During 1969, growing GI dissent intersected with movement outreach and the opening of new coffeehouses to expand civilian/military collaboration. More government leaders publicly supported antiwar activism. The Woodstock festival was the most visible sign of increased overlap between political and cultural dissent. Various elements of the movement coalesced into the most spectacular outpouring of antiwar passion in the nation’s history during the October Moratorium. Repression of the antiwar movement escalated under the Nixon administration. Activists faced local red squads and vigilante attacks on GI coffeehouses, as well as administration threats against the media, conspiracy trials, and intelligence agencies using COINTELPRO and Operation CHAOS. The president’s fear of stimulating additional antiwar sentiment contributed to his decision to keep secret his expansion of the air war into Cambodia. National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger met with various dissenting groups to buy additional time. Once Nixon developed his Vietnamization policy, it forced the movement to adapt to new circumstances, but local grassroots activism and conventional dissent persisted.

This chapter explores the relationship between technology and US national security. While it affirms the continuing importance of “traditional” historical subjects like war and diplomacy, it calls for scholars to bring more rigorous research and critical sophistication to bear on them. In other words, it calls for scholars to take a “process-based” approach to these historical subjects rather than the “outcome-based” approach favored by strategic studies scholars. It explains how the author came to study the relationship between technology and national security and how other scholars influenced her approach, which seeks to blend empiricism with theory and benefits from a comparative perspective. Next, the chapter offers tips for conducting broad and deep archival research, emphasizing the value of finding aids and the need to minimize reliance on intermediaries between the researcher and the evidence. It also offers tips on reading in and across subfields and disciplines. Finally, the chapter highlights the importance of taking technical matter, whether it be weapons technology or law, seriously on its own terms while also understanding its constructed nature.

This conclusion reflects on the legacy of the Democrat Party in the aftermath of the 1960 coup. I argue that the removal of Turkey’s elected government by military officers did not mark the end of democratic politics in Turkey. Rather, it was part of a larger process of de-democratization in which Turkish leaders (first the Democrats, then the military and its allies) restricted the various institutions that enabled meaningful political contestation. Democracy was effectively rolled back during the 1950s because the achievements of Turkey’s “transition to democracy” were of a limited sort; they included independently verified elections, a narrow range of permitted political parties, and a relatively circumscribed press. If the DP failed to consistently defend and expand the institutions that bolster democracy, then perhaps its greatest legacy is the way in which it positioned Turkey in relation to other states. The DP presented the country as an essential part of the American order, willing to fight and, thus, deserving of significant financial support.

After highlighting patterns of types and targets of human rights violations, we introduce the main perpetrators. Trying to understand what motivates them, and, more importantly, how they can be constrained, is key to improving respect for human rights. We start by introducing a theoretical framework that helps us understand why human rights are violated. Why do peaceful forms of communication and negotiation collapse in favour of violence and destruction? Are acts of atrocity born out of rational calculations or are they the product of erratic and unpredictable behaviour? We then apply this theoretical model to understand the behaviour of the most common perpetrators of life integrity violations, the military and the police, as well as less prominent perpetrators, such as militias, rebel groups, and criminal cartels. Throughout this chapter we focus primarily on perpetrators of physical violence but integrate brief examples of other types of human rights violations.

This chapter analyzes Egypt’s 2011 revolution and 2013 coup, one of the most prominent counterrevolutions of the 21st century. Drawing on approximately 100 original interviews with Egyptian politicians and activists, it argues that Egypt’s counterrevolution only became possible when revolutionaries squandered their initial capacity to hold the old regime’s military in check and presented them with an opportunity to rebuild their popular support. Specifically, the chapter makes the following claims: (1) revolutionary forces began the transition with considerable leverage over the former regime, grounded in their ability to threaten a return to mass mobilization and their backing from the United States; (2) after Mohamed Morsi was elected president, his administration’s poor management of the post-revolutionary governance trilemma, particularly its decision to prioritize the concerns of old regime elements over those of his secularist allies, caused the revolutionary coalition to fracture and Washington to begin questioning its support; and (3) these developments created opportunities for the military to bolster its domestic and foreign support and sapped revolutionaries’ capacity to resist a counterrevolutionary coup. Ultimately, the chapter concludes that, though the task facing Egypt’s revolutionary leaders was not easy, a counterrevolutionary end to the transition was far from a foregone conclusion.

