Hans-Lukas Kieser on Talaat Pasha: Father of Modern Turkey, Architect of Genocide

PashaTalaat Pasha (1874–1921) led the triumvirate that ruled the late Ottoman Empire during World War I and is arguably the father of modern Turkey. He was also the architect of the Armenian Genocide, which would result in the systematic extermination of more than a million people, and which set the stage for a century that would witness atrocities on a scale never imagined. Here is the first biography in English of the revolutionary figure who not only prepared the way for Atatürk and the founding of the republic in 1923, but who shaped the modern world as well. In this major work of scholarship, Hans-Lukas Kieser tells the story of the brilliant and merciless politician who stood at the twilight of empire and the dawn of the age of genocide.

Though you have written a number of books in history, this appears to be your first biography. What led you in this direction?

I have written a variety of biographical articles, all related to the modern Levant. Yet, this is indeed my first book-length biography. There were two main motivations for writing me this biography of Talaat Pasha.

First, Talaat was the main political actor in the 1910s, the last years of the Ottoman Empire, when he led a single-party regime. All those interested in that area in modern history must therefore be able to know him well. Yet, oddly, there doesn’t exist any non-Turkish biography of this paradigmatic politician.

Second, the last Ottoman decade and its wars, including the Balkan Wars, the Great War, the Armenian genocide, and the war for Asia Minor, have remained a Pandora’s box in need of historical clarification. I navigate with my readers through turbulent and complex, dramatic and impactful times, always focusing on the mastermind Talaat as well as late Ottoman Istanbul and its provinces. The Ottoman capital was the center of a still-huge Empire, a hub of European diplomacy, and a hotspot of international dynamics.

What is an example of Talaat Pasha’s influence still being felt in Turkey today?

A blatant legacy is ongoing genocide denial based on arguments already made by Talaat in 1915. Another legacy is favoritism instead of meritocracy, because leader-centered partisan regimes need systemic corruption to maintain their power. Talaat’s leadership had blended imperial pride, Turkish nationalism, and Islamism. Turkey’s current re-embrace of charismatic leadership and its post-Kemalist return to political Islam is not surprising if we understand that Talaat had been a first father—before Kemal Atatürk—of post-Ottoman Turkey. The “Kemalist revolution” did not undo pre-republican fundamentals. In his effort to concentrate power, the current president Erdogan largely draws on patterns and ideologies used by these historic leaders, both marked “sons of an Empire.” Whereas both Talaat and Atatürk had claimed a progressive departure from religious conservatism, Erdogan identifies also with the conservative legacy of Sultan Abdulhamid II and other sultans before him.

How do modern Turks reconcile the positive things that resulted from Talaat Pasha’s actions with the atrocities that he perpetuated?

Talaat’s corpse came pompously back from Berlin to Turkey in 1943, in a joint venture of Adolf Hitler’s and İsmet İnönü’s governments. Lauding books and articles by former party friends were published in the years afterwards. Talaat, the former grand-vizier, won thus again public credit as a patriot and great statesman. Streets, schools, and mosques were named after him. Nevertheless, he remained associated with the Great War: a lost war little-remembered in Kemalist Turkey, except for the victory at Gallipoli. The atrocities against non-Turkish Ottoman citizens in and after the Great War were almost totally repressed from public memory. For such a spirit, almost no negative things must be reconciled with the progressive revolution achieved by the unique Atatürk, prepared by Talaat. Compared to previous governments, the current AKP regime publicly remembers much more the Great War, that great jihad and its battles. Yet, it does this without soul-searching or an acknowledged need and effort of reconciliation—because, in Erdogan’s words, there was “never genocide or ethnic cleansing in our history.”

What are some of the things you’d like readers to take away from this book?

I’d like my readers to take away from this book interest in, respect for, and better knowledge of topical challenges of the late Ottoman world, today’s Middle East. These are challenges that subsist to this day because their peaceful solution surpassed the political resources and the will of the contemporary rulers. More than a hundred years later, consensual polities for people from different religions, but with equal rights, are still utopian. The Levant, the cradle of monotheism, is under the spell of competing apocalyptical expectations.

Also, I’d like my readers to revolt in spirit and intellect against attempts at doing away with, instead of meeting, universal challenges, and against disfiguring historical truths for state and personal interests. Talaat pioneered patterns of miscarried modernity, in particular demographic and economic engineering including genocide. Inspired by his party friend Ziya Gökalp, a modern prophet of Turkish-Muslim greatness, Talaat had given up in the early 1910s on seeking a democratic social contract, starting instead comprehensive press control and prosecution of rivals. Talaat’s rule made Asia Minor a “national home” for Muslim Turks, excluding other peoples rooted in the same geography. Talaat thus shaped politics in the post-Ottoman Levant for a hundred years to come.

Hans-Lukas Kieser is associate professor in the School of Humanities and Social Science at the University of Newcastle in Australia and adjunct professor of history at the University of Zurich in Switzerland. His many books include Nearest East: American Millennialism and Mission to the Middle East, World War I and the End of the Ottomans: From the Balkan Wars to the Armenian Genocide, and Turkey beyond Nationalism.

Michael Brenner explains why a Jewish State is “not like any other state”

BrennerIs Israel a state like any other or is it unique? As Michael Brenner argues in In Search of Israel, the Zionists attempted to put an end to the millennia-old history of the Jews as the archetypical “other” by creating a Jewish state that would be just like any other state, but today, Israel is regarded as anything but a “normal” state. Instead of overcoming the Jewish fate of otherness, Israel has in fact become the “Jew among the nations.” Israel ranks as 148th of the 196 independent states in terms of geographical area, and as 97th in terms of population, which is somewhere between Belize and Djibouti. However, the international attention it attracts is exponentially greater than that of either. Considering only the volume of media attention it attracts, one might reasonably assume that the Jewish state is in the same league as the United States, Russia, and China. In the United States, Israel has figured more prominently over the last three decades than almost any other country in foreign policy debates; in polls across Europe, Israel is considered to be the greatest danger to world peace; and in Islamic societies it has become routine to burn Israeli flags and argue for Israel’s demise. No other country has been the target of as many UN resolutions as Israel. At the same time, many people around the world credit Israel with a unique role in the future course of world history. Evangelical Christians regard the Jewish state as a major player in their eschatological model of the world. Their convictions have influenced US policies in the Middle East and the opinions of some political leaders in other parts of the world.

Why does Israel attract so much attention?

The answer lies in history. Many people call Israel “the holy land” for a reason: it is here where the origins of their religions were shaped. The Jewish people too are regarded as special: they played a crucial role in the theological framework of the world’s dominant religions. In Christianity and in Islam, Jews were both seen as a people especially close to God and at the same time uniquely rejected by God. While over the last two hundred years these ideas have become secularized, many stereotypes have remained. That the Jews became victims of the most systematic genocide in modern history lent them yet another mark of uniqueness. After two thousand years in exile, the fact that Jews returned to their ancient homeland to build a sovereign state again surrounded the people and place with additional mystique.

Did the Zionists view themselves as unique?

The irony is that the Zionist movement was established at the end of the 19th century precisely in order to overcome this mark of difference and uniqueness. Many Zionists claimed that they just wanted to be like anyone else. Chaim Weizmann, longtime leader of the Zionist movement and Israel’s first president, was quoted with saying: “We just want to be another Albania,” meaning a small state that nobody really cares about. Even Israel’s founding document, the declaration of independence, says that Israel has the right to be “like all other nations.” But at the same time the notion of being different, perhaps being special, was internalized by Zionists as well. Many of its leaders argued that a Jewish state has a special responsibility. Even the most secular among them regarded Israel’s serving as “a light unto the nations” as a crucial part of a prophetic tradition.

Does this mean that Zionism was a religious movement?

Not at all. Most of its early leaders were strictly secular. Theodor Herzl, the founder of Zionism, knew no Hebrew and in fact very little about Jewish traditions. But he wanted to establish a model state for humanity, and saw the formation of Israel as an example for the liberation of African-Americans. Long before any other state granted voting rights for women, he let women be active participants in the Zionist congresses. He drew a flag for the future Jewish state that had seven stars, symbolizing a seven-hour-workday for everyone. David Ben-Gurion, the first prime minister of Israel, was a Socialist and rejected organized religion. But just like Herzl, he believed in the mission of a model state that could spread the prophetic ideals of universal peace and equality among the nations.

Why then is Israel seen by many today not as a model state but as a pariah state?

