In late February of 1986, a week or two before the massive joint celebration of the 25th anniversary of Hassan II's accession to the Moroccan throne and the 10th of his launching of the Green March into the Sahara (the March actually took place in November of 1975, but it was ritually assimilated to Coronation Day for this milestone occasion), the municipal council of a small city in the east-central part of the country issued a decree. Henceforth, the color of all buildings in the city was to be beige: crème, in the French redaction, qehwi, in the Arabic. Paint could be obtained at designated outlets.

Sunni radicalism surfaced before the Iranian Revolution of 1978. It arose out of conditions specific to Arab countries and the manner in which those faithful to the Suuna reacted to these conditions. In the quater century between the appeareance of the ideas of Sayyis Qutb, the father of Sunni radicalism, and the end of the 1970s, not only were the Sunni radical movements devoid of Iranian-Shi⊂i influence, but almost no reference was made in these movements to the fact that Iranian Islam was simultaneously undergoing a process of radicalization. A mixture of ignorance and apathy predominanted. The most one can find are several references to the organizational lessons of the Fidaciyan al-Islam, an Iranian phenomenon of the early 1950s; it seems that whatever inspiration the radical Sunni movements in Arab lands sought from the outside came from Sunni circles in India andPakistan.

A remarkable man in his own lifetime, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani became a legend after his death.1 For many people, Afghani evokes an image that combines the medieval ideal of the cosmopolitan Islamic scholar with the romantic aura of the 19th-century revolutionary. Since the late 1960s, Afghani has been the object of particular attention and controversy in both the West and the Islamic world. Iranian and Western scholars have radically reinterpreted his background and beliefs.2 This reevaluation of Afghani on the basis of new information about him has, however, not been generally accepted in the Islamic world. If anything, recent attention to Afghani's unorthodoxy and possible irreligion has only served to harden his defenders by giving credence to his own statements. Afghani plays an important role in the historical image of Muslim unity and sophistication presented by many Islamic groups and governments in this age of revived panIslamism. His plea for Islamic renewal through solidarity never lost its relevance as a powerful symbol linking the past with hopes for the future. The image of Afghani as the indefatigable fighter against Western imperialism who helped make the Muslim world aware of its distinct identity remains equally as suggestive.

While to the casual observer Iraq appears to have been ruled by the same political elite since 1968, closer examination reveals that its leadership underwent important changes between 1968 and the mid-1980s. This article intends to show that even though the changes were very gradual, sometimes almost imperceptible, the accumulated effect over 18 years was considerable.

Kuwait is one of the gulf countries that has imported large numbers of temporary migrant workers over the last decade or so. The import of such workers was necessitated by the ambitious development plans that were made possible by the oil bonanza after 1973. Even prior to this influx, however, more than 70 percent of the labor force in Kuwait consisted of foreign workers. As the country has gone through economic and other changes, its goals concerning the magnitude and structure of the migrant worker population have undergone substantial revisions. These changes are reflected in such indicators as number of migrant workers; occupational and industrial distribution of the labor force; demographic, ethnic, and educational characteristics of this labor force; and related wage levels. An examination of the above changes is the objective of the present study.

Diplomatic historians of all persuasions agree that the Iranian Crisis of 1945–1946 played a considerable part in initiating the Cold War. For revisionist writers, the confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union that took place during these months resulted from American efforts to carve out a sphere of influence in the oil-producing areas of the Middle East. By the autumn of 1945, according to this view, U.S. firms had gained controlling interests in the consortia holding exclusive rights to work the extensive petroleum deposits located in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain; more importantly, Iranian officials were making repeated overtures to American concerns in an effort to counterbalance established British interests with more dynamic ones based in the United States. When the Red Army prevented the government in Tehran from suppressing separatist movements in Azerbaijan and Kurdistan in December 1945, the Truman Administration manipulated the Security Council of the United Nations into mandating a Soviet withdrawal from northern Iran.

