DYNASTIC MODERNISM AND ITS CONTRADICTIONS: TESTING THE LIMITS OF PLURALISM, TRIBALISM, AND KING HUSSEIN'S EXAMPLE IN HASHEMITE JORDAN.

INTRODUCTION

THIS ARTICLE WAS NOT MEANT to be read (nor was it originally written) as a postmortem, but circumstances have forced it into that mold. The practice of "monarchic pluralism" I describe below has been inherited, along with the throne, by Abdullah II. For now, it is the bedrock of Hashemite political culture. How long it can endure without King Hussein's steadying presence, no one can say.

THE ODD MULTIPLICITY OF THE MODERN DYNAST: KING HUSSEIN'S IMAGE(S) IN CONFLICT AND CONTROL

In the modem nation-state, where popular sovereignty, democracy, and human equality are dominant ideals, it is widely assumed that kings and queens can survive only if their public identity is rooted in flagrant, politically nullifying contradictions. To remain viable as national leaders (or even as national symbols), the monarchs of Scandinavia, Spain, the Benelux countries, and Britain reign by virtue of public anachronism, insisting that they are adaptive and relevant and politically indispensable, all the while acknowledging that their vestigial authority depends on antiquated models of royal blood and divine right that, in today's Europe, are virtually devoid of geopolitical significance.

In the Middle East, where kings are still rulers as well as symbols, the situation is reversed. In Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Morocco, or Oman, the nation-state evolves in a political environment shaped by the dynast, his family, and their effective concentration of power. [1] Antique models of royal blood and genealogical authenticity have tremendous geopolitical significance in the Arab Gulf states, where the U.S. spends billions of dollars a year propping up and occasionally reinstalling governments controlled by royal lineages. Although they are fiscally embedded in the growth sectors of the global economy and possess state-of-the-art technological, military, and educational infrastructures, there is something not quite modem about the Arab dynastic regimes and their rulers. In the international press they are repeatedly described as "feudal," "archaic," and "traditional." This impression. I would argue, is what made Hussein of Jordan the anomalous figure he was in the West. A proud dynast and descendant of th e Prophet Muhammad, he managed to appear politically modem to Western diplomats and journalists, and this image was in no way tarnished by the fact that Jordan, by almost any socioeconomic measure, is less developed than the realms of the "kings and princes" (al-umara' wa al-muluk) of the Gulf. In fact, Hussein seemed more attuned to metropolitan political culture than most of the Arab world's presidents and prime ministers, who espouse textbook blends of nationalism, socialism, and other resolutely modem ideologies. [2]

Like the monarchs of Europe, Hussein juxtaposed images of tradition and modernity in artful ways. Yet because he ruled Jordan and did not merely preside over it, Hussein's ability to fashion multiple Hashemite identities, or "royal personae," was a crucial feature of his elaborate apparatus of power. To his subjects, he was a man of many guises: liberal democratizer, monarch, descendant of the Prophet, secularist, shaykh of all tribal shaykhs, and a refuge for the Palestinian people. Hussein's manifestations were crafted in relation to constituencies (and political trends) he sought to influence or control. Many of these forces transcend the borders of the Hashemite Kingdom (for instance, the Islamic trend, liberal refonn movements, the Palestinians as a national community, and the "peace process" in Israel and other U.S.-backed policies in the Middle East). Others are rooted in the tense relationship between Jordan's majority Palestinian population, its indigenous tribes, and other ethnic, regional, and rel igious interests. Hussein's s constituencies, and his personal identifications with them, were often in conflict. He engaged actively in these contests, sometimes as referee, sometimes as ally or opponent. In doing so, Hussein created public models of how these groups should represent and comport themselves in relation to each other.

Hussein's subjects used his "royal example" to construct a range of (conflicting) political cultures and decide who could legitimately speak for and lead them. In this essay, I give closest attention to the constituency called, in the Jordanian press, the "traditionalists": tribal and clan leaders. Hussein's image as dynast, patriarch, and descendant of the Prophet was used to cultivate traditionalist political culture, confine it to certain quarters, and fix its leadership. Yet this strategy was never entirely successful. Tribespeople fashion their own, variably heterodox models of political ideas and identities endorsed by the king. I will explore recent attempts to "mix" tribalism with other political trends: namely, (etlmo)nationalism and pluralist coalition politics. These blends pose a challenge to the Hashemites, who have managed to construct a modernist image that plays well in the metropole, all the while accentuating patriarchal themes at home, thereby insuring that political modernity -- especiall y in the antimonarchic form of "popular sovereignty" -- is kept safely in check. Political trends now popular among Jordan's tribes, the crown's most conservative and loyal subjects, show rather clearly how the Hashemites are handling the contradictions built into their peculiar version of modern dynasticism.

THE CHARACTER OF THE KING: A DIVERSITY OF AUDIENCES AND IMAGES

Foreign and domestic assessments of Hussein are often dramatically at odds. At the time of his death in 1999, Europeans and Americans who followed Middle East politics typically perceived Hussein as a modernist, a democratizer, a "voice of reason" in the Arab-Israeli conflict, and a leader whose society was fairly open. His widow, Queen Noor, is an American, Princess Muna (mother of King Abdullah II) is British, and all Hussein's family speak fluent English. The king was educated in elite British boarding schools, and he had obviously internalized - or, more precisely, could affect -- the political dialects indigenous to London, New York, and Washington. Judith Miller, in a long essay published in the New York Times after Hussein's death, summed up the conventional wisdom of the U.S. political and intellectual establishment.

... by charting a mostly centrist, pragmatic course and avoiding the radical passions and fashionable political trends that destabilized or toppled several other hereditary leaders in the Middle East, Hussein created a relatively peaceful, conservative, modern country whose citizens enjoy decent government and more political freedom than those of most other Arab nations (7 February 1999).

When I talk to Jordanians about Hussein, I hear evaluations of a different sort. Although most Jordanians believe they have more political freedom than, say, Iraqis or Syrians or Saudis, few have ever described their political system to me in a way that suggests "freedom" is common or essential to it. [3] Hussein's Jordan, "relatively peaceful," was radically transformed by four decades of hostilities with Israel. The West Bank was lost in the 1967 war, and hundreds of thousands of displaced Palestinians poured into the kingdom. The 1970 civil war, during which Hussein's army crushed Palestinian resistance groups based in Jordan, left deep rifts between the country's indigenous East Bank population and its Palestinian majority. The degree to which Jordan can be described as a "modem" country is constantly debated in the national press, where one routinely hears pundits and government officials praising or denouncing Jordan's tribal heritage. [4] And Miller's claim that "decent government" prevails in Jordan would strike many ordinary citizens -- who complain endlessly of the corruption and inefficiency of Hashemite officialdom ---as either wishful thinking or blatant propaganda.