Herzl discussed other potential destinations, such as Argentina and British East Africa, as refuge for the persecuted European Jews. But the only place Jews had an emotional connection with was the territory they had originated from. Over centuries, Jews prayed for their return to the land of Israel. But it was not an empty land. The Arab Palestinians soon developed their own ideas of nationhood and rejected the growing Jewish immigration. In the meantime, antisemitism increased in Europe and other countries closed their doors to Jewish refugees. The establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 came too late to save the lives of millions of Jews who perished in the Holocaust. But by then, most of the world recognized the Jews’ right to their own state in their ancient homeland, as reflected in the 1947 UN partition of Palestine into a Jewish and an Arab state. Yet the Arab world did not see why they should pay the price for the sins of the Europeans. The situation reflected the parable of a person (the Jews) jumping out of the window of a burning house (Europe) and hitting another person (the Palestinians) on the street in order to save his own life. The ongoing conflict of two peoples over the same land, combined with the special significance of this land in the eyes of the world, led to a situation where even outsiders have strong opinions. For Evangelical Christians, Israel fulfills a divine mission, while for others, especially in the Arab world, Israel is regarded as a foreign intruder in the tradition of the medieval Crusaders and modern Imperialists.

So, can Israel one day become just a “normal state?”

To begin with, let me qualify this question. The idea of a “normal state” is a fiction altogether. Every state sees itself as special. But it is true that some states receive more attention from the rest of the world than others. Can Israel just be another Albania in the eyes of the world, or relegated in our attention to its place among the nations between Djibouti and Belize? I do not believe so. The history of Jerusalem is different from that of Tirana (Albania’s capital), and the Jews have attracted so much more attention than nations of comparable size. Thus, Israel will most likely always remain in the limelight of media attention. However, let us not forget: The people in Israel live their everyday lives just like everywhere else. They worry about their jobs and about their sports teams, they want their children to be safe and successful in school, and they dream of a peaceful future. In this deeply personal sense, Israel has become a state just like any other.

Michael Brenner is the Seymour and Lilian Abensohn Chair in Israel Studies and director of the Center for Israel Studies at American University and Professor of Jewish History and Culture at Ludwig Maximilian University in Munich. His many books include A Short History of the Jews.

Robert Irwin on Ibn Khaldun: An Intellectual Biography

IrwinIbn Khaldun (1332–1406) is generally regarded as the greatest intellectual ever to have appeared in the Arab world—a genius who ranks as one of the world’s great minds. Yet the author of the Muqaddima, the most important study of history ever produced in the Islamic world, is not as well known as he should be, and his ideas are widely misunderstood. In this groundbreaking intellectual biography, Robert Irwin provides an engaging and authoritative account of Ibn Khaldun’s extraordinary life, times, writings, and ideas.

Who was Ibn Khaldun?
Wali al-Din Ibn Khaldun was born in 1332 in Tunis. In his youth he was tutored by some of finest scholars of the age before going on to occupy high offices at various North African courts and at the court of Granada in Muslim Spain. He became, among other things, a diplomat and a specialist in negotiating with the Arab and Berber tribesmen of the North African interior and on occasion he led the tribesmen in battle. Later he moved to Cairo where he was to occupy various senior judicial and teaching posts under the Mamluk Sultans. In 1401 he had a famous meeting with the Turco-Mongol would-be world conqueror Timur (also known as Tamerlane), outside the walls of Damascus which was under siege by Timur. Having escaped becoming Timur’s honored captive, he returned to Egypt. In 1406 he died and was buried in a Sufi cemetery in Cairo. Despite his active career in politics, law, diplomacy, and teaching, he is chiefly famous for his great book, the Muqaddima, (the translation of which is currently published in three volumes by Princeton University Press, as well in a single-volume abridgment).

Why is Ibn Khaldun’s Muqaddima so important?
This big book asked big questions. The Muqaddima started out as a study of the laws of history and it has gone on to win great praise from modern historians. Arnold Toynbee described it as ‘undoubtedly the greatest work of its kind that has ever been created by any mind in any time or place.’ Hugh Trevor-Roper agreed; ‘It is a wonderful experience to read those great volumes, as rich and various, as subtle, deep and formless as the Ocean, and to fish up from them ideas old and new.’ The Muqaddima has attracted similar praise from philosophers, sociologists, anthropologists, economists and Islamicists.

Ibn Khaldun began by asking how do historians make mistakes in their interpretation of events and what kinds of information should be recognized by historians as good evidence or bad evidence. Then he set out to understand the origins of civilization and the causes of the rise and fall of dynasties. As he continued his investigations, his book broadened out to become what was effectively an encyclopedia of Muslim society and culture.

Given his importance, there are already quite a few books on Ibn Khaldun. What is new about yours?
There are indeed so many translations of Ibn Khaldun and books about him that something like half the history of Orientalism can be deduced from the contrasting readings of the Muqaddima produced by such scholars as Silvestre de Sacy, Quatremère, Von Kremer, Monteil, Gibb, Hodgson, Hourani and Gellner. Some of the books by my predecessors are pretty good and I owe debts to those who have gone before me. Nevertheless many of their readings of the Muqaddima have been selective and have stressed and, I think, overstressed the logicality of Ibn Khaldun’s admittedly powerful mind and in doing so they have neglected the inconsistencies, ambiguities, and eccentricities that make the Muqaddima such a fascinating text. Mine is the first book to focus closely on the importance of the occult in Ibn Khaldun’s thought and his intense interest in methods of predicting the future. It is also the first to bring out the importance of North African ruins and the moralizing messages that he took from them. Although he was an outstanding thinker, he was also a man of his time and there has been a tendency to underplay the North African and strictly Muslim context of the Muqaddima. I have also sought to bring out the distinctive quality of Ibn Khaldun’s writing by contrasting it with famous texts by Froissart, Machiavelli, Vico, Montesquieu, Spengler, and others.

His ideas have been described as anticipating those of Montesquieu, Comte, Darwin, Marx, and Toynbee, among others. So was he a ‘modern’ thinker?
As new disciplines evolved in the West in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, their leading scholars frequently sought to create intellectual lineages for their chosen subjects and so Ibn Khaldun came to be hailed as ‘the world’s first anthropologist’ or ‘the first ever cultural historian’ or as a ‘proto-Marxist.’ Though there is some justice in such tributes, the quest for relevance can be a dangerous thing, as an overemphasis on similarities may conceal or distort past ways of thinking and living. As the novelist L.P. Hartley observed, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.’ Ibn Khaldun’s remarkable ability to formulate general laws based on the close observation of discrete phenomena gives his thinking the delusive appearance of modernity, but he wrote in the service of fourteenth-century Islam. Moreover there is no evidence that he influenced Montesquieu, there is no continuity between Ibn Khaldun’s sociological formulations and those of Comte and there is no indication that Ibn Khaldun had anticipated Darwin’s ideas about the survival of the fittest.

Why did you write this book?
It feels as though I have been living with Ibn Khaldun since I first read the Muqaddima as a student in the 1960s. So it was high time that I took a close look at the assumptions and vocabulary that underpinned his thinking. To spend so much time with a polymathic genius has been both demanding and exhilarating. But there is also something else. As already noted, his Muqaddima is encyclopedic in scope. It not only covers history and philosophy, but also religion, social studies, administrative structures and title-holding, geography, economics, literature, pedagogy, jurisprudence, magic, treasure hunting, diet, dream interpretation, and much else. So a study of his masterpiece can serve as a panoptic guide to Muslim thought and life in the Middle Ages. There is nothing to match it either in the Islamic world or in medieval Christendom.

Robert Irwin is senior research associate at the School of Oriental and African Studies in London and a former lecturer at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland. His many books include Dangerous Knowledge: Orientalism and Its Discontents and Memoirs of a Dervish: Sufis, Mystics, and the Sixties, as well as seven novels. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.

Omnia El Shakry: Genealogies of Female Writing

Arabic

Throughout Women’s History Month, join Princeton University Press as we celebrate scholarship by and about women.

by Omnia El Shakry

In the wake of the tumultuous year for women that was 2017, many female scholars have been reflecting upon their experiences in the academy, ranging from sexual harassment to the everyday experiences of listening to colleagues mansplain or even intellectually demean women’s work. Indeed, I can vividly recall, as a young assistant professor, hearing a senior male colleague brush off what has now become a canonical text in the field of Middle East studies as “merely” an example of gender history, with no wider relevance to the region. Gender history rolled off his tongue with disdain and there was an assumption that it was distinct from real history.