During the second and third centuries AD, recruitment in the Roman army brought many Palmyrenes from their home city to various parts of the Roman Mediterranean and its hinterland. Military recruitment brought them to Dacia and Numidia in particular, but a famously well-documented unit of Palmyrenes was stationed at Dura-Europos on the Middle Euphrates. Most Palmyrene soldiers served in units of the auxilia or numeri, and many of these then settled in the regions in which they had served. Their descendants could be found in the same regions generations later. As Palmyrene soldiers and their descendants faced varied degrees of dispersal and isolation from their compatriots, they endured diverse pressures to assimilate. They also witnessed their ancestral divinities being adopted by fellow soldiers, military collectives or networks and local populations. Did Palmyrenes maintain social or cognitive links to their ancestral homeland under such circumstances? Did they conceive of themselves as part of a broader, dispersed Palmyrene community even as they became enmeshed in local ones? This chapter address such questions.

The upbringing and professional career of Wu Jian (1462–1506) and his uncle, Wu Cong, shed light on two key issues. First is the gradual transformation of merit nobles within the Ming polity, particularly their role in dynastic defenses. Second is the dynasty’s continued efforts to secure military ability through instituting new practices, including the education and training of young merit nobles and entrusting capable civil officials with substantial military responsibilities. Before turning to Wu Jian’s career, however, we first consider the experiences of his mother and other women, whose abilities both in managing large, complex households and negotiating with the dynastic state, were essential to the fortunes of all merit noble families.

Recounting the experiences of Wu Ruyin and his son, Wu Weiying, who between them held the title of Marquis of Gongshun in succession from 1599 to 1643, this chapter and the preceding one address two overarching issues. First, they explore how institutions and administrators persevere amidst crisis. It may be tempting to caricature late Ming bureaucrats as obdurately clinging to the past, but men like Wu Ruyin and Wu Weiying adapted to new demands by incorporating new technologies and new ways within established frameworks. Few felt the need to abandon the “institutions of the imperial forefathers.” Second, these chapters examine the place of merit nobles in late Ming society. Wu Ruyin and Wu Weiying were not men of the people, but by function of their social circles, they actively engaged in the capital’s broader cultural activities, and by virtue of their jobs as senior military administrators, they commanded surprisingly detailed information about common soldiers and officers, war captives and refugees, and even rumors circulating through Beijing. This chapter first examines Wu Ruyin’s role as the emperor’s representative in ceremony, which included officiating at rituals, offering prayers, and hosting banquets, and second, considers his experiences as a military administrator in a time of acute challenges.

Using Wu Jin’s tenure as Marquis of Gongshun from 1449 to 1461, this chapter explores issues of ability and difference in a time of upheaval at the Ming court. It traces the Wu family as it shifted from immigrant family at the empire’s western edge to members of the capital elite. The chapter also explores the divergent experiences of other Mongolians and merit noble families within the Ming polity.

Recounting the experiences of Wu Ruyin and his son, Wu Weiying, who between them held the title of Marquis of Gongshun in succession from 1599 to 1643, this chapter and the next address two overarching issues. First, they explore how institutions and administrators persevere amidst crisis. It may be tempting to caricature late Ming bureaucrats as obdurately clinging to the past, but men like Wu Ruyin and Wu Weiying adapted to new demands by incorporating new technologies and new ways within established frameworks. Few felt the need to abandon the “institutions of the imperial forefathers.” Second, these chapters examine the place of merit nobles in late Ming society. Wu Ruyin and Wu Weiying were not men of the people, but by function of their social circles, they actively engaged in the capital’s broader cultural activities, and by virtue of their jobs as senior military administrators, they commanded surprisingly detailed information about common soldiers and officers, war captives and refugees, and even rumors circulating through Beijing. This chapter first examines Wu Ruyin’s role as the emperor’s representative in ceremony, which included officiating at rituals, offering prayers, and hosting banquets, and second, considers his experiences as a military administrator in a time of acute challenges.

Using Wu Jijue’s career as a focal point, this chapter explores the power of appointment, the process of assessment, and the culture of patronage, before offering a few overarching observations about Wu Jijue’s experiences and what they say about China in the second half of the sixteenth century. The chapter also throws into clear relief how dramatically contemporary perceptions of the Wu family had changed from the early fifteenth century to the late sixteenth century. Once newly arrived immigrants at the edge of the realm whose Mongolian names and origins were obvious to all, the Wu family were now unquestionably “one-percenters,” a capital family ranking among the elites of the elites and whose foreign origins were completely overshadowed by its century-old ties to the imperial throne and service in the highest echelons of the dynastic administration.