Even at the level of character assessment, local images of Hussein are rarely in accord with those of the foreign press. That Hussein's s wife was American, that he was bilingual and bicultural, that he was well-regarded in the West: these things always did Hussein as much harm as good. They contributed to a kind of external identity that enhanced the king's panache and power, but was morally contaminating in the eyes of many Jordanians. Queen Noor, for instance, has always generated a good deal of ambivalence. I have sat through numerous accounts of her extravagant shopping binges at Harrod's and her intrigues on behalf of her eldest son, Hamza, whom she would like to see on the throne. [5] Many Jordanians assume that Hussein was in bed with America in more than a marital sense. I was repeatedly assured, by sophisticates and illiterates alike, that the king was (or used to be) on the CIA payroll, proof more of his fiscal savvy than his political corruption. Most of Hussein's children are not full-blooded Ar abs, and their rumored inability to speak classical Arabic well, when added to a long list of other presumed cultural deficits, is also cause for popular anxiety. [6]

When I began my fieldwork in 1989, misgivings about Hussein's cosmopolitan lifestyle were commonplace, but very hush-hush. If he had worldly vices, these were seen as the moral (and perhaps inevitable) byproducts of dynastic power; they had little effect on how people talked publicly about Hussein's relationship to Jordan or his official persona as "our king." The same speakers who criticized Noor would insist that Hussein was popular at home and abroad, and, that he was better than other Arab leaders. In 1989, the king was pushing several new democratizing agendas, including parliamentary elections, a rewrite of the National Charter, and appeals for open dialogue and free speech. [7] Jordanians were encouraged by all this, but one year into the venture, only political iconoclasts and tribal elders (who spoke from the safe haven of old age) would dare criticize Hussein in my company. When I returned in 1995, the mood had changed markedly, and during research there in 1997 and 1998, I felt I was in a differen t world. At the time of Hussein's departure for the Mayo Clinic in 1998, Jordan's economy was a shambles, the government's rapprochement with Israel was unpopular, and mandatory blandishments of Hussein, a normal part of political conversation in 1990, had virtually disappeared. Political cynicism flourished in their place. Even among the Bedouin tribes, who are typically portrayed as knee-jerk supporters of the Hashemite regime, people complained to me openly about Hussein's divide and rule policies, his attempts to fix the outcome of national and even municipal elections, and the favors he showered on a circulating elite of corrupt ministers and their families. Several men suggested that I do "economic research" on the means (assumed to be illegal or immoral) by which the Hashemite family had amassed, and now dispersed, its private fortune.

Despite a new willingness to criticize the king in my presence, most Jordanians still could not imagine their country without Hussein, and unwavering support for the Hashemites suffused Jordan's state-controlled media and state-dominated public sphere. Because Hussein had publicly acknowledged having cancer, however--an exceptional revelation for an Arab leader--Jordanians were forced to ponder the consequences of his death. People wanted me to divulge "what the Americans really know about the king's health," and they submitted, for my "expert" assessment, elaborate models of the discord, civil war, and external military intervention that might come to pass in the post-Hussein future.

This pervasive curiosity about Hussein's health shows the extent to which Jordanians merge king and country in the same political symbol. Hussein encouraged this tendency in an interview broadcast from the Mayo Clinic in July of 1998.

Responding to a question concerning Jordan's stability, the King smiled and said: "There is life and there is an end to life, this is the way with everyone. But rest assured, I am not over and done with. I am in good shape and fighting fit, and doing my best on my side. I have the best medical care in the world, and the doctor's assurance is great. We will get over this illness soon," he said (Jordan Times, 29 July 1998).

Hussein's easy equation of Jordan's stability with his own health did not strike most Jordanians as inauthentic or strange. It was political reality for them as well, and the immense outpouring of grief that accompanied Hussein's death was proof of how deeply Jordanians identified with him. To my astonishment, friends I considered staunchly anti-Hashemite--tribal nationalists who claimed that Hussein was not a true Jordanian, Palestinians who yearned for his overthrow, Muslim activists who denounced him as a Zionist collaborator--praised the king and even wept for him in the days following his death. The mood did not last, but for a time it seemed more powerful than Hussein himself. Even in death, the king was supported by his friends in the West, whose media sensationalized his passing and whose leaders, including four U.S. presidents and three Israeli prime ministers, attended his funeral. [8] The atypical person of Hussein--the centrist, modernizing Arab monarch--and the strategic importance of his family (to the U.S. and Israel) were the dominant themes of global mourning. Among Jordanians, however, collective mourning for Hussein, just like collective loyalty to him, produced no new political coalitions. Instead, it solidified existing alignments of power and smoothed their transfer into the hands of Abdullah, Hussein's oldest son and heir.

THE KING AND HIS BODY POLITIC: CONFLICTING CONSTITUENCIES AND THE "SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP" WITH THE TRIBES

Any attempt to explore the plurality of Hussein's political identity, at least as ordinary Jordanians perceive it, must make sense of the fact that the Jordanian body politic consists of numerous conflicting constituencies: Palestinians, tribal Jordanians, Circassians, Chechens, Christians, Islamists, and progressive and conservative factions within each of these groups. A common recognition of Hussein as leader was all that unified this political field. Jordan's political subcultures are not united by a shared sense of Jordanian identity; indeed, each of them represents an identity that existed (or is thought to have existed) before the Emirate of Transjordan was created by the British in 1921. They do not agree on what Jordanian identity consists of, how it should be defined, and to what extent it can be connected to points of attachment outside Jordan. [9] These various political constituencies developed equally conflicting models of the king as a political actor. No one, it seems, knew exactly where Hussein stood in relation to these models. Each constituency had personal avenues of access to the king, yet each assumed the king was equally available to ot hers. As I began to familiarize myself with Jordanian political sensibilities, I was surprised by the intensity with which tribal Jordanians argued that Hussein supported Palestinians at their expense. My surprise was based on the fact that Palestinians argued, with equal conviction, that the king blatantly favored the tribes. For the most part, the plurality of Hussein's political identity was understood negatively, as a policy of "divide and rule" (farriq tasud) which benefited the king and the opponents of one's own group.