Few now, however, would deign to publicly discount the role that female authors have played in the vitality of the field of Middle East studies. In recognition of this, the Middle East Studies Association of North America has inaugurated new book awards honoring the pioneering efforts of two women in the field, Nikkie Keddie and Fatima Mernissi. I can still remember the first time I read Mernissi’s work while an undergraduate at the American University in Cairo. Ever since my freshman year, I had enrolled in Cultural Anthropology courses with Soraya Altorki—a pioneering anthropologist who had written about Arab Women in the Field and the challenges of studying one’s own society. In her courses, and elsewhere, I was introduced to Lila Abu-Lughod’s Veiled Sentiments, an ethnography of poetry and everyday discourse in a Bedouin community in Egypt’s Western desert. Abu-Lughod’s narrative was sensitive to questions of positionality, a lesson she both drew from and imbued with feminism. A second piece of writing, this time an article by Stefania Pandolfo on “Detours of Life” that interpreted the internal logic of imagining space and bodies in a Moroccan village gave me a breathtaking view of ethnography, the heterogeneity of lifeworlds, and the work of symbolic interpretation. 

In hindsight I can see that these early undergraduate experiences of reading, and studying with, female anthropologists profoundly impacted my own writing. Although I would eventually become a historian, I remained interested in the ethnographic question of encounters, and specifically of how knowledge is produced through encounters­—whether the encounter between the colonizer and the colonized or between psychoanalysis and Islam. In my most recent book, The Arabic Freud: Psychoanalysis and Islam in Modern Egypt, I ask what it might mean to think of psychoanalysis and Islam together, not as a “problem” but as a creative encounter of ethical engagement. Rather than conceptualizing modern intellectual thought as something developed in Europe, merely to be diffused at its point of application elsewhere, I imagine psychoanalytic knowledge as something elaborated across the space of human difference.

There is yet another female figure who stands at the door of my entry into writing about the Middle East. My grandmother was a strong presence in my early college years. Every Friday afternoon I would head over to her apartment, just a quick walk away from my dorm in downtown Cairo. We would eat lunch, laugh and talk, and watch the subtitled American soap operas that were so popular back then. Since she could not read or write, we would engage in a collective work of translation while watching and I often found her retelling of the series to be far more imaginative than anything network television writers could ever have produced.

Writing for me is about the creative worlds of possibility and of human difference that exist both within, but also outside, of the written word. As historians when we write we are translating between the living and the dead, as much as between different life worlds, and we are often propelled by intergenerational and transgenerational bonds that include the written word, but also exceed it.

Omnia El Shakry is professor of history at the University of California, Davis. She is the author of The Arabic Freud: Psychoanalysis and Islam in Modern Egypt.

Alexander Thurston on Boko Haram: The History of an African Jihadist Movement

ThurstonBoko Haram is one of the world’s deadliest jihadist groups. It has killed more than twenty thousand people and displaced more than two million in a campaign of terror that began in Nigeria but has since spread to Chad, Niger, and Cameroon as well. This is the first book to tell the full story of this West African affiliate of the Islamic State, from its beginnings in the early 2000s to its most infamous violence, including the 2014 kidnapping of 276 Nigerian schoolgirls. In an in-depth account of a group that is menacing Africa’s most populous and richest country, Alexander Thurston also illuminates the dynamics of civil war in Africa and jihadist movements in other parts of the world. Read on to learn more about this deadly terrorist group and what is being done to stop them.

What is Boko Haram?

Boko Haram is a jihadist group, or rather cluster of groups, that emerged in northeastern Nigeria in the early 2000s. The group has called itself by various names, and “Boko Haram” is a nickname given by outsiders—it means “Western education is forbidden by Islam.” The nickname refers to a central theme that its founder Muhammad Yusuf used in his preaching, namely the idea that Western-style education (and democracy) were anti-Islamic. Boko Haram was involved sporadically in violence before 2009, but its transformation into a sustained insurgency occurred that year, when Yusuf and his followers clashed with authorities. Yusuf was killed during the initial uprising, but his followers regrouped under Abubakar Shekau and began to commit regular assassinations and attacks the next year. Boko Haram began to hold significant amounts of territory in northeastern Nigeria in 2014, which prompted Nigeria’s neighbors to intervene more strongly. In 2015, back on the defensive, Boko Haram pledged allegiance to the Islamic State (also known as ISIS and ISIL). Boko Haram continues to stage attacks in Nigeria, as well as in the neighboring countries, especially Niger. In summer 2016, a public schism emerged in the group, with one faction remaining loyal to Shekau and another following Abu Mus‘ab al-Barnawi, who has pledged to reduce civilian casualties and refocus Boko Haram’s efforts on fighting states and militaries. Boko Haram is most infamous for its mass kidnapping of 276 teenage schoolgirls in the town of Chibok, Nigeria in April 2014.

How has the Nigerian government responded to Boko Haram?

The Nigerian government has used a heavy-handed, military-focused approach to Boko Haram. The approach involves serious and systematic human rights violations—extrajudicial killings, collective arrests, detentions without trial, and torture. This approach has itself become a driver of the crisis, antagonizing civilians and reducing their willingness to work with authorities. In some cases, a desire for revenge has even pushed some civilians into joining or working with Boko Haram. Nigerian politicians repeatedly debated and haltingly pursued the idea of dialogue with Boko Haram starting around 2012, but it was not until 2016 that negotiations bore some fruit, resulting in two waves of releases/prisoner swaps of some of the “Chibok girls.” The current president, Muhammadu Buhari (elected 2015), has been quite eager to declare Boko Haram defeated, but its attacks continue to trouble the northeastern part of Nigeria.

What are the biggest misperceptions about Boko Haram?

One key misperception is the idea that Boko Haram is a direct consequence of demography, poverty, and underdevelopment in northern Nigeria. That thesis does not explain why Boko Haram emerged in the northeast, rather than elsewhere in the north, nor does it explain why there are not many more movements like Boko Haram in Nigeria’s neighbors, which suffer from many of the same problems. In a related way, many observers continue to believe that Boko Haram’s founder Muhammad Yusuf was a nonviolent critic of Nigerian government corruption; in truth, he rejected the entire premise of Nigeria’s secular state, and he flirted with violent jihadism from an early point in his career. By the time Yusuf’s message was fully developed, he was not calling for reform in the existing order, but for a complete overhaul of the system.

Another key misconception, however, is the claim that Boko Haram is merely an extension of the global jihadist movement—that it was created and managed by al-Qaeda, or that it now is merely a branch of the Islamic State. The reality is more complicated; Boko Haram’s early contacts with al-Qaeda were patchy, and al-Qaeda had trouble getting Yusuf and Shekau to follow their advice, so much so that al-Qaeda seems to have broken off contact with Yusuf well before the 2009 uprising, which was a disaster for Boko Haram. Given the flaws in these simplistic hypotheses—the poverty hypothesis or the global jihadism hypothesis—there is a need to develop more complicated understandings of Boko Haram. That’s what my book tries to do.

What are the key arguments of your book?

The main argument is that Boko Haram reflects a complicated intersection of politics and religion in northeastern Nigeria, and that this intersection can only be understood by examining developments at the local level, especially in the city of Maiduguri and the surrounding state of Borno. Political developments that contributed to Boko Haram’s rise included the implementation of “full shari‘a” in northern Nigerian states in the early 2000s, a highly competitive gubernatorial election in Borno in 2003, and bitter memories among northern Muslims regarding intercommunal violence dating back to the 1980s. Religious developments involved a rapidly shifting “religious field” in northeastern Nigeria. Yusuf’s rise coincided with new opportunities for young preachers to gain prominence as key scholars in Maiduguri were either aging and passing away, or were absent because they were studying in the Arab world.

Another, related argument is that although Boko Haram horrified and antagonized almost all Muslims in northern Nigeria, it did not come out of nowhere. Boko Haram and Yusuf picked up on ideas that had been circulating for several decades, particularly the idea that Nigeria needed to become an Islamic state, and the idea that Western-style education was undermining the moral fabric of northern Nigerian society.

In what way does religion matter for Boko Haram?

When the relationship between religion and jihadism gets discussed in the media and popular outlets, analysts often focus on the question of whether individuals really believe in what they’re saying—whether jihadists are pious and well-informed about religion, and whether recruits join jihadist groups out of conviction or opportunism. To me, those debates are of limited interest because it’s difficult to get inside the minds and hearts of individuals, and to know what they really believe. So for me, the most important way to think about religion’s role in jihadism is in terms of the “religious field”—the totality of actors and institutions vying to define and shape a religious tradition in a particular setting. Whether or not Boko Haram’s leaders and followers are truly religious and pious, they certainly see themselves as operating in a religious field. Their vocabulary, their propaganda, the leaders’ interactions with followers, and often the targets of their violence all reflect a self-conscious invocation of religion and Islam, or at least Islam as Boko Haram tries to define it. A big part of the book is an effort to show how Boko Haram found a niche in northern Nigeria’s religious field, and how it has tried to reshape the field around it.

