automated “bot” accounts. We further present evidence that this manipulation is aimed at securing organic participation from supportive publics.

Palestinian student filmmakers based in the West Bank and Gaza tell stories of daily life in a collected set of short films which provide valuable insights for classes on the Middle East.

The cultural, physical, and socio-economic displacement of traditional Gulf societies has been strikingly portrayed by Abdelrahman Munif in his fictional account of the diaspora of a poor oasis community after the discovery of oil. Munif's oil city, seen through the eyes of this community, is a daunting and transient place of contrast and dual personality, a city whose historical memory has been swept away by the evils of modern technology and by neo-colonial forms of economic exploitation. Cities of Salt recounts the hidden tale of Gulf cities, a tale which, this article will argue, is too often neglected in urban studies on the region.

Three years have passed since the beginning of the war in Bosnia. Amidst the reports of human suffering and atrocities, another tragic loss has gone largely unnoted—the destruction of the written record of Bosnia’s past.

On 25 August 1992, Bosnia’s National and University Library, a handsome Moorish-revival building built in the 1890s on the Sarajevo riverfront, was shelled and burned. Before the fire, the library held 1.5 million volumes, including over 155,000 rare books and manuscripts; the country’s national archives; deposit copies of newspapers, periodicals and books published in Bosnia; and the collections of the University of Sarajevo. Bombarded with incendiary grenades from Serbian nationalist positions across the river, the library burned for three days; it was reduced to ashes with most of its contents. Braving a hail of sniper fire, librarians and citizen volunteers formed a human chain to pass books out of the burning building. Interviewed by ABC News, one of them said: “We managed to save just a few very precious books. Everything else burned down. And a lot of our heritage, national heritage, lay down there in ashes.” Aida Buturovic, a librarian in the National Library’s exchanges section, was shot to death by a sniper while attempting to rescue books from the flames.

I have been thinking about Egyptian protest culture for a number of years, although not always as a scholar. For the bulk of that time, much of this protest culture was largely confined to particular segments of Egyptian society, activists, intellectuals and students. The major icon of this culture, Sheikh Imam, was clearly more revered outside of Egypt than at home. However, with the January 25 uprising, what was marginal became a dominant strand in contemporary Egyptian expressive culture. Like so many others, I found myself caught up in collecting, archiving and analyzing the explosion of revolutionary culture in Egypt. Among the first things I collected were slogans.

During the Eighteen-Day Uprising, I noticed that many observers treated slogans as if they were spontaneous linguistic statements of an unambiguouspopular will. This treatment both resonated and clashed with what I thoughtI knew about the history of protest culture in Egypt. On the one hand, it resonated with how activists themselves spoke about their own experiences interms of surprise and spontaneity, and how they routinely considered slogans to be clear proof-texts of an articulate collective voice. But it also clashed with the fact that some of these same activists had for years been planning and practicing just such an uprising, and chanting some of the same slogans that were to resound across Egypt on January 25. The more I listened to activists, the more I began to realize that the meaning of slogans could not be reduced to their immediate context or their semantic aspect, nor was their meaning so straightforward or stable.

What might the wreckage of a former prison in south Lebanon that was destroyed during Israeli bombardment in 2006 have in common with a series of “family-oriented” amusement parks built by a corporate investment group? How might these sites be related to an ecotourism facility high in the mountains above Saida and the 70-some cafés and restaurants that have opened in the southern suburbs of Beirut since 2000? Aside from being fieldsites in our ongoing research on Islam and leisure in Lebanon, these places are significant to the political party Hizbullah. They tell us something about the relationship of culture to politics in the Hizbullah community, and they can be considered part of a recently emergent “Islamic milieu” in Lebanon.

The Major Lacuna in Palestinian historiography is the lack of social and economic histories, especially for the Ottoman period.

Sijillāt al-maḥākim airshar‘īya (records of the Islamic religious courts), preserved in the major cities and towns of historic Palestine, are local Palestinian archives which can go a long way towards filling this gap. These records, some of which date from the first decades of the Ottoman occupation to the present, are akin to a people’s history. Literally hundreds of volumes illustrate in a concrete and detailed manner nearly every aspect of daily human interaction – be it in the personal, social, economic, religious, or administrative fields.

This paper examines several historical and political contexts in which connections have been forged between modernity and identity in the field of Baghdad’s twentieth century architecture and urban space. Given that for some Iraqi critics, historians, or professionals, “westernization” is embedded in “modernization” and even to a certain extent in modernity, I’ll attempt to define the ways and the limits within which architecture and urban planning or urban space in Baghdad have been deployed in the different narratives of affirmation of an “Arab” or “Iraqi” identity.

As Tocqueville’s writings on empire have become more available in translation, and as both Anglophone and Francophone political theorists have begun to grapple with the transnational aspects of democratic theory, scholars have increasingly puzzled over the apparent dissonance between Tocqueville’s liberal and imperial voices. How can his dedication to human freedom co-exist with his embrace of permanent colonial domination in Algeria? This essay attempts to contextualize this paradox in Tocqueville’s thought without turning historical context into an apologia.

Since the early 1990s, the Egyptian government has devoted significant resources to new culture projects. Unprecedented numbers of new cultural institutions have been built or renovated throughout the country, including libraries, museums, culture palaces and houses, and creativity centers. These host thousands of public programs every year. The government has also started two new television channels devoted specifically to culture (thaqafa). Book fairs and art biennials have increased in number and expanded, new cultural periodicals and book series have been published, and new cultural competitions and prizes created. Nearly every day in the state press, one finds articles and announcements detailing cultural events and programs, as well as editorials on the importance thaqafa to Egyptian society.