This article examines the development of Muslim charitable practices in the Russian Empire (Volga-Ural region, Siberia and the northern Kazakh Steppe) from the Russian conquest of Kazan in 1552 to the 1917 Russian Revolution. Building upon existing research on charity in those regions, it argues that Russian rule from the 1550s to the mid-1800s created the basis for a range of locally-organized charity-based economies for meeting the religious, cultural, and social needs of Muslim communities in a non-Muslim state. Though these economies differed somewhat in organization, all were structured around Muslim modes of charity and all generated and re-enforced hierarchies within their respective communities. The struggles over charitable practices that occurred from the 1860s to 1917 emerged from these well-established but evolving economies as their participants responded to changing circumstances within and around their confessional communities.
Until recently, the study of Islam in Russia’s Volga-Ural region and Siberia centered on Jadidism, a cultural reform movement that advocated the modernization of Islamic law, the re-structuring of education, and the promotion of liberal democratic values.1 In 1991, the end of the Cold War, the opening of Russia’s archives to foreign scholars, and the embrace of new theories led historians of Russia to examine the history of Russia’s Muslims from two different perspectives: (1) the Russian imperial perspective, which focuses on the Russian government’s understanding of its Muslim subjects and its policies towards them, as recorded in Russian-language sources; and (2) the Muslim local perspective, which focuses on developments and discourses within Muslim communities, based on Arabic, Turkish, and Persian-language sources.2
In theory, these two perspectives should yield appreciably different results. To some degree, this has been the case, especially with respect to the internal discourses of Muslim communities. Historians working with difficult and long-neglected non-Russian sources have identified distinctive local Islamic cultures and complex understandings of the impact of reform movements, nationalism, and imperial policy on Russia’s Muslim subjects.3 However, the studies of both those historians who focus on imperial policy toward Islam and those who focus on the discourses and internal dynamics of Muslims communities have been heavily influenced by the “imperial turn” in the field of Russian history. Whether examining the history of Russia’s Muslims from the Russian imperial or Muslim perspective, historians have emphasized the power of the imperial government to directly shape community power structures, rituals, and discourses.
The view of the Russian state as the most powerful agent shaping the history of the Volga-Ural Muslim community is most clearly expressed in Robert Crews’s For Prophet and Tsar, in which he identifies the foundation of the Muslim Spiritual Assembly in 1788 as a pivotal moment in which the Russian government created official hierarchies and institutions for the ‘ulamaʾ and positioned itself as an arbitrator in matters of Islamic law.4 It is also evident in Michael Kemper’s Sufis und Gelehrte, in Allen J. Frank’s Islamic Historiography and “Bulghar” Identity, and, more recently, in Mustafa Tuna’s Imperial Russia’s Muslims. According to Kemper and Frank, the founding of the Spiritual Assembly generated new discourses among Muslims, for two reasons: first, it allegedly created space for Islam in the empire by granting it official recognition, and, second, it imposed a new hierarchy upon the ‘ulamaʾ.5 Tuna repeats this view of the founding of the Spiritual Assembly as a pivotal moment in the history of Russia’s Muslim communities, but adds to it the assertion that the growth of Russian trade and infrastructure in the mid-nineteenth century led to the integration of Muslims into Russian society.6
The “imperial turn” was intended to serve as a corrective to the Jadid narrative. By exploring the imperial dimension of Russian Muslim history, post-1991 historians have challenged the view that relations between Muslims and the Russian government were primarily hostile, and rejected the anachronistic, Soviet-era national identities attributed to Muslims living in pre-revolutionary Russia by the Jadid narrative. At the same time, the imperial turn left many aspects of the Jadid narrative intact. First, like their Cold War-era colleagues, historians writing after 1991 primarily study Muslim communities between 1860 and 1917. With the exception of Kemper, and, more recently, Nathan Spannaus, they rely primarily on sources written between 1880 and 1917 to understand Muslim society before the 1860s.7 As a result, they portray the post-1860s decades as a break with previous patterns of Muslim community life and state-community relations. Second, these historians have largely preserved the focus on Jadidism, despite criticism that this focus reduces the history of Russia’s Muslims to the experiences of a small group of educated elites. This is most evident in recent books by James Meyers and Tuna, both of whom focus on cultural reform, education, and empire-minority politics, as debated by a small number of educated upper and middle-class men. In their analysis of these debates, both historians preserve many of the structural themes of Jadidism, including the central role of Isma’il Gasprinskii in discussions of education reform, the division of Muslim society into distinct pro-reform (Jadid) and anti-reform (Qadim, conservative, or traditionalist) factions, and the secularization of Muslim society.8
This essay has two goals. The first is to reconsider the nature of the relationship between the Russian government and its Muslims in the Volga-Ural region. The Russian imperial government did, indeed, exert influence over the institutions and culture of its Muslims subjects, but imperfect knowledge of Muslim societies and the weakness of provincial bureaucracy severely limited the government’s ability to intervene consistently and effectively into the affairs of Muslim communities. The imperial government’s heavy reliance on Muslim leaders to manage affairs within their own confessional communities left Muslims with significant autonomy on certain issues. Moreover, of the many forces that influenced Muslim communities in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, some had their origin in Russian imperial policy, but others did not.