ThurstonAlexander Thurston is visiting assistant professor of African studies at Georgetown University and the author of Salafism in Nigeria: Islam, Preaching, and Politics.

Browse Our New Middle Eastern Studies 2018 Catalog

Our new Middle Eastern Studies catalog includes a fascinating study of a 14th century Arabic encyclopedia, an incisive analysis of the clash between nationalism and Islamism, and a new, comprehensive history of Sufism.

If you will be at MESA 2017 in Washington DC this weekend, please stop by booth 33 to pick up a copy of the catalog, and see our full range of titles in Middle Eastern Studies.

The thirty-one volumes of Shihab al-Din al-Nuwayri’s The Ultimate Ambition in the Arts of Erudition are among the flowers of the encyclopedic tradition in the medieval Islamic world. In The World in a Book, Elias Muhanna explores the cultural context within which this monumental work emerged, its structure and content, and its reception both in the Islamic world and in Europe.

The World in a Book, by Elias Muhanna

In Making the Arab World, Fawaz Gerges (author of ISIS: A History) analyses the conflicting roles of nationalism and Islamism in the history of the modern Middle East, as represented by two strikingly different figures: Gamal Abdel Nasser and Sayyid Qutb.

Making the Arab World, by Fawaz Gerges

Sufism, by Alexander Knysh, presents a comprehensive history of this enduring ascetic, mystical strand of Islam, from its emergence during the golden age of Islam to the modern day. Considering the tradition from the perspective both of adherents and outsiders, Knysh presents Sufism in all its richness and complexity.

Sufism, by Alexander Knysh

Omnia El Shakry: Psychoanalysis and Islam

Omnia El Shakry‘s new book, The Arabic Freud, is the first in-depth look at how postwar thinkers in Egypt mapped the intersections between Islamic discourses and psychoanalytic thought.

What are the very first things that pop into your mind when you hear the words “psychoanalysis” and “Islam” paired together?  For some of us the connections might seem improbable or even impossible. And if we were to be brutally honest the two terms might even evoke the specter of a so-called “clash of civilizations” between an enlightened, self-reflective West and a fanatical and irrational East.

It might surprise many of us to know, then, that Sigmund Freud, the founding figure of psychoanalysis, was ever-present in postwar Egypt, engaging the interest of academics, novelists, lawyers, teachers, and students alike. In 1946 Muhammad Fathi, a Professor of Criminal Psychology in Cairo, ardently defended the relevance of Freud’s theories of the unconscious for the courtroom, particularly for understanding the motives behind homicide. Readers of Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz’s 1948 The Mirage were introduced to the Oedipus complex, graphically portrayed in the novel, by immersing themselves in the world of its protagonist—pathologically erotically attached and fixated on his possessive mother. And by 1951 Freudian theories were so well known in Egypt that a secondary school philosophy teacher proposed prenuptial psychological exams in order to prevent unhappy marriages due to unresolved Oedipus complexes!

Scholars who have tackled the question of psychoanalysis and Islam have tended to focus on it as problem, by assuming that psychoanalysis and Islam have been “mutually ignorant” of each other, and they have placed Islam on the couch, as it were, alleging that it is resistant to the “secular” science of psychoanalysis. In my book, The Arabic Freud, I undo the terms of this debate and ask, instead, what it might mean to think of psychoanalysis and Islam together, not as a “problem,” but as a creative encounter of ethical engagement.

What I found was that postwar thinkers in Egypt saw no irreconcilable differences between psychoanalysis and Islam. And in fact, they frequently blended psychoanalytic theories with classical Islamic concepts. For example, when they translated Freud’s concept of the unconscious, the Arabic term used, “al-la-shuʿur,” was taken from the medieval mystical philosopher Ibn ʿArabi, renowned for his emphasis on the creative imagination within Islamic spirituality.

Islamic thinkers further emphasized similarities between Freud’s interpretation of dreams and Islamic dream interpretation, and they noted that the analyst-analysand (therapist-patient) relationship and the spiritual master-disciple relationship of Sufism (the phenomenon of mysticism in Islam) were nearly identical. In both instances, there was an intimate relationship in which the “patient” was meant to forage their unconscious with the help of their shaykh (spiritual guide) or analyst, as the case might be. Both Sufism and psychoanalysis, then, were characterized by a relationship between the self and the other that was mediated by the unconscious. Both traditions exhibited a concern for the relationship between what was hidden and what was shown in psychic and religious life, both demonstrated a preoccupation with eros and love, and both mobilized a highly specialized vocabulary of the self.

What, precisely, are we to make of this close connection between Islamic mysticism and psychoanalysis? On the one hand, it helps us identify something of a paradox within psychoanalysis, namely that for some psychoanalysis represents a non-religious and even atheistic world view. And there is ample evidence for this view within Freud’s own writings, which at times pathologized religion in texts such as The Future of an Illusion and Civilization and Its Discontents. At the same time, in Freud and Man’s Soul, Bruno Bettelheim argued that in the original German Freud’s language was full of references to the soul, going so far as to refer to psychoanalysts as “a profession of secular ministers of souls.” Similarly, psychoanalysis was translated into Arabic as “tahlil al-nafs”—the analysis of the nafs, which means soul, psyche, or self and has deeply religious connotations. In fact, throughout the twentieth century there have been psychoanalysts who have maintained a receptive attitude towards religion and mysticism, such as Marion Milner or Sudhir Kakar. What I take all of this to mean is that psychoanalysis as a tradition is open to multiple, oftentimes conflicting, interpretations and we can take Freud’s own ambivalence towards religion, and towards mysticism in particular, as an invitation to rethink the relationship between psychoanalysis and religion.

What, then, if religious forms of knowledge, and the encounter between psychoanalysis and Islam more specifically, might lead us to new insights into the psyche, the self, and the soul? What would this mean for how we think about the role of religion and ethics in the making of the modern self? And what might it mean for how we think about the relationship between the West and the Islamic world?

FreudOmnia El Shakry is Professor of History at the University of California, Davis. She is the author of The Great Social Laboratory: Subjects of Knowledge in Colonial and Postcolonial Egypt and the editor of Gender and Sexuality in Islam. Her new book, The Arabic Freud, is out this September.

Global Ottoman: The Cairo-Istanbul Axis

First published in Global Urban History as ”Global Ottoman: The Cairo-Istanbul Axis” by Adam Mestyan. Republished with permission.

On a Sunday at the end of January 1863 groups of sheikhs, notables, merchants, consuls, and soldiers gathered in the Citadel of Cairo. They came to witness a crucial event: the reading aloud of the imperial firman that affirmed the governorship of Ismail Pasha over the rich province of Egypt. The firman was brought by the Ottoman sultan’s imperial envoy. After the announcement, which occurred, of course, in Ottoman Turkish, Ismail held a reception. Local Turkic notables and army leaders came to congratulate and express their loyalty. A few months later, in April 1863, they received Sultan Abdülaziz in person in Alexandria—something that had not occurred since the Ottomans occupied Egypt in the sixteenth century. From Alexandria the sultan took the train to Cairo. This was the first trip of a caliph on the tracks.

 

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The Fountain of the Valide (the mother of the khedive), between 1867 and 1890, by Maison Bonfils, Library of Congress.

But what did Ottoman mean exactly in Egypt? My forthcoming book, Arab Patriotism: The Ideology and Culture of Power in Late Ottoman Egypt, examines the significance and meaning of the Ottoman imperial context for the history of Egyptian nationalism. The book demonstrates the continuous negotiation between Turkic elites in Egypt and local intellectuals and notables bound by collective, albeit contested, notions of patriotism. There was an invisible compromise through the new representations and techniques of power, including the theater. This local instrumentalization and mixing of urban Muslim and European forms is the backstory to new political communities in the Middle East. Importantly, the Ottoman connection was an urban one: imperial elites are urban elites and rural elites had to become urban ones in order to maximize their interests by the fin-de-siècle.

So, what does the Ottoman framework mean for urban historians of the Arab world and in particular of Egypt? Such a framework does two important things: as Ehud Toledano underlines, it points to the delegated power of the governors by the sultan; and it reveals that new (elite) consumption practices and technologies spread not only by direct contact between local and European actors but also by the imperial mediation of Istanbul, or vice versa, by local provincial mediation to the capital. The Ottoman Empire guaranteed the network of free and safe trade, and movement between cities still in the nineteenth century. These basic features of the Ottoman context remained in place even after the British occupation of Egypt until 1914.