In the massive contemporary literature that has come to be known as “Islamic economics,”1 the claim is repeatedly made that an Islamic economic system would achieve a greater degree of economic justice than existing capitalist and socialist systems. An Islamic system, it is said, would be free, on the one hand, of the exploitation and severe inequalities that characterize capitalism, and on the other, of the class struggles and intolerable restrictions that are the hallmarks of socialism.2

In January 1950, in the first free election held in nearly eight years, Egyptians went to the polls to return a Wafdist government to power. After having been banished from office for five years, Egypt's majority party assumed office aware that it shouldered a heavy burden of responsibility. Between October 1944, when the King dismissed the war-time government of Mustafa al-Nahhas, and January 1950, eight minority governments governed, or tried to govern, Egypt. Escalating political violence marked a period of increasing disillusion with parliamentary rule that encompassed all sectors of Egyptian society. Indeed, it might be argued that Egypt's ancien régime survived until 1950 only because the minority governments marshaled the coercive powers of the state to control the streets, campuses, and factories, where dissidence was most manifest. At the time, many sensed that if the political establishment failed to achieve the evacuation of British troops from Egyptian soil, contain rampant inflation, and narrow the gap between rich and poor, martial law could not save the liberal order from collapse. What would follow was uncertain, but talk of revolution, fearful or hopeful, filled the air.

During the last three decades, there has been an increasing drive in developing countries towards integration, characterized by an equally apparent tendency towards the institutionalization of this attitude. This is a direct result of the realization that their future development as well as their ability to break the vicious circle of their dependence on the developed world depend on the extent of their success in attaining collective self-reliance. It was this realization and the futility of past integration efforts that motivated the six Arab Gulf countries of Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates (UAE) to establish in 1981 the Gulf Co-Operation Council (GCC) in an attempt to find a common basis on which economic development could be carried out on a regional basis.

The income inequality gap in prerevolutionary Iran was no doubt a contributing factor to the mass mobilization of Iranians in the 1979 Revolution. The Resolution of the Ashura March (December 11, 1978) demanded the establishment of “social justice, the right of workers and peasants to the full benefit from the product of their labor” and an end to “any form of discrimination, exploitation, profiteering and economic domination which may result in the accumulation of great wealth, on the one hand, and deprivation and poverty on the other.”

The history of Oman is largely a story of competition, and often conflict, between two very different entities. This duality was even symbolized by the name of the country, “Sultanate of Muscat and Oman,” until 1970. The sultanate was formed from the fusion of the Batina coastal plain and its port cities, symbolically Muscat, and the interior of the country, Oman. During most periods in the recent history of the country, only the coast has been ruled by the sultan. Even before the institution of the sultanate emerged in the 18th century, however, the coast had usually been under separate, often foreign, rule. In the interior, the ideal head of government from very early times was that of an imam, even though the office often remained vacant. At many times during Omani history, of course, one part of the country or the other imposed its control and Oman was temporarily united, but the differences between the two sections of Omani society eventually split the country into two separate states again. Even within the last decade, one of the major problems in Oman's efforts to develop has been “the traditional antithesis between the sultan residing on the coast and the inwardly oriented tribes.”

During the last decade of the Pahlavi rule in Iran, rising oil income financed a very extensive development program in which both the state and the private sector accumulated huge amounts of wealth in real and financial capital. Having no direct access to the oil riches, the private sector accumulated much of its new wealth by direct and indirect subsidies from the government. Through various mechanisms, the state channeled resources to the private sector in an attempt to foster capitalist development of the country. While the strategy was successful insofar as it resulted in massive investment by the private sector, it was not without its ill side effects. This article is a study of the consequences, both intended and unintended, of one specific conduit for resource transfer—credit subsidy.

In the decade before the military coup of July 23, 1952, an increasingly militant workers' movement was an important component of the social and political upheaval that undermined the monarchy and ended the era of British colonialism in Egypt. The ebbs and flows of the labor movement coincided with successive upsurges of the nationalist movement. Working class participation in the nationalist struggle infused the movement for full independence and evacuation of British military forces with a radical social consciousness, and since workers’ strikes and demonstrations were often directed against foreign enterprises, the labor movement was commonly considered to be a component of the nationalist movement. The working class was a social battering ram destabilizing the old regime, and many nationalists encouraged and legitimized labor militancy.

Questions of land tenure and land ownership are central to the socioeconomic history of the Ottoman Middle East. Most people lived in the countryside, where they grew foodstuffs that fed themselves as well as the town populations. Moreover, the rural economy was the main source of economic surplus appropriated by the urban ruling classes.

In 1887 or 1888, a small group of Syrian Isma'ilis journeyed to Bombay to visit Sultan Muhammad Shah, the third Aga Khan, and on their return to Syria recognized him as their Imam. Unexpectedly in consequence, little more than a decade later, the religious leader of that section of the Isma'ili sect in Syria and a number of his followers found themselves arrested and imprisoned, accused of treason and other crimes. Their trials before criminal courts in Damascus lasted, intermittently, from 1901 until 1906, and before those trials were concluded, more men of their faith had been similarly accused, imprisoned, and put on trail. The persecution of the Isma'ilis only ended, and even then not completely, with the Ottoman constitutional revolution of 1908.