My second goal is to challenge some of the more persistent conventions of the Jadid narrative. Two of these conventions are the presentation of Muslim culture in the second half of the nineteenth century as a departure from Muslim culture in the first half; and the characterization of cultural developments in the late 1800s and early 1900s as either secular or religious. With regards to the first convention, there were certainly new developments in Muslim cultural life after the 1860s, but there are enough continuities across the nineteenth century to suggest an evolution rather than a break in intellectual life and practices. With regards to the second, the narrative of modernity as a secularizing process has been challenged in the fields of European and America history, where scholars now give greater attention to the revival, re-invention, and democratization of religion in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.9 To continue to view the transformation of Volga-Ural Muslim culture and politics in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as a secularizing process is to ignore current scholarship on religion and modernity.10
Charity in the Volga-Ural region, Siberia, and the northern edge of the Kazakh Steppe provides a lens for re-thinking relations between the Russian imperial government and its Muslims, continuity and change in Muslim culture and practices from the 1550s to the 1910s, and the utility of a secular-religious dichotomy to describe Muslim society in the last decade of the imperial period. Muslim charitable practices, especially benevolent societies, are highlighted in pre-1991 studies of Jadidism as evidence of changing worldviews and a new sense of civic or national identity in Muslim communities.11 Sadaqa and zakat have received attention, most notably in studies by Stephane Dudoignon and, more recently, James Meyer. Both scholars view the control of community financial resources as a key source of conflict over Muslim education reform in the early 1900s.12 Tuna also discusses Muslim charity, but returns to the pre-1991 view that changes in charitable practice point to the movement of Muslims towards a secular civic identity.13
All three of the abovementioned scholars discussed above focus exclusively on charity in the late 1800s and the early 1900s. This is also the case with Danil’ Azamatov’s institutional history of waqf in Russia.14 This chronological focus suggests that Muslim charitable practices were discontinued after the conquest and revived only in the late nineteenth century. Also, each scholar focuses on only one or two types of charitable activity. This approach makes it difficult to discern the specific functions that different kinds of charity performed within Russian Muslim moral frameworks and community economies. Also, Meyer, Dudoignon, and Tuna examine charity as it relates to Jadidist reform and the emergence of secular identities and worldviews among Russia’s Muslims.
An examination of Muslim charity in Russia from the 1552 conquest to the 1917 revolution suggests a very different picture. The framework within which Volga-Ural Muslims gave, received, and distributed charity was established in the decades following the conquest. Patterns of community self-reliance in financial matters, lack of state administrative supervision, and the resolution of disputes on a case-by-case basis were established early on in the Russian government’s relationship with its Volga-Ural Muslims. These patterns, which endured until 1917, were established by chance rather than by design, as both Muslims and Russian officials adapted to living together in the same empire. By the early 1800s, improved record-keeping and a growing literature on Islamic law reveal a vital, thriving culture of Muslim charity in the Volga-Ural region and the Kazakh Steppe. These activities resemble those described by historians of the late nineteenth century. This suggests that, in the late nineteenth century, older charitable practices continued and expanded. Finally, while the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries witnessed disputes over curriculum and pedagogical methods as well as new notions of civic and national identity, and a new emphasis on collective leadership and responsibility, these new elements did not replace older ideas about charity, salvation, divinely-imposed obligation, and common good. ‘Ulama and community leaders seeking charitable donations appealed to both sets of ideals and often combined them. In such an atmosphere, any attempt to distinguish secular motivations and practices from religious ones is problematic, at best.