Such a perspective does not diminish the factual power of European empires and their military interventionism to protect their economic interests. On Barak eminently showed that the first train line in Egypt was crucial for British rule in India in the 1850s. European technologies and new sources of energy (coal, electricity) also helped the Ottomans to reach their far-flung domains quickly (remember the sultan arrived via train in Cairo). These instances, however, do not mean that the sultan’s (or his representatives’) power was usurped by Europeans completely until the 1870s. “Bringing the Ottomans back in” destabilizes the bifurcated view of West and East by highlighting a plural system of power just before the scramble for Africa.

We should not read “Ottoman” as “old” in contrast to the European “new.” This is the exciting moment of the Tanzimat reforms in the Ottoman Empire, in which new technologies were “Ottomanized” to a certain extent, next to legal changes. There was an Ottoman elite modernity representing novelty to the provincial populations which had milliard connections to bourgeois practices globally.

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Interior of the Mosque of Silahdar Agha, picture by the author.

In the context of nineteenth-century Cairo, the most aesthetic representations of power were often formulated in terms of Ottoman sovereignty—a sovereignty that the pashas of Egypt wished to renounce but never did. Among these Ottoman features, one can see the mosque of Mehmed Ali in the Citadel. Doris Behrens-Abuseif reminds us that this mosque represents both Mehmed Ali’s power and Ottoman imperial aesthetics. It dominates the city’s skyline to this day. The pasha’s military elite brought late Ottoman baroque to Cairo: just look at the mosque of Sulayman Silahdar Agha in al-Mu‘izz Street and other smaller Ottoman mosques, schools, fountains, and palaces around the city. Though featuring local characteristics (“the Egyptian dialect of Ottoman architecture”), these structures are unmistakably Istanbulite and were built prior to or in the 1870s. A particularly interesting interplay between Ottoman and European aesthetics, hygienic considerations, and capitalism occurred in the creation of various public and private gardens in nineteenth-century Cairo and Alexandria. Buildings of power such as the Abdin Palace were likely conceived in a competition with the Ottoman capital (there the Dolmabahçe Palace was new in the 1850s) restaging political representation in a “modern” architectural idiom.

Socially, there are some who understand the Ottoman presence in Cairo (and in Egypt in general) as “The Turks in Egypt,” to quote the useful but somewhat misleading publication title of Ekmeleddin Ihsanoğlu. There were certainly ethnic Turks in Ottoman Egypt. The local population looked at the quite cruel Ottoman military ruling class as the “Turks” (al-Atrāk). Yet, in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Cairo, there were many Ottoman Armenian, Greek, Jewish, Albanian, Bulgarian, and Circassian families whose primary or secondary language was some version of Turkish and who had family or economic ties to various Ottoman cities in Asia and Europe. Their leading members rapidly transformed themselves into Franco- and Italophone “cultural creoles” (to use Julia Clancy-Smith’s expression), who forged new identities precisely by distancing themselves from their Ottoman past. Another identity strategy, not necessary exclusive of the previous one, was nationalism.

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Ismail Pasha, Library of Congress.

The Cairo Ottoman elite was connected to Istanbul and was part of the imperial order. There was an elite Ottoman global network. The rulers, their families, and various relatives lived in both cities (later in Paris and in Switzerland). Every day, orders, secret reports, gifts, and personal staff arrived from Istanbul in Alexandria to be transported to Cairo and vice versa. From the 1860s onwards, this political and leisure traffic was facilitated by the Aziziya steamship company. The landowning-ruling households developed significant economic investments in between both cities, not to mention the large yearly tribute Egypt paid to the sultanic treasury. Ottoman treaties applied to Egypt to a significant extent. In the 1860s, as Nicolas Michel argues, the Ottoman Empire not only remained skeptical of the Suez Canal, but actually intervened in its construction. Ismail Pasha himself is usually remembered for the Suez Canal opening ceremony and associated follies which led to foreign control of Egyptian finances. He was, however, also an Ottoman man, part of the imperial elite and intimately familiar with Istanbul where he lived and where he eventually died. His mother, Hoşyar, who maintained a full Ottoman cultural elite household, invested significantly in the Muslim landscape of Cairo. Last but not least, one should not forget that the Ottoman sultan’s firman was the legal basis of the pashas’ rule.

There was also an invisible Ottoman underworld in Egypt. Sufis orders, especially in Cairo, had spiritual and material significance in Istanbul. Musicians and entertainers travelled between the two rich centers and other cities. Religious endowments (sing. waqf) in Cairo were related to Istanbul in many ways, going back to the sixteenth century. Religious scholars often received a salary from the sultan or from the Sheikh-ül-Islam. Small merchant networks fully functioned between Egypt, the Syrian provinces, and Tunis. Shari‘a court cases from Cairo could sometimes even reach the Istanbul courts. The question of religious endowments in Egypt belonging to individuals in republican Turkey remained a complex problem until the 1950s. Merchants living in Istanbul and in other parts of the empire had significant investments in Cairo and vice versa. Likewise, criminals circulated (and sometimes escaped) between Istanbul and Cairo. Al-Qanun al-Sultani, the “Sultanic Law,” was the basis of the penal system in Egypt, though the governor wanted the right of death penalty for himself in the 1850s. Political dissidents also commuted between the two cities (scholars are yet to properly explore the use of fin-de-siècle Cairo as an Ottoman hub of anti-Abdülhamidian propaganda). The khedives and the sultans used various figures in the capitals to keep each other at bay.

The often-romanticized bourgeois society of Alexandria was in large part a semi-Ottoman society, which had its less spectacular but perhaps even more powerful sister-groups in Cairo. The ministries in Cairo received the French, Arabic, and Turkish newspapers printed in Istanbul until the 1880s. Armenian refugees arrived in Egypt in large numbers. Egyptians were legally Ottoman citizens until the First World War.  Even in the 1920s there were (Ottoman) Turkish newspapers printed in Cairo.

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Citadel of Cairo, between 1870 and 1890, by Antonio Beato, Library of Congress.

The British occupation did not reduce the Istanbul-Cairo traffic. Egypt and its capital Cairo remained both a cultural and financial market for Ottomans—from the Ottoman musical theater brought by enterprising Turkish-speaking Armenians, to clothing and other products.  Indeed, the occupation arguably boosted the symbolic Ottoman presence by the arrival of an Ottoman Imperial High Commissioner (the war hero Muhtar Pasha) in Cairo in 1885. Ottoman flags symbolized Egypt’s belonging and resistance in the 1890s. Some argue this was a mere instrumentalization of the Ottoman Empire because Egyptian anti-colonial mass nationalism had already bloomed, clamoring for an independent nation-state.

The urban nature of these dynamics and relations cannot be overemphasized. Rural Egyptians rarely identified with the empire. Outside the cities, “the Turks” meant taxation, conscription in the army, misuse of power, and pashas and beys with legal privileges. Until the nineteenth century, peasants could apply for justice to the distant sultan as his subjects by way of petitions, but the Mehmed Ali family, by assuming legislative powers, blocked this unique means of connection between the poorest and the highest.

The provincial system of the late Ottoman Empire was torn between centralization, local concerns, and integration into global infrastructures, as Johann Büssow, Christoph Herzog, On Barak, Toufoul Abou-Hodeib, and Till Grallert have recently shown on the examples of Ottoman Palestine, Iraq, Egypt, Lebanon and Syria, respectively. It was up to local elite activity to shape whether the processes of urbanization and capitalism were to be paired with imperial initiatives as negotiations played out in the European imperial context.

MestyanAdam Mestyan is a historian of the Middle East. He is an assistant professor of history at Duke University and a Foreign Research Fellow (membre scientifique à titre étranger) at the French Institute of Oriental Archeology – Cairo. His first monograph, Arab Patriotism: The Ideology and Culture of Power in Late Ottoman Egypt, presents the essential backstory to the formation of the modern nation-state in the Middle East.

Nile Green: What happened when a Muslim student went to Cambridge in 1816

GreenTwo hundred years ago, there arrived in London the first group of Muslims ever to study in Europe. Dispatched by the Crown Prince of Iran, their mission was to survey the new sciences emerging from the industrial revolution.

As the six young Muslims settled into their London lodgings in the last months of 1815, they were filled with excitement at the new kind of society they saw around them. Crowds of men and women gathered nightly at the ‘spectacle-houses’, as they called the city’s theatres. London was buzzing with the final defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo a few months earlier, and the new sciences – or ulum-i jadid – that the students had been sent to discover seemed to be displayed everywhere, not least in the new steamboats that carried passengers along the Thames.