In reality, Hussein crafted a delicate relationship to each of his constituencies. He was "protector of the Palestinian people," the great majority of whom he allowed to become Jordanian citizens and who now predominate in the kingdom's business, professional, media, and educational sectors. Hussein's military, public security, and intelligence apparatus were dominated by members of the indigenous tribes. Special seats were set aside in parliament for Christian, Chechen, Circassian, and Bedouin minorities. As a descendant of the Prophet and custodian of Jerusalem's holy places, Hussein could speak the language of Islam fluently--and, in the past, he extended to the Muslim Brotherhood legal protections not available to other political groups--even as he supported the secularizing agendas of Jordan's modernist elite. The king needed all these constituencies, and he did what he could to protect them in their moments of weakness and thwart them in their moments of strength. In the language of traditional Arab po litics, he was said to "loose and bind" (yahall wa yarbat) these factions, and he did so always in the interests of maintaining "national unity" (al-wabda al-wataniya), a euphemism signifying nothing other than loyalty to Hussein.

The almost bodily connection between the king's constituencies and his royal persona, and the subsequent necessity of protecting vulnerable points in the body politic, were clearly revealed whenever Hussein intervened in factional

disputes, an intervention that was usually calculated to support the weaker party. In 1984, when anti-tribal sentiment flared during parliamentary elections and editorials criticizing tribal custom began to appear in the national press, Hussein defended the tribal way of life by identifying with it personally, and he did so in language that was bound to rattle modernist sensibilities.

Most recently, I have noticed that some articles have been directed against the tribal life, its norms and traditions. This is most regrettable because it harms a dear sector of our society. I would like to repeat to you what I have told a meeting of tribal heads recently that "I am al-Hussein from Hashem and Quraish, the noblest Arab tribe of Mecca, which was honored by God and into which was born the Arab Prophet Mohammad." Therefore, whatever harms our tribes is considered harmful to us, and this has been the case all along, and it will continue so forever (The Jordan Times, 28 January 1985).

For the Western observer, it was Hussein's special relationship with the Bedouin tribes that, more than any other quality, fed the image of his politically split personality. Since the reign of Hussein's grandfather, Abdullah, the Hashemites have recognized tribal leadership and respected tribal custom. Until 1976, tribal law was officially administered in much of the country, and it continues to be administered unofficially today. [10] As a political constituency, the tribes are represented, consulted, and monitored by the king's adviser for tribal affairs. In 1998, Hussein appointed his nephew, Amir Ghazi Ben Muhammad, to this position. In an open letter to the amir, the king noted that

... the tribes of Jordan have always been at the centre of our confidence, a source of our pride and a target of our attention since the very beginning. The tribes of Jordan are our kinsmen who have served the Kingdom under the most adverse conditions and circumstances, always performing their duty to the nation. The tribes had supported the Great Arab Revolt since the start and helped the late King Abdullah found the Kingdom, offering great sacrifices to attain this objective (Jordan Times, 4 July 1998).

The language of dynasticism, prophetic descent, and patriarchal family politics Hussein spoke to his tribal subjects was perfectly understood by non-tribal Jordanians as well. For some Western journalists, however, this language sounded like an ancient code, a secret dialect of power that Hussein, the English-speaking metropolitan monarch, did not (or simply could not) speak with them. Geraldine Brooks falls into this exoticizing mindset when she recounts a visit to the tribal hinterland she took with Hussein in 1989. Her audience with the king began:

... under the thudding rotors of a Black Hawk helicopter. The king was already in the pilot's seat. "Hop aboard," he cried, beckoning me into the seat behind him.

The king pushed the control stick forward and we heaved off the ground, hovering low over the palace and Amman's dense honey-comb of flat-roofed houses. Within seconds the city was gone. We skimmed groves of ancient olive trees and ribs of bleached white stone. In Amman, fast-food joints named New York, New York Pizza and giant supermarkets with bagels in the deep freeze gave Jordan a familiar, Western facade. But the modem layer was thin as a crust of sand. Beneath was the ancient, biblical landscape peopled by tribesmen who lived by their goats, their olives and their blood alliances just as they always had....

I stared at the king's crash helmet, which had "Hussein I" stenciled on the back. In the West, it was easy enough to see the king simply as a smooth-talking, Harrow-and Sandhurst-educated diplomat. But out here he was something much more potent: the avatar of his ancestor the Prophet Muhammad, prayer leader, warlord and father of the tribes (1995:121-122).

Soon enough, Brooks touches down in a Bedouin village, where she is overwhelmed by the Otherness of the tribal world and, it seems, by the oddity of seeing Hussein assimilate so effortlessly to this "archaic" milieu.

As we approached [the tents], a gurgling moan rose above the chants. Just in front of the king, a camel stumbled to its knees and then, like an inflatable toy losing its air, slowly collapsed forward, thudding with a tiny splash into a glossy pool of its own blood. Across the curve of the animal's long neck the butcher's ritual dagger has inscribed a parody of a smile. As tradition demanded, the king strode through the welcoming sacrificial blood and the bodyguards propelled me after him....

As we reached the shade of a black, goat-hair tent, a white robed tribesman with shaky hands poured coffee from a long-spouted pot into a tiny handleless cup. Trembling violently, he raised the cup to his mouth and downed the contents, to prove it wasn't poisoned. Then, still shaking, he poured a second cup for his king.

That whole long, scorching day passed in a blur of tableaux from The Arabian Nights: a barefoot poet, chanting his verses in praise of the king; an old Bedouin woman swathed in black veils and marked on the face with blue tattoos, pressing a petition into the king's palm; the king at lunch, plunging a hand into a platter of steaming lamb's heads set atop piles of rice; tribesmen, old enough to be his father, kissing him reverently upon shoulders and nose, but addressing him, in their egalitarian desert way, by his kunya Abu Abdullah (1995:123-124).

The links between the Hashemites and the tribes are not always what they appear to be. The spectacle Brooks describes was part of a royal publicity blitz undertaken in response to the riots of 1989, when the tribal areas exploded in protest over a government decision to increase gas prices. The formal pageantry of the king's visit was not coincidental; Hashemite royals are nowadays a rare sight in Bedouin villages. In the early days of Hashemite rule, Abdullah would camp among the tribes for months at a time, passing long afternoons and evenings in the guest chambers of tribal shaykhs, gossiping, playing chess, and helping settle local disputes. While collecting oral histories from Balga tribesmen in 1998, I heard dozens of stories about King Abdullah, most of which contained his reported speech. I recorded no stories, however, of conversations between Hussein and tribesmen, even though Hussein had been in power for over forty years.