This essay examines three chronological phases in the development of Muslim charity under Russian rule. The first, from 1552 to the end of the eighteenth century, was characterized by the establishment of a set of relations between the Russian state and Muslim communities. The second phase, from the late 1700s to the 1870s, was characterized by rapid economic development, mostly based on regional and international trade, by the donation of significant amounts of wealth as sadaqa and zakat, and by the emergence of a distinct regional written literature on charity. The third phase, from the 1870s to 1917, witnessed the expansion of institutions of local governance and the strengthening of civil society in many parts of the Russian empire. This combined with growing Muslim literacy and emphasis on the responsibilities of the individual believer to spur new movements toward collective responsibility in gathering and deploying charity.
The Foundations of Muslim Charitable Culture under Russian Rule (1552–1800)
What happened between 1552 and 1800 is critical for understanding the relationship between the Russian state and charity in the Muslim communities under its rule. Unfortunately, the documentary record for this period is limited. Scholars of Tatar history have assumed that the endowment of waqfsand the payment of zakat and sadaqa were practiced in the Kazan Khanate prior to 1552, based on documentation from other contemporary post-Mongol empire Muslim societies (e.g. the Khanate of Crimea, Bukhara). The fate of waqf properties has received the greatest scholarly attention. Scholars have posited that the Muscovite conquest of the khanate led to the destruction of Kazan’s waqfs (the Muscovites are known to have destroyed mosques and transferred the land on which they stood to the crown or the Orthodox Church).15 Any waqf not seized at that time would have lost its caretaker as a result of the deportation of Muslims from Kazan.16
In fact, the surviving documents do not attest to a specific Muscovite campaign against waqf at any time between 1552 and the founding of the Orenburg Spiritual Assembly in the 1780s. The silence of Russian-language documents on waqfs in post-conquest Kazan points to the gaps and blind spots in the Muscovite legal system that allowed waqf and other Muslim charitable practices to persist for centuries with little state supervision.
Muscovite and early Russian imperial law recognized three types of property: (1) crown lands, (2) lands held by noble families, and (3) church lands. The second and third types figured prominently in official documents concerning the integration of the Kazan Khanate. As Matthew Romaniello notes in his study of seventeenth-century Kazan, the establishment of monasteries and the awarding of lands and villages to the Russian Orthodox Church played a vital role in the cultural russification of the former khanate.17 Similarly, the seizure of lands from Muslim nobles and their awarding to Russian or newly-baptized nobles during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries served as a strategy for assimilating the local non-Christian military-political elite (by ordering them to choose between conversion to Christianity and loss of land and status).18 In the years immediately following the conquest, the Muscovite state dealt with its Tatar subjects as individuals who belonged to estates or legal categories (murzas or Muslim aristocrats, newly-baptized individuals, peasants, state servitors). Muscovy’s progress in assimilating the newly-conquered population was measured in terms of the Orthodox Church’s success in converting individuals to Christianity.19
The Muscovite conquest and integration of the Kazan khanate was undertaken by a state that had little knowledge of Muslim economic and charitable practices, or, at least, little interest in codifying and administering them. In its efforts to reduce the presence of Islam in the khanate, the Muscovite state measured its progress primarily in terms of individual and family conversions, rather than in the destruction of Islamic religious institutions. The state took particular interest in aristocratic landowning families who could offer military service and maintain order. The lack of state involvement in the financial affairs of its non-aristocratic Muslim subjects is attested by the local production of Turki and Arabic-language guides on Muslim inheritance in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. When noble landholdings were not involved, wealth appears to have been inherited according to Islamic law.20
The fact that Muscovites did not recognize, co-opt, or deliberately destroy Muslim charitable and financial culture had two long-term effects on the development of charity under Russian rule. First, the fact that the Muscovite state did not recognize waqf as a legal category meant that some of the major motivations for waqf-endowment elsewhere in the Muslim world were not found in the Volga-Ural region. In Mamluk Egypt and Syria, only slaves could enter the military-political elite. This requirement disqualified the children of Mamluk officers and officials from inheriting their fathers’ positions. In order to guarantee their children’s status and financial security, wealthy Mamluks converted their assets into waqf and designated their descendants as its managers. When later Mamluk rulers placed heavy taxes on merchant property, waqf assets, which were inalienable, were spared.21 Waqf served a similar purpose in Timurid Central Asia, where placing one’s land under the guardianship of a Sufi shaykh served as protection against taxation.22 In the Ottoman empire, property converted into waqf was exempt from taxation.23 This was not the case in Muscovy or, later, in the Russia empire, as Russian officials in the 1600s and 1700s viewed sizeable agricultural holdings designated as waqf as legally indistinguishable from the private holdings of Muslim landowning families and subjected them to the same rules of taxation and confiscation. Into the first half of the nineteenth century, waqf properties were still taxed at the same rates as private property.24 Economic incentives for endowing property as waqf, such as tax exemption, appeared only in the last few decades of the empire’s existence, notwithstanding the founding of the Orenburg Spiritual Assembly in 1788. All of this meant that large waqf complexes that could be found in most Islamic states did not develop in the Russian-ruled Volga-Ural region, Siberia, and the northern Kazakh Steppe. It also meant that Muslim notables could not acquire power through the establishment and control of large charitable endowments. Rather, the influence wielded by Muslim aristocrats, ‘ulamaʾ, and Sufi shaykhs was based on their control of small endowment properties (often attached to mosques) and their ability to channel liquid assets, which took the form of zakat payments and sadaqa donations. This financial situation was much more fluid than the large waqf-based charitable economies found in other parts of the Islamic world, and competition among Volga-Ural Muslim notables for the ever-shifting supply of charitable funds was fierce.