As the weeks turned into months, the six strangers began to realise the scale of their task. They had no recognisable qualifications, and no contacts among the then-small groves of academe: they didn’t even know the English language. At the time, there was no Persian-to-English dictionary to help them.

Hoping to learn English, and the Latin that they mistakenly took to still be Europe’s main language of science, the would-be students enlisted a clergyman by the name of Reverend John Bisset. An Oxford graduate, Bisset told them about England’s two ancient seats of learning. When two of the students were subsequently taken on by the mathematician and polymath Olinthus Gregory, further links were forged with the universities, since Gregory had spent several years as a successful bookseller in Cambridge. A plan was hatched to introduce at least one of the students, Mirza Salih, to a professor who might be amenable to helping a foreigner study informally at one of the Cambridge colleges.

This was long before Catholics were allowed to study at Britain’s universities, so the arrival in Cambridge of an Iranian Muslim (one who would go on to found the first newspaper in Iran) caused sensation and consternation.

The don who was selected to host Salih was a certain Samuel Lee of Queens’ College. Lee appears to have been an odd candidate for supporter of the young taliban, as the students were called in Persian. A committed Evangelical, Lee was devoted to the cause of converting the world’s Muslims to Christianity. Along with other colleagues at Queens’, including the influential Venn family, he also had close ties to the Church Missionary Society. Founded in 1799, the Society was fast becoming the centre of the Cambridge missionary movement.

Yet it was precisely this agenda that made the young Muslim so attractive to Lee. The point was not so much that Salih’s conversion might bring one more soul to Christian salvation. Rather, it was that as an educated Persian-speaker, Salih might help the professor in his great task of translating the Bible into Persian, a language that was at the time also used across India, as well as what is today Iran. Lee jumped at the opportunity. And so it was that Salih was invited to Cambridge.

As his Persian diary reveals, Salih came to like the professor enormously. For though posterity would commemorate Lee as the distinguished Oxbridge Orientalist who rose to the grand status of Regius Professor of Hebrew, his upbringing was far humbler. Lee had been raised in a small Shropshire village in a family of carpenters and, in his teens, was apprenticed to a woodworker himself. On a research trip from California, I visited Lee’s home village of Longnor. It is still a remote place today, reached by single-lane tracks hidden in the hedgerows. At the local church, I was delighted to find the initials of his carpenter great-grandfather, Richard Lee, carved into the pews he had made for his fellow villagers.

Two hundred years ago, it was almost unknown for a country boy like Sam Lee to become a Cambridge professor, but he had a genius for languages that won him the patronage of a local gentleman. As a similarly ambitious young scholar on the make, Salih warmed to the self-made Lee, and in his Persian diary he recorded his life story with admiration.

Through Lee’s patronage, Salih was able to lodge at Queens’ College, and dine in the hall with dons such as William Mandell and Joseph Jee. At the time, the president of Queens’ was the natural philosopher Isaac Milner, as famous a conversationalist as he was a chemist. Salih certainly enjoyed the dinners at the high table, but his time in Cambridge was not all a Regency feast. He made study tours of the libraries that interested him, especially the Wren Library at Trinity College, which housed the statue of Sir Isaac Newton. In his diary, Salih called him ‘a philosopher who was both the eyes and the lantern of England’.

In return for having the closed world of the university opened to him, Salih helped Lee in his work on the Persian Bible. He even wrote a letter of recommendation when Lee was first nominated for the post of Regius Professor. The letter is still preserved in the university archives.

Between Salih’s diary, Lee’s letters and university documents, a rich picture emerges of the unlikely relationship formed between this foreign Muslim and what was then the most muscularly Christian of the Cambridge colleges.

The university was only one of many places that Salih and his fellow Muslim students visited during their four years in England, questing for the scientific fruits of the Enlightenment. The encounter between ‘Islam and the West’ is often told in terms of hostility and conflict, but Salih’s diary presents a quite different set of attitudes – cooperation, compassion and common humanity – and, in preserving the record of an unexpected relationship with the evangelical Lee, unlikely friendships. Written in England at the same time as the novels of Jane Austen, Salih’s diary is a forgotten testament, and salutary reminder of the humane encounter between Europeans and Muslims at the dawn of the modern era.

Nile Green is professor of history at UCLA. His many books include Sufism: A Global History and The Love of Strangers. He lives in Los Angeles.

This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.

The Arab Imago: A slideshow of portrait photography

The Arab Imago book coverThe dawn of photography coincided with the expansion of European imperialism; as a result, many of the oldest photographs from the Middle East come from the skewed colonial perspective of Europeans. In his forthcoming book, The Arab Imago: A Social History of Portrait Photography 1860-1910Stephen Sheehi offers an alternative history via numerous Arab and Armenian photographers who created their own images of Middle Eastern people. Sheehi seeks to define the past by these insider photographs, not the Orientalist pictures first circulated by foreign photographers. Many of the images come from posed studio portraits, showcasing the intricacy and clarity of the style, as well as the wide range of people who chose to be photographed.

This slideshow represents just a small selection of the early photographs featured in the book. Click on an image to enlarge and read the caption.

 

 

Q&A with Fawaz A. Gerges, author of ISIS: A History

Iisis gerges jacketSIS has become a notorious menace in today’s world, its name synonymous with ideologically motivated savagery. But what exactly explains the group’s spectacular rise and its unsettling recruiting success? In ISIS: A History, (April, 2016), Fawaz A. Gerges argues that ISIS is a manifestation of the breakdown of state institutions and intense foreign intervention. In contemplating its future trajectory, Gerges takes a look at the group’s weaknesses, including what he terms “extreme totalitarianism, even with its allies”, as well as the absence of “a social and economic blueprint”. Today, Gerges answered a few questions about why this written history is so important and what needs to be understood about ISIS.

What makes your book different from other recent books on ISIS?


FG: In the last two years a significant amount of books on ISIS have been published, and more are yet to be released. While most books do a great job at presenting ‘ basic’ facts about the organization and the chronology of its activities, with this book I want to produce an approachable analysis of ISIS’ mission, ideology, struggle and strategy. The book highlights some important features and aspects of ISIS history that have received at best limited coverage in the other available works.

In a way, ISIS: A History is an extension of my two previous books on the global jihadist movement: Why Jihad Went Global [Cambridge University Press, 2005] and The Rise and Fall of Al-Qaeda (Oxford University Press, 2011), in that it contextualizes the organization, its growth and evolution within the global jihadist movement. My aim is for the reader to understand how ISIS emerged out of the complexities of militant jihadist politics and to explain the ideological framework within which the organization operates and how it consolidates and expands its influence near and far. I also provide an important analysis of the relationship(s) between the “Arab Spring” uprisings and the rise of ISIS, which in my opinion, is an aspect that has too often been neglected and side-lined.

What’s the most important thing you want your readers to understand about ISIS?

FG: I would want the reader to understand that the spectacular surge of ISIS should be understood on one level, as the symptom of a severe, organic crisis of Arab governance and on another level, as a manifestation of decades of developmental failure in the Arab world and the social and economic pauperization of Arab societies. Moreover, ISIS is in part a product of intense and persistent foreign intervention in the internal affairs of Arab countries.

Among the important arguments and conclusions presented in this book is the recognition of diversity among radical religious activists: global jihadists are not a monolith and their internal conflicts and power struggles are significant in shaping their actions. Similarly, it is shown that while these groups are embedded in local, regional and global context, in the case of ISIS, the local dimension of the movement is pivotal.

What do you think would most surprise your readers to learn about ISIS?

FG: While the world is captivated by ISIS’ brutality and institution of a modern sex trade, less is known about the group’s capacity to govern, how it is digging in, and embedding itself deeper into the fabric of life in war-torn Iraq and Syria. By increasingly acting like a pseudo-state, ISIS makes the inhabitants dependent on its services, planting the idea in their minds that they are in control. In zones torn out by war, insecurity and abject poverty, ISIS has increasingly co-opted local communities under its control by filling a governance void and providing public services and good salaries. According to local residents in Raqqa, Deir al-Zour, Mosul, Fallujah, and other cities, ISIS has set up rudimentary bureaucracy and administration and functioning institutions; it improved security and law and order, if harsh, and provided jobs in decimated economies. Residents report that ISIS delivers important services, such as bakeries, policing, a swift sharia-based justice system, identity cards and birth certificates, consumer watch, garbage collection, dare-care centres, clean and well-run hospitals, and procured teachers to work in its schools, even though the quality of these services is neither stellar nor free.