In truth, Hussein was a remote, inaccessible figure to most tribal Jordanians, and his traditionalist pretensions were rarely accepted at face value. When he did show up in your back yard, he was apt to arrive in a Black Hawk helicopter or a well-armed motorcade, and the "authentic" Bedouin welcome offered the king was usually a kind of folkloric kitsch drama which bore little resemblance to hospitality as it is dispensed among tribespeople today. Ideas like "tradition" and "tribe" are now self-conscious categories open to manipulation. Tribesmen write books about these terms, base television soap operas on them, turn them into tourist markets, develop them as political values, and trade them for political influence. [11] The nature of leadership in the tribal sector is itself hotly contested between the traditional shaykhly elite and a younger generation of tribal modernists who were educated in Jordan's public schools, colleges, and universities, or who sought their diplomas abroad. Hussein's personal iden tification with the tribes is a tool Jordanians have used to invent, nationalize, protect, and reform tribal culture. As tribespeople decide who they are and what they might become in a self-consciously modern society, they must do so in relation to what the King was--and what his heir, Abdullah, might become--as a political symbol.

ELECTORAL POLITICS IN THE TRIBAL SECTOR: TESTING THE LIMITS OF THE ROYAL EXAMPLE

When I visited Jordan in 1997, I was already working on several essays about the king's role in defining Jordan's polity as a modern (even democratic) state held together by a dynastic (even autocratic) ideology of Hashemite power. I was eager to see what my tribal friends would make of my approach, especially my claim that Hussein used his "royal persona" as a man of tribal heritage--"al-Hussein from Hashem and Quraish, the noblest Arab tribe of Mecca"--to cultivate tribal political culture, confine it to certain quarters, and control its leadership. The idea was immediately appealing to Humoud Jabali and Dr. Ahmad al-'Uwaydi, two 'Abbadi tribesmen who have spent much of the last decade competing for political power in arenas created by the king. Humoud has been the loser in most of these contests. He has run for parliament twice (aborting his campaign on a third occasion) and has never managed to win a seat. He openly admits that his failure is rooted in his modernist leanings, which are at odds with both the tastes of the tribal electorate and with what, having read Hisham Shirabi (1988), he describes as the "neopatriarchal" foundations of Hashemite rule. Emulation (or even endorsement) of Hussein's personal identification with the tribes has never been part of his political agenda, so I was surprised by his quick acceptance of my thesis.

"In Jordan," he said, "we are all acting out the personality of the king. No other model is acceptable."

Like most of Humoud's official pronouncements, this one is elliptical and somewhat vague; nonetheless, it resonates with much of his life experience and provides a backdrop against which to interpret his career as a public figure. Humoud Jabali shares with Hussein a worldly, cosmopolitan profile. In 1958, he left Jordan to study engineering in Germany. He received advanced training in microwave technologies in Sweden, where he worked for much of his adult life. He married a Swedish woman--replicating Hussein's taste for political and cultural exogamy--and he has four daughters who live in Sweden. Humoud speaks German, English, and Swedish fluently. As manager of Jordan's Telecommunications Policy Division, he oversaw the introduction of cellular phones to Jordan. Humoud is a devout modernist, an advocate of science, secularism, and individual freedom. He is also the son of a tribal shaykh. This ancestral status gives him a standing constituency among the Zyud, the 'Abbadi clan over which his family have trad itionally exercised their authority. At the same time, his shaykhly status limits his political options. It binds him to the Zyud, a group that, in the fifth electoral district of Amman, is smaller than the clan of Humoud's rival, Ahmad 'Uwaydi, a member of the numerically dominant Afgaha.

In the elections of 1989, Humoud tried to attract votes beyond his Zyudi bloc by forging a coalition with Palestinian and Circassian candidates, a strategy superficially in keeping with the king's national unity ideology. Ahmad turned this maneuver against Humoud by convincing non-Zyudis that Humoud was planning to use his alliance with Palestinians and Circassians to dominate the Afgaha. Humoud's attempt to break down the boundaries between tribal and non-tribal political constituencies was defeated, in the end, by forces within his own community. In the 1993 election, Humoud tried again to build a constituency that was not exclusively tribal. This time, he appealed to "the educated youth," telling them that Jordanians already have a leader, but they do not yet have a homeland; the latter, they need to build for themselves. Humoud's message was construed as subversive by some government officials, and he was asked to abandon it. In interviews in 1997 and 1998, Humoud suggested that government funds were cha nneled to candidates who stressed more conservative themes of support for the king and his policies.

After his loss in 1993, Humoud was disgruntled. He told me that traditionalist political culture--what Hussein called "the tribal sector"--was designed to contain and marginalize tribal modernists like himself. Humoud realizes that his primary support will always come from tribespeople, but his political agenda is not tribal, and these factors combine to make alliances with Palestinians and Circassians both attractive and unworkable. Besides, Humoud suspects that the potential of cross-constituency coalitions is something the government wants to discourage, since it would eventually undermine the monarchy's "divide and rule" policies. Changes in Jordan's electoral laws support this contention. In 1989, voters in Amman's fifth district could cast five votes (the number of seats available in the district), with seats going to the top five candidates. In 1993, voters could cast only one vote, a technical modification widely interpreted as a government attempt to bust up coalitions (especially those led by Islam ists) and bolster the appeal of candidates located squarely within the existing array of constituencies. As a result, both Humoud Jabali and Ahmad 'Uwaydi lost to 'Abd Musa al-Nihar, an 'Abbadi candidate drawn from the old shaykhly elite.

Ahmad 'Uwaydi al-'Abbadi offers a fascinating contrast to Humoud. Whereas Humoud has modeled his career on the modernist elements of Hussein's identity, none of which appeal deeply to his tribal constituency, Ahmad has modeled his career on the most traditional aspects of the royal persona, all the while proclaiming himself "the ideologist of the new Jordanian national identity." Ahmad is not from a shaykhly lineage; indeed, his family, the Sikarnah, are still judged to be one of the less distinguished of the six Afgaha clans. Ahmad, by contrast, has been a prominent (and often notorious) figure throughout his public career. Known primarily as a folklorist and writer of Bedouin TV serials, Ahmad began his career as a Public Security officer, received a Ph.D. in anthropology from Cambridge, lectured, wrote newspaper and magazine columns, published dozens of books about the Jordanian tribes, and in 1989, was elected to the Lower House of Parliament. Ahmad espouses his own brand of anti-Palestinian, tribal nati onalism, a political ideology committed to the proposition that all true Jordanians are "sons of the tribes." More exactly, Ahmad's "new Jordanian national identity" is reserved for the descendants and adopted allies of Judham, an ancient Arab tribal confederation whose territory was located in what is today called Jordan.

