Depending upon how you approach the matter, it is either humdrum or complicated to ask an architect how he would improve the Gulf region's built environment. Humdrum, because that is what architects do every day: say how they can improve what was done poorly before them. Complicated, because there's a frustrating modern history of experts coming to the Gulf to do just that. In the Arab Gulf countries, architecture is most often assumed to result from imported expertise, certified and purchased abroad. The foundation of that assumption rests in the late colonial British management of Gulf cities. Colonial officers, most often referred to as political agents or political residents, harnessed the built environment to visually convey the bureaucratic order that the British government was instituting where it had suppressed it in the decades before. Modern architecture served as a sleight of optics to foster economic improvement and political stability. It was less style, more content. Literally, the contents of the building: medical machines, cadastral maps, canned foods, air conditioning. In this way, the architect was perceived as a herald and packager of promised technological improvements from afar. And, in many ways, he or she still is perceived as such. And that's a problem worth touching upon.

In English the terms “political system” and “political regime” are used to distinguish different constructs. The first was initially developed by behavioralists such as David Easton and Gabriel Almond to replace the older, institutionalist term, the “state”; the second typically designates the arrangements for producing a government. In Arabic, though, the words “system” and “regime” both translate as niẓām. This piece argues that when millions of citizens across the Arab region came out in 2011 chanting al-shaʿb yurīd isqāṭ al-niẓām, those chants marked a critical juncture in a long process reflecting the end of not just the existing regimes, but also the states as we knew them. Whether defined in terms of governing institutions and capabilities, as Lisa Anderson, Ellen Lust, and Ariel Ahram do, or in terms of discourse, imagination, and symbolic power, as Ellis Goldberg and Charles Tripp do, the state was withering away long before the uprising. Concomitantly, the heightened levels of repression and shifts within official discourse by the changing ruling elite after the uprisings signal a perceived threat to the state itself, and not just to a particular regime. And while this piece focuses on Egypt, unlike some of the other contributions in this collection, I argue that the nation-state, as a conceptual and material construct, is being challenged.

Defining digital humanities is tricky. Our scholarship has been intrinsically digital for quite a few decades already, as we rely more and more on electronic storage to save, word processors to write, bibliography managers to organize, databases to consult, digital libraries to search and read. Living in the digital world, however, does not make us all digital humanists—if these digital entities are taken away, we will have their analog prototypes to fall back on, and beyond a certain level of inconvenience, this will not affect the way most of us do our scholarship. The transition to digital humanities must begin somewhere at the point where our humanistic inquiry starts to rely on the machine as the matter of methodological exigency.

Debates about the value of digital methods often return to the nature of knowledge itself. Specifically, do not digital methods tell us what we intuitively already know? Or, if we do not know something yet, is it trivial or discoverable through other more traditional humanistic modes of analysis?

As an ambitious city aspiring to become a major contributor to and player in the global world, Dubai often tends to be endeared to and affected by grand-scale urbanism and skyscraper skylines. The recent practice of architecture in Dubai is replete with examples of architectural monuments and miraculous constructions. Whilst the architectural feats required to raise grand structures for global branding and economic strategy are noteworthy, many other facets of urbanism also warrant adulation and exploration. One example is the narrative of human-scale urbanism—the pedestrian-driven places that put people at the center of the town. Due to its human-scale nature and morphology, the quotidian landscape, more than other existing settings, such as those modeled on “bigness” and dispersion successfully narrates a clear story about the essence of everyday urbanism: the nexus between the physical and the social, and the architecture and everyday life of the city's urban spaces. Life and culture in the UAE have evolved drastically, but in old communities where the quotidian landscape is still palpable, it has stayed the same—simple, open to everyone, and full of animation and affection.

Political scientists, development specialists, and policymakers assume a central place for states and state action as they define problems and design solutions. They ascribe to the state dominance over all other social organizations, viewing it as pervasive and inevitably triumphant. Even scholars such as Joel Migdal, Timothy Mitchell, and James Scott, who focus on the boundaries of the state, portray the state as more organized, technologically savvy, and capable of extending its power than social counterparts, putting the latter on the defensive. Scholars and policymakers alike also have arrogated to the state the moral monopoly to pursue certain imperatives that other organizational forms can and do aspire to provide. These include providing security and protection from predation, allocating scarce resources, and arbitrating values and interests in society.