As a result, ISIS is both welcomed and feared by Sunni communities who have lived through decades of repression, tyranny, corruption and violence.

What is the most understood aspect of ISIS?


FG: The most understood aspect of ISIS is its brutality. The group is synonymous with savagery, which the group is itself openly advocating. From the videoed beheadings of hostages and dissidents to the ethnic cleansing of minorities, ISIS makes a point of disclosing its goal to cleanse Sunni society of other cultural influences. In Iraq, it clearly aims at dismantling the diverse social fabric made up of Sunnis, Shia, Kurds, Yazidis, and Christians. A case point illustrating ISIS’ ethnic cleansing is its extraordinary punishment against the Yazidis, in the summer 2014, after its capture of Mosul.

How does your explanation of the rise of ISIS differ from that of others?


FG: As I mentioned earlier, while jihadist groups are embedded in local, regional and global contexts, in the case of ISIS, its local dimensions are significant. Although ISIS is an extension of the global jihadist movement in its ideology and worldview, its social origins are rooted in a specific Iraqi context, and, to a lesser extent, the Syrian war that has raged since 2011. Its strategic use of sectarian clashes between Sunni Muslims and Shia Muslims within the Iraqi and Syrian contexts has greatly benefited the organisation and shaped its activities. In addition, like the Taliban, if ISIS retains control over territory and peoples and delivers public services, it would likely consolidate its hegemony and gain the inured consent of the governed. This makes ISS radically different from and more dangerous than Al Qaeda Central, which never controlled territory and people or had immediate designs to create a state of its own. In contrast, ISIS is building a rump state in both countries and offers a subversive vision that dates back to seventh century Arabia. By doing so, it threatens the foundation of the Middle Eastern state system in a fundamental way than no other non-state actor has done before.

What are the most important differences between ISIS and Al-Qaeda?

FG: What sets ISIS apart from other non-state actors, including Al Qaeda Central, is possession of material capability, will power, and ideological capital, which it combined to deadly effects. ISIS controls a wide swathe of territory in Iraq and Syria that contains a population estimated at over 5 million people. In addition it controls a sectarian army numbering more than 30,000 fighters. In contrast during the height of its power in the late 1990s, Al Qaeda Central possessed fewer than 3,000 fighters with no territories of its own. Moreover, while Al Qaeda’ s Osama bin Laden was under the protection of Mullah Omar, the late Taliban leader in Afghanistan, by anointing himself supreme ruler of Muslims worldwide, ISIS chief Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi directly challenged Omar’s claim to the same title. ISIS’ blatant challenge of the Al Qaeda leadership and its imperial ambitions show an organisation determined to impose its will as a new major player in the region and a de facto State as well.

There is also an important ideological distinction between the two organisations. Al Qaeda emerged from an alliance between ultraconservative Saudi Salafism, or Wahhabism, and radical Egyptian Islamism, known as Salafi-jihadism. In contrast, ISIS was born of a marriage between an Iraq-based AQI (Salafi-jihadism) and an identity frame of politics. The ISIS ideological lineage of Salafi-jihadism, a union between Saudi Wahhabism and revolutionary Egyptian Islamism, forms part of the ideological impetus, the other part of its ideological nature is a hyper Sunni identity driven by intrinsic and even genocidal anti-Shia ideology.

Is ISIS more or less dangerous to the West than Al-Qaeda? Why?


FG: From a Western perspective, ISIS’ swift conquests in the Arab heartland, which is strategically and economically significant, constitutes a serious security dilemma facing pro-Western Arab regimes. Western governments also fear the potential spill-over effects of the expansion of ISIS’ power on their own national security in the long term. More than 20,000 foreign fighters from more than 90 countries have travelled to Syria and at least 3,400 of them come from Western countries. The fact that the number of foreign fighters continues to increase is particularly alarming and reflects a phenomenon that deserves critical scrutiny. European and American leaders are also anxious that the foreign fighters radicalized and militarized in Iraq and Syria could return home and carry out terrorist attacks. The Charlie Hebdo attack in France on 7 January 2015 did little to qualm such fears.

Do you think ISIS is a longterm threat?


FG: Yes I do. ISIS’ umbilical cord is tied to the raging sectarian fires in Iraq and Syria and the clash of identities that is ravaging Arab countries. If those problems are not dealt with, even if ISIS is defeated, there is always the risk of another like-minded militant group, such as Jabhat al-Nusra, the official arm of Al Qaeda Central, filling a power vacuum in the region. If as I argue ISIS is a manifestation of the breakdown of state institutions, then the fragile authoritarian state system must be rebuilt on a more solid, legitimate foundation. What we need is for governments in the region to be transparent, inclusive and representative of their population. They need to deliver public goods, including jobs, and give millions of young men and women a stake in the future of their countries. A more complex challenge is also to confront ISIS’ ideology and worldview. Following the repression or, in the case of Iraq and Syria, the abortion of the Arab Spring uprisings, a lot of people feel that peaceful demonstrations had failed to provide them with the justice, freedom and dignity they had called for. As a result we now need to (re)-convince them that there are nonviolent options that can bring about meaningful and substantive political change. Until we do, the menace of the “Islamic State” will remain a problem both for the Arab-Islamic world and for the international community.

Has ISIS gone global?


FG: Although ISIS attracts recruits from various countries, as of now, it remains more interested in the ‘near enemy’ than ‘the far enemy’. Clearly, ISIS has placed the struggle against the Americans, Europe and even Israel as a distant secondary goal that must be deferred until liberation at home is achieved. One needs to recall that at the height of the Israeli assault on Gaza during the summer of 2014, after being criticised by militants for failing to intervene, ISIS insisted that its main struggle was the one it wages against the Shias. ISIS is more interested in building a Sunni “Islamic state” in the heart of Arabia and consolidating its grip on the Iraqi and Syrian territories in which it occupies than marching on Rome or Washington. In his second address to the world, Baghdadi explained that ISIS’ grand ambition is to expand in Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Libya, Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco. The group has also managed to obtain pledges of allegiance from factions who had been part of Al Qaeda in Egypt, Libya, Somalia, and Nigeria. ISIS has even made inroads in Yemen, home to Al Qaeda’s strongest affiliate (AQAP), in the Hamas-ruled Gaza Strip and is also beginning to challenge the Taliban in Afghanistan and several prominent figures among the Al Qaeda-linked Pakistani Taliban factions have pledged allegiance to Baghdadi.

What do you think is most likely to happen with ISIS in the near 
future? In the long term?


FG: The menace of the “Islamic State” needs to be taken seriously. As “Islamic State” militants swept across Syria and Iraq, they destroyed, damaged and looted numerous cultural sites and sculptures, condemning them as idolatry. For an authentic Islamic state to be erected, the Sunni militants of ISIS feel that the Islamic lands must be cleansed of apostasy and heretics regardless of the human or civilizational costs. In fact, ISIS’ planners are keen on displaying ideological zeal and purity to outbid rival Islamists and show that they are the sole defender of the faith and the (Sunni) umma.

For example, in an attempt to cleanse Sunni society of other cultural influences, ISIS has sought to dismantle the diverse social fabric made up of Sunnis, Shia, Kurds, Yazidis, Druze, and Christians that have developed and persevered from the ancient civilization of Mesopotamia, today’s Iraq.

A case point illustrating ISIS’ ethnic cleansing is its extraordinary punishment against the Yazidis, a tiny religious minority who represent less than 1.5 percent of Iraq’s estimated population of 34 million and whom ISIS considers heretics. After the capture of Mosul and its outlaying towns in summer 2014, including Sinjar, near the Syrian border, home to tens of thousands of Yazidis, ISIS engaged in systemic cultural cleansing, forcing hundreds of thousands of minorities from their homes, and using sexual violence as a weapon by indiscriminately raping Yazidi girls and women. ISIS viciously attacked the Yazidis, killing men and boys of fighting age and abducting a total of 5,270 Yazidi girls and women (at least 3,144 are still being held at the time of writing), which were subsequently forced into sexual slavery, according to human rights organisations, United Nations figures and community leaders. To handle the modern sex trade, ISIS has developed a detailed bureaucracy of sex slavery, including sales contracts notarized by its Islamic courts. And systemic rape has become an established and an increasingly powerful recruiting tool for ISIS to lure men from deeply conservative Muslim societies, where casual sex is taboo and dating is forbidden.