Oral tradition suggests that Ahmad's clan, the Sikarnah, came to Jordan from the West Bank not quite two hundred years ago--a Palestinian legacy shared by many 'Abbadi clans--but Ahmad has discovered, in his own genealogical researches, that the Sikarnah are actually descendants of the Prophet Muhammad, come originally from Mecca (with only a brief, two generation interlude on the West Bank), and are distant cousins of the Hashemites. The political symmetry being asserted here is blatant, and most tribesmen are fully aware of Ahmad's larger agenda. As he attempts to build a Jordanian national identity that is exclusively tribal, he feels compelled to remake himself in the image of the king. Humoud Jabali finds Abmad's style preposterous, but Ahmad has managed to escape the political double bind that has so far paralyzed Humoud. Although Ahmad has lived and studied abroad, he does not pretend to be a cosmopolitan, and his modernism is expressed in a tactical, savvy use of print and television media. Depending on his audience, Ahmad will cast himself as a Muslim, a nationalist, a political theorist, or a belletrist, but he is always confidently, unapologetically tribal. He asserts this identity above all others, and he strives to nationalize it at the expense of non-tribal Jordanians.

Ahmad's nativist agenda has repeatedly brought him into conflict with the crown and the government, and because I have worked closely with him since 1989, I have often felt equally close to the "danger zone" of Jordanian politics. Members of the royal family have told me that "Ahmad is a great disappointment to us" and "a dangerous man," a character assessment that seems applicable, at least in theory, to any foreign researcher who would take Ahmad seriously. The head of the American Center for Oriental Research politely asked me not to entertain Ahmad in the center. I watched as a libel case was brought against one of his books in 1990, eventuating in its removal from college and university libraries. In a parking space outside Jordanian Intelligence Headquarters--where Ahmad had "personal business"--he told me that the government funneled money to his opponents in the 1993 parliamentary elections, insuring his defeat. I could only imagine what listening devices were trained on us. Ahmad assured me that all his conversations were monitored. It was proof of his importance. He would be offended if the government deemed him unworthy of bugging, and he wanted to be sure we were seen together, since it would make people wonder what he was up to now. I found myself falling into Ahmad's paranoid style, hoping against hope that Jordanian Intelligence had long since concluded (after conferring with their CIA contacts) that I was only along for the ride.

For all his braggadocio and indiscretion, Ahmad's ability to survive on the periphery of normative Jordanian politics has never been in question. His knack for getting into (then out of) big political trouble was dramatically on display in 1996, when he embarked on the grandest political misadventure of his life. On 5 August of that year, Ahmad was brought before a court in Amman to defend himself against the charge of "undermining national unity." At issue was an article Ahmad published in Shihan, Jordan's answer to The National Inquirer, which was graced with the following title: "I'll be relieved if the Palestinians leave [Jordan]" (sa-artah law rahal al-falastiniyun). This statement captures Ahmad's sentiments in a nutshell, but he claimed in his written defense that Shihan's editors concocted this inflammatory quote, which does not correspond to anything in the body of his text. He then gave an elaborate justification of his belief that Palestinians should not adopt a Jordanian identity, since this woul d require that they abandon their attachment to Palestine, which is just what Zionists want them to do. Anyone who pretends that Palestinians can be Jordanians is therefore aiding and abetting the Zionist agenda, and these dupes, not Ahmad 'Uwaydi al-'Abbadi, are the true enemies of national unity, both Jordanian and Palestinian.

The fourteen page argument [12] was never read because the hearing never took place. Instead, 4,000 'Abbadi tribesmen--or was it 400?--surrounded the courthouse, jostled with police, smashed car windows, shouted slogans in support of Ahmad, and threatened to overrun the building and retrieve him by force. After assessing the situation, the court officers decided to release Ahmad, who was spirited away  on the shoulders of his jubilant 'Abbadi supporters.

I cannot prove that events transpired in exactly this way. The story was told to me by Abmad and dozens of other 'Abbadis, some of whom were arrested on that day. The incident at the courthouse received less sensational coverage in the Jordanian press. But something like it undoubtedly occurred, and tales of its occurrence, along with videotapes of the riot, were widespread. Ahmad is convinced that the king knew of and approved the charges brought against him. Otherwise, the following admonition, included in a speech Hussein delivered to Parliament on 22 August 1996, would make no sense at all.

O Brothers, democracy has its limits. There is a former colleague of yours who wrote the worst things imaginable against national unity, in a very clear and vulgar way. He was called to court, and he was able to bring many people to besiege the court, to shout slogans: 'al-l-makshuf, 'al-l-makshuf, falastini ma nashuf (roughly: "Loud and clear! Loud and clear! Palestinian disappear!"). He says overtly that no Palestinians should be in Jordan. Is there anything worse than this? Democracy has limits. We should not destroy national unity in the name of democracy. We are one family. I have said before and I will continue to say for as long as I live, "Anyone who attempts to destroy national unity is my enemy till the Day of Judgment." And he is also the enemy of every Jordanian and every true citizen of this country. Until then, let us protect this achievement, this democracy, this spirit of dialogue, and all our accomplishments. Let us build up and repair what needs to be repaired in any field of endeavor, at any time (Transcript of Royal Address to Parliament, 22 August 1996; from the personal papers of Ahmad 'Uwaydi al-'Abbadi). [13]

When Ahmad heard this speech, he was elated. The king had been forced to recognize him. He had refused to mention Ahmad's name, but this would only make people "more curious." The king had focused the national spotlight on Ahmad and his ideas.

"But he said you were his enemy. Didn't that scare you?" I asked.

"I was not afraid for even one moment," Ahmad told me.

"That night, I slept the most comfortable sleep of my life."

For the first time in my long relationship with Ahmad, I actually feared for him. He was on the wrong end of politically acceptable discourse, and imprisonment seemed like a real possibility. The king had identified him as a threat to "national unity," a threat to the king himself, and his "enemy till the Day of Judgment." In attempting to eliminate or marginalize the Palestinian constituency, Abmad had strayed beyond the royal example. When I left Jordan in 1997, Ahmad was lobbying hard to have the "national unity" case dropped, and he was also gearing up for the November elections. He confidently predicted victory, but I was convinced that Ahmad had bottomed out. In fact, the only encouragement I could take from his plight, I am embarrassed to admit, was that it seemed to be proving my thesis before my very eyes: Ahmad had tried to expand tribal political culture at the expense of Palestinians, and the king had intervened to restore the balance. Ahmad had argued that the Jordanian "body politic" was ill-fo rmed and that Jordanian national identity was not in fact open to all citizens of Jordan. The king answered as he had always answered: by insisting that Jordan is one family, that he was the head of that family, that he would determine who his subjects are, and that any attempt to divide "the big Jordanian family" (al-usra al-urduniyya al-kubra) was an insult to the king himself.

BACK TO THE BALLOT BOX: ELECTING A PARLIAMENT IN ACCORD WITH THE KING

Family politics are notoriously fickle. I should have realized that, in the house of Jordan, the father must occasionally forgive, and when he does, his prodigal sons will dine on fatted calf. While I was writing up my account of Ahmad's legal troubles, I received an e-mail message from an Abbadi friend in Texas. Ahmad, he announced, had won a seat in the 1997 parliamentary elections. He was back in office. I was shocked. I called Ahmad to congratulate him and he informed me, to my further amazement, that he had been found innocent of all charges against him in the "enemy of national unity" case.