In his long poem entitled “Quddās bi-lā qasd” (Unintended Worship Ritual), the well-known Syrian–Lebanese poet Adonis (Dr. 'Ali Ahmad Sa'īd) celebrates a love relationship with a young woman he came to know while he was a professor at the Syrian University in Damascus. He mentions two dates and two cities at the end of the poem, suggesting perhaps that he began writing the poem in Damascus in January of 1976 and that he finished it in Beirut in August of 1978. He had moved to Damascus from Beirut during the early years of the Lebanese Civil War and accepted a teaching position at the Syrian University, but he later returned to Beirut, where his home had been since he had left his native Syria to become a Lebanese citizen in 1956. The same young woman also inspired him to write a much shorter undated poem entitled “Awwal al-ijtiya” (The Beginning of Sweeping Annihilation) in which his passionate love is expressed in terms of a deep desire to be natural, to give vent to the powers within the self, and to remove what he considers to be the constraints of hypocritical, repressive sociocultural conventions in Arab society.

Syria was one of the few areas of medieval Islam where cities emancipated themselves from centralized rule to a certain degree by shaping local self-representative institutions and by transforming “classical” government offices according to their special needs. For nearly two hundred years—from about the second half of the 10th century to the middle of the 12th century—Syrian cities possessed urban heads (ru'asā') and militias of young men (ahdāth) that, in a way, complemented or even replaced the rulers and garrisons representing the Fatimid and Saljuq central governments; in time, they became institutionalized collaborators within the Saljuq regimes. This development is most evident in Damascus and Aleppo, although things evolved differently in the two cities. By gaining the rulers' recognition, the urban forces (ru'asa' and ahdath) not only managed to take over the functions of the police (shurta) and partake in the rulers' military and political tasks, but they also controlled—to a certain degree—the economic, administrative, and financial affairs of the city (these, it will be argued, can be substantiated only with regard to Damascus, not to Aleppo). It is significant, for example, that the Arabic sources reporting on Damascus do not mention the muhiasib, the “classical” official for the urban administration and economy, when there was a ra'īs. Even more striking is the fact that sometimes the ra'īs also functioned as the vizier installed by the ruler. Thus, one can see that the ra'īs, the holder of a local urban office, became a very important member of the central ruling system, normally represented by a foreign-born elite that also supplied the vizier.

The historiography of the Sanusiyya, if one can apply such a term to the literary crop of roughly a century dealing with this North African tarīqa (pl. turuq, Sufi brotherhood), falls into three distinct categories. The earliest writings appeared in the 1880s, thirty years after the tariqa had taken root in Cyrenaica (then the Ottoman province of Benghazi). The works of French authors such as Charmes, Rinn, Duveyrier, Le Chatelier, and co-authors Depont and Coppolani were all marked by the concerns of the French colonial and protectorate authorities in Algeria and Tunisia. According to Duveyrier, a Saharan explorer of repute and the crudest exponent of this group's views, not only were the Sanusis a band of fanatics given to murdering innocent missionaries and explorers, but they were also in the vanguard of the turuq inspired by the Pan-Islamic rhetoric of the Ottoman sultan and aligned against French colonialism in Muslim North Africa. Only this combination of factors could account for the pervasive and determined resistance to French policies in the region. Along with the Sanusiyya, Duveyrier singled out for attack a North African sheikh and confidant of the Ottoman sultan, Muhammad Zafir al-Madani. Charmes, Rinn, Le Chatelier, and Depont and Coppolani, while less vitriolic in their tone, certainly had the same general approach. The analysis of this “Algerian school” was dismissed at the turn of the century by two eminent Orientalists, Christiaan Snouck Hugronje and Carl Heinrich Becker.3 A generation later, European fears of the turuq diminished in the wake of World War I, as new ideologies and forces came to dominate a transformed Pan-Islamism. This notwithstanding, some of the suppositions of the early French authors were adopted by later scholars and have since been quoted and requoted.

Trade is often discussed in an Islamic context with reference made to Muslim merchants. However, the significance of Islam in specific commercial circumstances is difficult to assess. Some historians label trade as “Muslim” because it was conducted by Muslims; others do so because the trade originated and/or concluded with the boundaries of an Islamic state. The label Muslim may also suggest networking, a process more familiar in relation to Armenians or Jews. We can ask if the operative principles of Muslim networks were at all the same as those for the minority groups.