One of the weaknesses of ISIS is its extreme totalitarianism, even with its allies, as well as lack of a social and economic blueprint. The schism between ISIS and Jabhat al-Nusra, the official arm of Al Qaeda Central, in Syria shows that its strategy to impose itself as the absolute jihadist movement does not always work out in its favour. Instead, it can lead to internal splits and turn former allies into enemies. ISIS has mastered the art of making enemies of the entire world, including potential allies, and top militant clerics and theorists. Although for now ISIS is ascendant, its long term prospects are grim. Once ISIS’ military fortunes decline it would face a reckoning. Under ISIS, there is no breathing space for social mobilization and political organization, including like-minded Salafi-jihadi activism. ISIS possesses a totalitarian, millenarian worldview that eschews political pluralism, competition and diversity of thought. Baghdadi and his associates criminalize and excommunicate free thought and the idea of the “other” is alien to their messianic ideology. Any Muslim or co- jihadist who doesn’t accept ISIS’ interpretation of the Islamic doctrine are apostates who deserve death.

Fawaz A. Gerges is author of ISIS: A History. He is professor of international relations and Emirates Professor in Contemporary Middle East Studies at the London School of Economics and Political Science. His many books include The New Middle East, Obama and the Middle East, and The Far Enemy. His writing has appeared in the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Guardian, Foreign Affairs, and other publications.

Simon Reich: Does it matter who wins the election when it comes to the Middle East?

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Elections, the perennial wisdom tells us, are generally not decided by foreign policy issues.

But who’s to say that 2016 will not buck the trend, as it has in so many other ways?

We are potentially only one Paris-style terrorist attack or a brazenly aggressive act by Russian President Putin from changing the mood and focus of the American electorate.

Indeed, Republican voters already consider terrorism their primary concern. And the never-ending, slow drip release of Hillary Clinton’s Benghazi emails is certain to return the spotlight to foreign policy.

So let’s take a look at how the candidates stack up in the most contentious region in the world: the Middle East.

Whom to compare – and why

Let’s look at the three major Republicans left in the race.

Donald Trump has actually said very little about foreign policy, especially about the Middle East.

In fact there are essentially few discernible differences between Trump’s position on the region and those of his main rivals, Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio.

While Trump says little, Cruz’s position is one-dimensional. He would rely on brute force. Cruz has said he wants to “carpet bomb” the Islamic militants and find out whether “sand can glow in the dark.” But there isn’t much beyond that. Still, it is more than Trump has offered which is to “behead” the Islamic State, or ISIS, and steal their oil.

Rubio’s position is the most fleshed-out, probably because he has the most foreign policy expertise and has spent time working on the Senate’s Foreign Relations Committee. Not surprisingly, therefore, he also offers the most comprehensive plan for dealing with ISIS, the central focus of his plans for the Middle East if elected.

Hillary Clinton, of course, has by far the most foreign policy experience of any candidate left in this year’s field – and arguably among the most of any in history.

First Lady, Secretary of State, the Clinton Foundation: she has a unique resume.

Two different world views

So how do Clinton and the Republicans compare when it comes to American policy the Middle East?

President Obama has often, I believe unfairly, been accused of having no grand strategy at all, let alone one for the region.

The consensus among American policymakers is that there are are four enduring interests for the U.S. in the Middle East: oil, regime change, terrorism and the protection of its allies (always Israel and, more variably, Saudi Arabia).

Then there are also always a series of proximate issues that dominate the press – like Iran’s nuclear program or ISIS’ conquests.

The differences between these candidates are which they prioritize, and how they approach them.

Clinton’s liberal internationalism

Clinton’s approach to strategy in most of these areas relies on what policymakers and academics generally label a liberal internationalist approach, one that employs what they call “smart power.”

This approach relies on a combination of tools – diplomatic, economic, military, political, technological and cultural – in the pursuit of foreign policy.

Secretary of State Clinton speaks on Middle East policy in 2010 Jose Luis Magaua/Reuters

Secretary of State Clinton speaks on Middle East policy in 2010
Jose Luis Magaua/Reuters

Clinton has explicitly written and talked about smart power. She used this approach in Libya in 2011 when the goal was regime change
and would employ the same cocktail: for example, to defeat terrorist groups like ISIS. But while she favors a no-fly zone to protect civilians in Syria, she eschews the idea of American forces entering a Middle Eastern ground war at this point.

So, right or wrong, she appears to have learned some lessons from the Iraq debacle and the shorter Libyan intervention.

All presidential candidates talk about the essential role the U.S. plays as a “leader.” But, when they use that word, they don’t always mean the same thing.

Generally, Clinton favors the kind of influential multilateral approach to leadership adopted by the Obama administration in the negotiations with Iran over its nuclear program. There it saw itself as a “first among equals”: that is, a member of a group who is officially on the same level as the other members but who has more responsibility or power.

In practice, that means that the U.S. sets the agenda and largely defines the approach to problem, even as it seeks and acts on the basis of consensus.

It also means that its policymakers anticipate the need to compromise. John Kerry epitomized that approach in the exhaustive negotiations with the Iranians.

The Republican primacist view of the world

The Republicans all rely on a very different set of principles in defining their general strategy.

It is one that policy wonks and academics label “primacist.” A primacist approach relies much more on military power than Clinton’s more balanced elixir when it comes to foreign policy.

Cruz, for example, simply wants to destroy what he calls “radical Islam” from the air through carpet-bombing.

Rubio’s view is more developed. His view of leadership entails a rhetorical reference to multilateral coalitions. But still, like Cruz or Trump, he has a far greater willingness to act unilaterally without regard to the concerns of organizations such as the United Nations.

Senator Rubio at the Senate Foreign Relations Committee (with Senator John McCain in the background). Larry Downing/Reuters

Senator Rubio at the Senate Foreign Relations Committee (with Senator John McCain in the background).
Larry Downing/Reuters

So it isn’t surprising that Rubio’s stump speech includes lots of references to rebuilding and modernizing the military in the face of what he characterizes as “devastating” recent defense cuts. Indeed, Trump has said it would be his first order of business if elected president.

Of course, America’s military power is unprecedented. And the danger of a primacist approach is that policy makers see the use of force as a first option rather than a last one in resolving every problem. Indeed, it recalls the adage that “when you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”

Obama tried to construct a national security strategy that conserves American power. Clinton advocates much the same. But the Republicans’ philosophy is based on the belief that the aggressive use of American power will only make it more powerful.

So it isn’t surprising that Rubio’s plan to defeat ISIS includes a ground war. Or that all the Republicans are staunch advocates of intervention against countries like Iran and say they would tear up the agreement with the Iranians (and indeed roll back any agreement with Cuba if elected.)

Unlike Clinton, Rubio, for example, would aggressively support regime changes in both countries. The Republicans reject what Obama characterizes as “strategic patience” an approach that emphasizes the importance of awaiting changes to slowly unfold in both countries.

Similarities – yes, there are some

Nevertheless, there are some areas where Clinton and the Republicans would likely enforce similar policies.

These are areas where every president, including Obama, have been remarkably consistent. The U.S. Navy, for example, protects freedom of navigation in the Straits of Hormuz off Iran’s coast. Their goal is to ensure that world markets are not roiled by a sudden shortage of Middle Eastern oil caused by sabotage of tankers passing through this narrow waterway.

And they’d all maintain a close alliance relationship with Israel, although – based on their rhetoric – the Republicans would be exceptionally uncritical.

Clinton, for her part, has consistently supported Israel and has links to America’s Jewish community that can be traced back decades. But her support of the Iran deal has cast a doubt in the minds of some of Israel’s supporters as to her fidelity when it matters the most.

So what should we conclude?

At the end of the day, the policy differences between Clinton and the leading Republicans are occasionally stark. At other times, however, they are unclear.

If we are to believe what they say (which is always an issue in any election season), then the chances of America entering a new ground war in the Middle East will significantly increase under a Republican president. Their style would be more forceful as they rely more on American military power as an instrument of change.

Clinton’s style and tone would differ. Looking at the success of the Iran agreement, she might be tempted to rely more on multilateral diplomacy as a first option and force as a last – even if it means negotiating with people she doesn’t like.

Then again, despite her impressive resume, Clinton might feel that she has to demonstrate some resolve, as America’s first female president, to address any lingering doubts. And in the Middle East there is no way of knowing where that will lead.

One thing is certain: whoever becomes president, there is no way that America will relinquish its continued obsession with the region.The Conversation

Simon Reichgood-bye hegemony reich jacket, Professor in The Division of Global Affairs and The Department of Political Science, Rutgers University NewarkHis most recent book is Good-Bye Hegemony! Power and Influence in the Global System.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.