The lack of recognition of waqf, zakat, and sadaqa under Russian law created a dual system of managing charity. Without government regulation of waqf and zakat, it was the Muslim community members who set the rules and expectations for charitable culture and who managed charitable transactions. Matters relating to charity were only sent to the imperial authorities when the parties involved had reached an impasse. In those cases, Muslims employed the legal terms of the Russian state.25 This created a situation in which conflicts over waqf endowments were treated as property or contract disputes, or, after the foundation of the Spiritual Assembly, disputes over the conduct of mosque personnel.26
The conditions of life under Russian rule created both constraints and opportunities for Muslim charity in Russia in the 1500s and 1600s. Those constraints and opportunities shaped the fundamental structure of Muslim charity in the Volga-Ural region. After the conquest, Russian property laws and the government policy toward conversion and state service placed limits on the size and kind of charitable endowments that could be created. But there was no coherent policy on Muslim charity, much less on Islam in general. Rather, the government issued a hodge-podge of royal declarations that determined, often by default, the spaces within which Muslim charitable transactions could take place. At the same time, the conquest eliminated any sort of central supervision of charity collection and endowment management. This lack of supervision gave Muslim notables and scholars significant autonomy in managing charitable resources, as long as they could settle their disputes within their confessional communities.
Building Mosques, Regional Networks, and Reputations (1800–1860s)
A significant body of locally-produced writings relating to Muslim charity appeared in the 1770s and 1780s as a part of a sudden increase in manuscript production across the Volga-Ural region. This increase, which has often been attributed to Catherine II’s policies of tolerance toward Islam, also corresponds with an overall growth in Russia’s international trade and efforts by the state to organize and cultivate its merchants as a social class.27 Both Dudoignon and Tuna point to trade and the resulting economic prosperity as precursors to the increase in charitable donations from the 1880s to 1917. Increases in donations and general prosperity led, in turn, to debates over the regulation of charity at the community level.28 This same pattern was evident already in the late eighteenth century.
The boom in cultural production at the end of the eighteenth century occurred at a time of rising output and falling prices in the European and Russian paper-making industry. The growing accessibility of paper appears to have led to increased manuscript production and a new emphasis on literacy as a basic (and achievable) goal for pious Muslim men and women.29 The publication of the Quran in St. Petersburg in 1787 marked the beginning of the mass-printing of Arabic and Turkish-language texts in Russia.30 From the 1780s to the 1860s, the number of Arabic and Turkish-language manuscripts and printed books in circulation rose rapidly, among them, manuals and poetry intended to teach laypeople proper Islamic beliefs and morality. Charitable donations were highlighted as fundamental to being a good Muslim. For example, the popular mystical poem Badavam has no fewer than ten lines about zakat, in which the poet explains that one’s wealth is not considered pure until one pays zakat and promises the torments of Hell to anyone who fails to pay.31 From the 1800s until the 1860s, many such popular didactic works were published or hand-copied and circulated. An increase in the number of maktabs and madrasas from the late 1700s onwards, spurred by new merchant wealth, created a larger literate population and exposed more children and young people to rhetoric that encouraged the payment of zakat and sadaqa.
Ory, a prosperous village in Kazan Province, was one site of a conflict over charity. This conflict has been analyzed by a number of historians in connection with the religious authority of the newly-founded Muslim Spiritual Assembly.32 However, it may also be examined in terms of a struggle for control of community charitable resources. The conflict began with the ousting of Habibullah Hussainov, a Naqshbandi shaykh and the village imam, from a mosque constructed for him by a local merchant. According to later accounts, the donor claimed that he had built the mosque “for his children” and not for Habibullah.33 This conflict between the donor and the imam over the control of lands and money donated as zakat or sadaqa or endowed as waqf resembled similar conflicts that would occur in the late 1800s and early 1900s.34 The donor assumed that he had the right to make critical decisions concerning the mosque’s operation, whereas Habibullah assumed that once the resources had been donated as charity, the donor relinquished control over them. This sort of conflict between and among donors, administrators, and clergymen would be repeated multiple times from the early 1800s to 1917.