"You mean the case was dropped?" I asked.

"No," Ahmad said. "The judge declared me innocent."

None of this made sense to me. What had become of the king's commentary on "Judgment Day," "the enemy of all true Jordanians," and "we are one family"? I called up the major Jordanian newspapers on the Internet to reacquaint myself with the kingdom's domestic political scene, which I had neglected to follow for several weeks. What I discovered put everything back into place. The Islamists (and a motley array of leftist groups) had boycotted the elections, which insured that their largely Palestinian constituency would not show up at the polls. Voter turnout was a low 44%, and it was lowest in predominantly Palestinian districts. The Islamists refused to participate in the elections because the government, they rightly claimed, was stifling criticism of Jordan's policy toward Israel; indeed, it was clamping down on all forms of dissent. The election signaled a transfiguration in the Jordanian body politic, as Hussein continued the slow retirement of one of his well-worn identities-- Defender of the Arab Natio n against Zionism--in favor of a new persona: friend of Israel and supporter of the "peace process." The boycott of the 1997 election was based on a realistic understanding (and tacit acceptance of the fact) that an entire range of agendas and identities--most rooted in Palestinian nationalism, opposition to Zionism, and a refusal to normalize relations with Israel--were no longer consistent with the royal example and would not, for that reason, be accommodated in a political system dominated by King Hussein. [14]

In the big Jordanian family, Palestinian nationalists and their political allies were cast once again as unruly children, and Hussein was not unhappy with the results of the election. The obvious winners were the tribes, who now control over half the seats in parliament. In the fifth district of Amman, Abmad's home ground, past elections had produced, as if by design, the victory of the same, five-man delegation: two Palestinian Islamists, a Circassian, and two tribesmen (an 'Abbadi and an 'Ajrami). In 1997, the winners were four

tribesmen (two 'Abbadis, an 'Ajrami, and an 'Adwani) and a Circassian. For the first time, no Palestinians were elected. Ahmad's return to grace no longer seemed so heroic. He entered parliament with only 2,778 votes, a tally that would have made him a loser in previous contests. Of course, none of these developments helped Humoud Jabali, resolute modernist, reluctant tribalist. He sat out the election, convinced that the parliament was no longer a representative body.

Humoud's opinion was widespread among Jordan's urban professionals. As Rami Khuri stated on the day of the elections:

We are now in the awkward situation where all of the key modem institutions of the country--the press, political parties, the opposition, the professional associations, and the parliament--will wake up after election day and find themselves collectively weakened, discredited or marginalized in the eyes of many Jordanians. However, the monarchy, tribalism, religion, ethnicity, and other such traditional institutions remain strong and credible. The political system will need some serious re-tooling after the elections (The Jordan Times, 4 November 1997).

There is, in fact, nothing awkward about this situation at all. Khuri's observation brings us full circle to the set of contradictions that defined the complex plurality of Hussein's political identity and his political realm. Hussein was a dynast in a world system dominated by nation-states, and his appeal to democratic principles was, for that reason, tactical and politically opportunistic. The constituencies that filled Hussein's realm--especially the tribes--have always been more easily portrayed as "traditional," but like Hussein himself, they have proved quite capable of surviving within, and even co-opting, modem institutions. The Jordanians whose political sensibilities are truly marginal are intellectuals like Rami Khuri, who think modem institutions must inevitably function so as to remove ethnicity, tribalism, and religion from the public sphere. This process of removal has not transpired in Jordan because Hussein's domain, his ruling personae, his body politic, his own claims to legitimacy: all were a patchwork of what Rami Khuri calls "traditional" identities.

In Jordan, as in most of the postcolonial world, modem institutions and technologies are resources leaders (and their subjects) can use to organize, resist, revitalize, and dominate "traditional" identities. As a result of these uses, alternative political forms emerge, and existing terminologies of power are seldom adequate to describe them. A former aide to Hussein, an erudite Palestinian of socialist leanings, told me that he once complained to the Amir Hassan, then heir to the throne, saying: "Your grandfather, Abdullah, ruled a tribal society and tried to make it modem. You rule a modern society and are trying to make it tribal." The observation is ironic because the qualities it sets in opposition--tribal and modem--are no longer mutually exclusive. Their intermingling is evident in the careers of tribal leaders like Humoud Jabali and Ahmad 'Uwaydi al-'Abbadi. One espouses modem attitudes and institutions yet derives his authority from his membership in a shaykhly family; the other craves the prestige of noble bloodlines yet conveys his genealogical nationalism via mass (and perfectly modern) media: television serials, talk shows, newspaper columns, and books. The same contradictions, played out on a far grander scale, have become essential to the way the Hashemites represent themselves and legitimize their rule.

CONCLUSION: HUSSEIN'S LEGACY OF MONARCHIC PLURALISM

Throughout the last decade of "democratic reform" in Jordan, Hussein moved confidently between political modernity and what supposedly came before it (and would supposedly persist in spite of it). Wherever this royal procession went, Hussein had crafted a persona appropriate to that place, and nothing stopped him from assuming several identities at once: civil libertarian, dynast, leader of the tribes, protector of Palestinians (and Circassians and Chechens and Christians), custodian of Jerusalem's holy places, descendant of the Prophet, cosmopolitan, anglophile, supporter of secularist trends. Only Hussein, sitting at the elevated center of Jordan's political system, could affect and embody the full range of this monarchic pluralism. Those who tried to create new pluralist constituencies of their own--as Humoud Jabali did; as the Islamists did -- or tried to undermine existing constituencies--as Ahmad 'Uwaydi did--saw their efforts periodically nullified, as Hussein employed modem institutions (parliaments, government ministries, national elections, mass media, the security apparatus, and even political parties) to fortify "traditional" identities. After nine years of liberalization, and three national elections, Hussein bequeathed to his son, Abdullah, a fully modem parliament amply stocked with tribal shaykhs, clan influentials, ethnic and religious minorities, and Palestinians willing to confine their aspirations and loyalties to political quarters carefully delimited by Hashemite interests.