The Wu family’s experiences illustrate in clear and human terms how institutions change over time. Far from lapsing into an ornamental or parasitic existence after the horrific purges of the Hongwu and Yongle reigns, merit nobles remained integral to the Ming dynasty. Reviewing the careers of the Wu men across the generations, we see their role change from field commanders, to a mix of field command and senior administration, and finally to exclusively capital administration. Rather than a caricatured image of corrupt irrelevance, merit nobles, properly considered, serve as a salutary reminder that military institutions, like other institutions, adapted to new circumstances. Examination of the Wu family yields a sharper understanding of who actually administered the dynasty’s core military institutions, what functions they served, and how they interacted with civil officials, palace eunuchs, officers, and the throne. Civil officials came and went, eunuchs held posts for longer, and military officers led campaigns, but merit nobles provided much of the continuity in personnel so essential for the operation of the Capital Training Divisions and Chief Military Commissions, pillars of the dynastic military.

Chapter 1 traces the experiences of Batu-Temür, his wife, their sons, and some 5,000 followers, who in 1405 migrated from the Mongolian steppe to the northwestern corner of the still-new Ming dynasty. In recognition of the military contributions of Batu-Temür and his sons, and their steadfast loyalty on refusing to join a local Mongolian insurrection, the Ming emperor granted the family a series of high-level military posts, gifts, honorary titles, a Chinese surname (Wu), and eventually investiture of Batu-Temür as Earl of Gongshun, a title that his descendants would hold until the mid seventeenth century. The Wu family’s experiences show both the Ming dynasty and recently arrived immigrants actively attempting to advance their interests in a time of rapid geopolitical change.

The last Marquis of Gongshun, Wu Weihua, not only survived but thrived during the traumatic transition from the fallen Ming dynasty to the newly founded Qing dynasty. His elder brother died in an epidemic of unprecedented scale in the capital, leaving vacant the title of marquis. His nephew was murdered in a rebel occupation of Beijing without parallel in the dynasty. His sovereign perished at his own hand (another unique event during the Ming period), and the Ming ruling house crumpled before his eyes. Wu Weihua then hurled himself across the dynastic divide, offering his services to the new Manchu regime in exchange for the title his family had held without interruption since the early fifteenth century. In addition to dogged pursuit of that title, he worked tirelessly to secure the survival – even prosperity – of his family in a new age, winning posts for his brothers and brokering at least one marriage alliance with the new Manchu elite.

The Introduction lays out the book’s arguments, organization, and significance. The basic arguments are: (1) there was more to the military than war; (2) there was more to government than civil officials; and (3) there was more to China than the Han majority. The story of the Wu family is told at three levels: (1) the professional and family lives of each generation of the men to hold the title Marquis of Gongshun, (2) broader events and trends occurring in Ming politics, society, economics, religion, and ethnic relations, and (3) periodic consideration of the big picture, that is, thinking about the Ming dynasty in its Eurasian context. Nearly all polities confront issues of ability and difference as they secure people of ability through means such as hereditary status, meritocratic evaluations, and patronage. Simultaneously, polities like the Ming dynasty developed institutional means to acknowledge and whenever possible leverage differences such as ethnicity, gender, professional training, and relation to the throne.

This chapter explores the career of Wu Kezhong from 1418, the year he succeeded his father’s investiture as Marquis of Gongshun, to 1449, the year he fell in combat. Like his father, Wu Kezhong served the Ming throne as a Mongolian specialist and military commander. Batu-Temür had offered his loyalty to the Ming throne at the head of some 5,000 supporters, and Wu Kezhong too acted as a patron and protector for the Mongolian community. Despite such similarities, both the dynasty and the place of Mongols in the polity were changing. Wu Kezhong was among the first generation of his family to live through imperial successions as first the Yongle and then Xuande emperor died, leaving the throne to new sovereigns who actively sought the support of proven commanders such as Wu Kezhong. The new sovereigns, especially the man for whom Wu Kezhong and his brother died, differed importantly from their forefathers not only in their styles of rulership but also in their policies. That mattered because, even more than his father, Wu Kezhong pursued patronage through imperial institutions, which required knowledge of salary structures, commutation rates, and the shifting balance of power at court.

This chapter begins with Wu Jijue’s early years and upbringing, including his family and his education, with an eye toward the strategies that capital elites like the Wu family used to protect their status. It then turns to his long – nearly half a century – career in the capital and the provinces. As the sovereign’s man, Wu Jijue – like all merit nobles – performed a wide variety of tasks, and this chapter offers a series of snapshots to give a sense of the range of his duties, including (1) ritual officiant, (2) envoy to princely courts, (3) regional commander, and (4) participant in imperial reviews. The following chapter traces Wu Jijue’s service as a senior administrator in key military institutions with special attention to the light it sheds on the dynasty’s regularized assessment and reward of administrative performance.