Until relatively recently, the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), a regional intergovernmental political and economic union consisting of the Arab states of the Arabian Gulf (Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE), was predominantly a nonurban region. Most of its inhabitants were nomadic Bedouins who were constantly traveling in search of scarce water resources, traders who were always between destinations, and a smaller number of agriculturalists and fishermen. A small minority constructed and occupied several residential agglomerations, compact and confined, consistent with the limited economic and social needs of people at that time. This trend remained true until the 1950s, when larger social, economic, and political shifts dramatically and permanently changed the landscape of the region. The major trigger was the exploration of oil, leading to economic wealth, in addition to other factors, including globalization, aspirations for modernity, and technological advancements, especially those enabling water provision. In the context of a harsh natural setting, this meant that urbanity would become the new favored form of living. What followed was rapid urbanization, mostly machine-like, with little regard for humans living in the newly formed cities. In Saudi Arabia, for example, urban residents made up only 10 percent of the total population in 1950. By 2005, this figure skyrocketed to 85 percent (Figure 1). The present-day urban scene in the Gulf is globally unique in many respects. Not only did the process of city building occur in a short period of time, but the intensity and scale have been largely unprecedented. About 80 percent of the region's population now lives in urban areas, making the Gulf one of the most urbanized regions in the world. In Kuwait, for example, 99 percent of the population occupies only 8 percent of the country's land area. In Qatar, the capital city of Doha alone is home to about 55 percent of the country's total population. The physical characteristics of this urbanism are also unique. It resulted in an urban form mostly characterized by suburban-like downtowns and low densities in expanding territories.

The apparent fixity of the state has been produced by state-building projects, but also by the logic of state analysis that needs an object for its study. Encouraging critical reflection on the essentialism often associated with these processes, Pierre Bourdieu argued that these two aspects of “state formation” are contingently and epistemologically intertwined: “to endeavor to think the state is to take the risk of taking over (or being taken over by) the thought of the state.” Others, including Ellen Lust in her essay, have focused on state-making practices, and their symbolic and material effects that produce and reproduce the state as dominant idea and as ultimate institutional frame in a particular time and place. Taking this further, Kevin Dunn frames “‘the state’ as a discursively produced structural/structuring effect that relies on constant acts of performativity to call it into being.” It is this performative aspect of state making in all its variety that will be the focus here, echoing themes in the pieces by Lisa Anderson and Rabab El-Mahdi.

With much of the Arabian Peninsula characterized by hot and arid weather conditions during long summer seasons, residents are forced to rely on air conditioning to cool their surroundings. Before the construction of air conditioning infrastructures, many would leave the coast during the summer months to head to oases, such as Al Ain near Abu Dhabi, or live in tents in the desert to find relief from the heat. From the 1950s, European and American building practices shaped the region with little consideration of vernacular design elements or energy conservation. These building practices introduced air conditioning as a cooling method. For instance, the 1951 Report of Operations to the Saudi Arab Government by the Arabian American Oil Company explained how “automobiles, air conditioning units, sewing machines, washing machines, refrigerators, and many other modern conveniences are now readily available” in Al Hasa, a significant region for Aramco's operations on the east of Saudi Arabia. By 1952, workers residing in Aramco's camps could have air conditioning units installed in their rooms on a rental basis. Air conditioning technology reconfigured urban environments, altering the relationship between indoors and outdoors, and ultimately constituting what Jiat-Hwee Chang and Tim Winter term a “thermal modernity” that transforms how built forms are imagined and inhabited. The current widespread use of air conditioning in the region is therefore connected not only to high temperatures, but also to how air conditioning is singled out as the ultimate technical fix in confronting the climate. Other solutions to managing heat, such as improving insulation mechanisms for residences and office buildings, have been less pervasive.

Two decades ago I published an article in this journal about Egyptian biographical films. It was the first study published in IJMES about Arab/Middle East film and the first to feature photographic illustrations. The editor sent it to four reviewers, some presumably to check my history, others my cultural scope. Three approved wholeheartedly, but one protested that IJMES should not publish a piece that was not based upon “Arabic sources.” Admittedly, there was little critical literature in Arabic on this topic; my primary theorization came from a recent study of Hollywood “biopics.” But Stephen Humphreys, the forward-thinking editor, recognized that my “Arabic sources” were the films analyzed and disregarded the negative review.

Events since 2011 replaced earlier discussions about authoritarian stability in the Middle East with new ones about the meaning of democracy and the nature of revolution. The experiences and debates of Egyptians in the last six years also raise important questions around citizenship and the nature of political community. Just as there have not always been nation-states, there have not always been feelings of membership, identification, and activity associated with them. Citizenship and political community are frequently discussed in relation to secularism and religion and relative to an argument that the affective claims of Islam are incompatible with the modern presumptively secular state. I argue, however, that the shoring up—or disintegration—of nationalism and citizenship are shaped by the imagination of everyday individuals and state elites.

Gulf cities are generally characterized by their extremely rapid development with resulting demographic increases and imbalances and accompanying environmental degradation. These cities are the flagships of emerging countries that are constructing their national identity while seeking to preserve their traditions and customs and conserve their environments. As they are importing cultural and educational brands, business, and marketing models, they are also creating new hybrid forms and a particular Gulf identity or Gulf urbanism. Until now, resources, technology, and capital have allowed expansion without limits—into the ocean with landfills and artificial islands, into the sky with tall buildings, and into the desert with Zero Energy Cities. Yet the future of nonrenewable energy sources is leading Gulf cities to look towards new postcarbon identities for their countries and improved sustainability and livability for their cities.