In Amman's fifth district, Ahmad is the temporary beneficiary of this unfinished project, but his on-going campaign to marginalize Palestinians has inspired new attempts to remove him from office. [15] It is the perennial loser, Humoud Jabali, who seems best to comprehend the inner logic, and the real limits, of a political system in which effective leaders must respect the boundaries of constituencies (and royal personae) cultivated by the king: "No other model is acceptable." Taking his own wisdom to heart, Humoud has retired from electoral politics and is building a house on tribal lands inherited from his father. Meanwhile, at the center of Hashemite power, the king's identities, embodiments of the politics he pursued at home and abroad, are firmly in place. "Jordan's next government," the New York Times assured its readers on the eve of Hussein's death,

... will remain committed to peace in the Middle East and close relations with Washington but wary of both Iran and Iraq, Crown Prince Abdullah said this week in his first interview since he was designated successor to his father, Hussein. "I am an extension of his majesty's outlook and his majesty's beliefs," said the 37-year-old brigadier general, in speech that was British in tone but American in rhythm and vernacular (6 February 1999).

Imitation is an indispensable aspect of father-son relations, and of dynastic authority, but most Jordanians (unlike policy makers in Washington and Israel) now want continuity enlivened by change. The political ideas being debated among the Jordanian tribes, nominally the king's most conservative subjects, resemble ideas important to other sectors of society: bureaucratic reform, discrepant models of nationalism and citizenship rights, economic justice, greater accountability for appointed officials, freedom to criticize those in power, and calls for an end to government corruption. The Hashemites now have the opportunity to create new royal personae that embody, control, and legitimize these political impulses without calculated reference to the old array of special constituencies, thereby producing a dynasty-dependent alternative to them. Or, banking on the successes of the past, they can subvert reformist tendencies by channeling them into existing identities and affections, a policy that will sustain pa tterns of divisiveness the Hashemites alone can rule.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I thank Humoud Jabali and Abmad 'Uwaydi al-'Abbadi for adding their insights to the themes explored in this paper. An earlier draft of the essay was presented at the 1997 annual meeting of the American Anthropological Association, where Robert Payne, Lars Rodseth, and Dorothy Williner offered helpful criticisms. Funding for research in Jordan was provided by the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Social Science Research Council, and the State University of New York at Buffalo.

Andrew Shryock is an assistant professor of anthropolgy at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor.

ENDNOTES

(1.) The growth of nationalism within dynastic realms is examined at length in the works of Anderson (1991) and Geilner (1983), who focus mostly on nineteenth century Europe. Given this obvious green light--and the existence of superb work on kingship in Thailand (Tambiah 1977), Bali (Geertz 1980), India (Dirks 1987), and Africa (Apter 1992)--it is odd that so little anthropological work has been done on kingship and nationalism in the Arab world, where both are common. Combs-Schilling's (1989) study of royal ritual in Morocco is, unfortunately, an intellectual isolate. Al Rasheed's (1991) account of her family's dynastic history in northern Arabia is ethnohistorically rich, but relates to a prenational polity. The same could be said of Dresch's (1989; 1990) subtle engagement with the eclipsed Imamate tradition of Yemen, and of Evans-Pritchard's (1949) classic account of the Sanusi of Libya, a monograph whose appeal today is based largely on its splendid, high imperialist style. Political analysts are drawn more to matters of regime stability, liberal reform, and the governing logic of the "rentier state," but recent studies--notably, Herb's (1999) account of the institutional and ideological roots of monarchism in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf -- suggest that political science is now tackling a cultural domain ethnographers of the Arab world have ignored.

(2.) I do not want to suggest that Hussein was more "authentically" modern than other Arab leaders, only that he was perceived to be so by many observers in the (anglophone) West. I do believe, however, that his appeal to Americans and the British (which fluctuated historically) was not based solely on his support of their regional policies. The Saudis and Kuwaitis, who are openly reviled in the metropole, have always been more reliable allies. Hussein's image was bolstered, instead, by his obvious affection for Western ways and his bicultural upbringing and family life.

(3.) On a purely juridical level, one should realize that Jordanians lived under martial law from 1967 to 1991. If, however, the matter is framed ideologically, then "freedom" would have to take fourth place, behind such notions as loyalty to the king, mutual respect, and unity, which have long been the pillars of Hashemite political rhetoric.

(4.) For a superb analysis of these mass media vexations, which tend to flare around election times, the reader should consult Layne's work on tribalism in Jordan's public sphere (1989, 1994).

(5.) Queen Noor was obviously persuasive. It is generally believed that Hussein made Abdullah his successor (demoting the longtime heir apparent, Hassan) to insure that Hamza, only 18 years old when Hussein died, would eventually be king. One of Abdullah's first acts as king, not surprisingly, was to name Hamza "Crown Prince," thereby placing him next in line to the throne.

(6.) Hashemite status is conferred through the male line, as is royal succession. The American, English, and Pakistani blood that flows through the veins of the younger generation of Amirs was received from their mothers and should be irrelevant to any calculation of their Sharifian pedigree. That Jordanians should grouse about their deracinated royals at all is proof of Arab nationalism's hold on the popular imagination; that they are not as disturbed as they could be at the thought of being ruled now by a man who is as genetically (and, some would say, culturally) English as Arab is proof that the older logic of dynasticism is solidly in place. As Anderson notes, in a grammatical past tense inapt to Jordan, "royal lineages often derived their prestige, aside from any aura of divinity, from, shall we say, miscegenation? For such mixtures were a sign of superordinate status" (1991:20).

(7.) Brand (1995a) offers perhaps the best overview of democratizing trends in Jordan, the nascent character of "civil society" in the kingdom, and the means by which the Hashemites have deftly managed liberal reform.

(8.) Astonishingly, the eight official guests from across the Jordan included Ariel Sharon, inveterate hater of Arabs, and Efraim Halevy, head of the Mossad secret service. When I began my work in 1989, more unlikely moumers for an Arab king (even one like Hussein) could not have been imagined.

(9.) Obstacles to the formation of a cohesive Jordanian national identity (or, phrased differently, the ways in which cohesive sub- and transnational loyalties continue to flourish in the kingdom) are addressed in recent essays by Rabo (1996), Laynei (1994), Brand (1995b), and Shryock (1995).

(10.) The role tribal law has played in Hashemite domestic policy, its continued importance as a practical foundation of tribal identity, and its procedural fine points are explored in several excellent monographs by Jordanian authors (e.g., al-'Abbadi 1982, 1988; Abu Hassan 1987; al-Uzayzi 1990).

(11.) The evolution of tribalism as mass culture in Jordan is examined at length by Layne (1994) and Shryock (1997). Tribal literature, as a genre developed by Jordanian authors, is displayed in the works of al-'Abbadi (1984, 1986, 1989), Abu Khusa (1989), al-'Uzayzi (1984, 1991), and, in English, by Ra'uf Abu Jaber's Pioneers Over Jordan (1989), a study of agropastoral society in nineteenth century Transjordan. The latter book, though scholarly in topic and tone, can now be bought by tourists who visit Kan Zaman, an upscale restaurant and bazaar located on the grounds of Yadudah, the Abu Jaber's ancestral estate. The limits of tribal self-representation in Jordan's print media, both formal and content-based, are explored in essays by Shryock (1995, 1996).

(12.) My photocopy of a later version bears the title "Defense testimony submitted by Ahmad 'Uwaydi al-' Abbadi; through the offices of his attorney, Ahmad al-Momani, in case number 1996/5936 on Monday 2/17/1997."

(13.) This is my translation of a hand-written transcript of the speech made available to me by Ahmad, who himself has access to the parliamentary record. Ahmad had entered the speech in his private journal, a day-to-day record of his political career which he hopes to publish when he leaves public life.

(14.) For a detailed chronicle of Hussein's democratic reform policies, from their optimistic beginnings to the recent pattern of retrenchment, see Brand's (1999) analysis of "political liberalization" and its messy entanglement with the peace process, which the Hashemites are supporting despite considerable popular dissent.

(15.) Since 1996, at least two attempts have been made to remove Ahmad's parliamentary immunity in order to prosecute him for "damaging national unity." As usual, it was remarks directed against Palestinians (during a televised speech before parliament and later on the popular Qatari satellite station, al-Jazira) that sparked these incidents. Both attempts to silence him failed. In 1999, Ahmad's immunity was partially lifted so that he could be brought to trial for rape. The accusation that he had sex with two young girls, Ahmad tells me, is politically motivated. The family of the girls, he said, received JD 27,000 (possibly from the head of Jordanian Intelligence, with whom Ahmad is feuding) to go public with their fabricated case. When I told Ahmad that his "nine lives" might soon run out, he laughed and said: "I am no ordinary cat. I am an 'Abbadi cat. I have 90 lives." Ahmad's trial was scheduled for Fall 1999.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Al-'Abbadi, Ahmad 'Uwaydi.

1982. Bedouin Justice in Jordan (The Customary Legal System of the Tribes and its Integration into the Framework of State Polity from 1921 Onwards). A dissertation presented to the faculty of Cambridge University.

1984. Muqaddima li-dirasat al-'asha'ir al-urduniyya. Amman: Da'irat al-thiqafa wa al-fanun.

1986. Al-'Asha'ir al-urduniyya: al-'ard, al-ta'rikh, al-'insan. Amman: al-Dar al-'arabiyya li-l-tawzi wa l-nashr.

1988. Al-Qada' 'ind 'al-'asha'ir al-urduniyya. Amman: Dar al-Bashir.

1989. AI-Munasabat 'ind a!-'asha 'ir al-urduniyya. Amman: Dar al-Bashir.

Abu Hassan, Muhammad

1987 Turath al-badu al-qada'i. Amman: Da'irat al-thaqafa wa alfunun.

Abu Jaber, Raouf

1989 Pioneers over Jordan: the Frontier of Settlement in Transjordan, 1850-1914. London: I.B. Tauris.

Abu Khusa, Abmad

1989 Al-'asha 'ir al-urduniyya wa al-fatastiniyya wa washa'ij al-qurba bayn-ha. Amman: Sharakat al-sharq al-awsat li al-tiba'a.

Al Rasheed, Madawi

1991 Politics in an Arabian Oasis: the Rashidis of Saudi Arabia. London: I.B. Tauris.

Anderson, Benedict

1991 Imagined Communities. Revised edition. New York: Verso.

Apter, Andrew

1992 Black Critics and Kings: the Hermeneutics of Power in a Yoruba Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Brooks, Geraldine

1995 Nine Parts of Desire: the Hidden World of Islamic Women. New York: Doubleday.

Brand, Laurie

1995a "In the Beginning was the State ...: The Quest for Civil Society in Jordan," in Civil Society in the Middle East. Augustus Richard Norton, ed. Pp. 148-185. Leiden: E.J. Brill.

1995b "Palestinians and Jordanians: a Crisis of Identity." Journal of Palestine Studies 24(4):46-61.

1999 "The Effects of the Peace Process on Political Liberalization in Jordan." Journal of Palestine Studies 28(2):52-67.

Combs-Schilling, M.E.

1989 Sacred Performances: Islam, Sexuality, and Sacrifice. New York: Columbia University Press.

Dirks, Nicholas

1987 The Hollow Crown: Ethnohistory of an Indian Kingdom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Dresch, Paul

1989 Tribes, Government, and History in Yemen. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

1990 "Imams and Tribes: the Writing and Acting of History in Upper Yemen," in Tribes and State Formation in the Middle East. Philip Khoury and Joseph Kostiner, eds. Pp. 252-287. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Evans-Pritchard, E.E.

1949 The Sanusi of Cyrenaica. London: Oxford University Press.

Geertz, Clifford

1980 Negara: the Theatre State in Nineteenth-Century Bali. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Gellner, Ernest

1983 Nations and Nationalism. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

Herb, Michael

1999 All in the Family: Absolutism, Revolution, and Democracy in Middle Eastern Monarchies. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Herzfeld, Michael

1996 Cultural Intimacy: Social Poetics in the Nation-State. New York: Routledge

Joseph, Suad

1996 "Democrats and Patriarchs: Comments on Michael Hudson's 'Obstacles to Democratization in the Middle East.'" Contention 5:121-130.

Layne, Linda

1989 "The Dialogics of Tribal Self-representation in Jordan." American Ethnologist 16:24-39.

1994 Home and Homeland. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Rabo, Anika

1996 "Gender, State and Civil Society in Jordan and Syria," in Civil Society: Challenging Western Models. Chris Hann and Elizabeth Dunn, eds. Pp. 155-177. London: Routledge.

Sharabi, Hisham

1988 Neopatriarchy. New York: Oxford University Press.

Shryock, Andrew

1995 "Popular Genealogical Nationalism: History Writing and Identity among the Balqa Tribes of Jordan." Comparative Studies in Society and History 37:325-357.

1996 "Tribes and the Print Trade: Notes from the Margins of Literate Culture in Jordan." American Anthropologist 98:26-41.

1997 Nationalism and the Genealogical Imagination. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Tambiah, Stanley

1977 "The Galactic Polity: the Structure of Traditional Kingdoms in Southeast Asia," in Anthropology and the Climate of Opinion. M. Freed, ed. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences 293.

al-'Uzayzi, Ruks

1984 Ma 'lama li al-turath al-urduni. Amman: Da'irat al-thiqafa wa al-funun.

1990 Anzimat al-badiya wa haququha. Beirut: Dar al-hamra'

1991 Nimr bin 'Adwan: sha 'ir al-hubb wa al-wafa'. Amman: Da'irat al-thiqafa wa al-funun.