Dudoignon has argued that practice of Sufi networks controlling the collection and re-distribution of charity emerged at the end of the nineteenth century.35 However, the Ory mosque conflict suggests that the control of charitable activities by Sufi networks was well-established in Kazan Province by the end of the eighteenth century. The Risala-i Damella Habibullah al-Orywi, a brief set of instructions on Islamic belief and practice attributed to Habibullah, lists zakat at the very beginning of the text as one of the basic obligations of all Muslims.36 The Risala also identifies the alms paid at the end of Ramadan (fitr sadaqasy) as obligatory for all believers.37 Habibullah’s authority as an imam and shaykh was based on his ability to collect charity. He boasted a network of followers from Ory to Nizhnii Novogorod, the site of one of Russia’s largest trade fairs.38 As the spiritual guide to these followers, he collected and re-distributed their zakat and sadaqa payments. Access to this wealth made it possible to build a new mosque when he could not wrest his old mosque from his rivals. His influence reached beyond the boundaries of the Muslim community to the Russian governor of Saratov Province, who, in 1804, petitioned to have him appointed as mufti of a second spiritual assembly.39 Habibullah Hussainov’s career demonstrates how control of the Muslim charity economy could be transformed into political power. It also demonstrates how Muslims engaged the aid of provincial officials in an empire that did not have a policy or an administrative institution for managing Muslim charity. Rather than attempting to establish who controlled endowments and charitable donations in Ory village, Mufti Muhammadjan Hussainov encouraged Russian officials to oust or arrest Habibullah on the grounds that he lacked an imam’s license, had built a mosque without the government’s permission, and had rallied Muslims to oppose Russian rule.40 Instead of calling for the creation of an imperial policy on charity, Mufti Muhammadjan re-cast the conflict so that it could be adjudicated according to existing laws on the licensing and loyalty of Muslim clergy.
Another example of re-interpreting an individual dispute over charitable property to make it resolvable under Russian law occurred in early nineteenth-century Kazan. In 1829, S. Muhammadev and his wife V. Galeeva stipulated in their joint will that, after they had both died, two-thirds of their home should be given to the Kazan Congregational Mosque. Muhammadev died first, whereupon all of the couple’s property passed to Galeeva, who was also responsible for paying a debt left by her husband. Galeeva married a second time, but died before she could discharge her first husband’s debt. Relatives and creditors laid claim to the Muhammadev-Galeeva estate, and the case was taken before various officials and administrative organs in Kazan. By 1835, the Kazan provincial court had ruled to uphold the terms of the will and the building was transferred to the mosque and its imam as a waqf.41 This would appear to be an instance in which Russian officials intervened to uphold the establishment of a waqf, but it is important to note that the ruling was based upon the status of the donors’ will under Russian civil law. Because the will had been previously signed and witnessed in a Kazan court of justice (sudebnaia palata), the court considered it to be a binding legal document, whether or not its contents conformed to Islamic inheritance law.42
Whereas in Kazan Province merchants were the main contributors to Muslim charity, in the Orenburg borderlands, Kazakh aristocrats and imperial officials played a significant role in economic life. By the early 1800s, Kazakh nobles in the Junior, Middle, and Inner hordes were drawn into the orbit of the imperial state, serving first as spokespeople for their kin and clients and, later, as officials within the regional bureaucracy. At the same time, leaders within the Kazakh hordes were becoming Russian subjects who were integrated into the imperial state. Imperial service and trade with Central Asia enriched these Kazakh nobles, but also placed them in the awkward position of serving a non-Muslim ruler. Under these circumstances, charity became a vital source of legitimacy. By agitating for and financing the construction of mosques and madrasas, the nobles demonstrated their piety, generosity, and ongoing commitment to the welfare of their people.
In 1800, ‘Abdessalam ‘Abderrahimov, an imam in Orenburg (and, later, the second mufti of Orenburg) asked the Kazakh nobleman and recently-appointed khan of Mangyshlak, Pir’ali, to advocate for the construction of a new mosque in the city. ‘Abderrahimov reportedly told him, “In our view, this mosque is absolutely necessary: after completing their five daily prayers and their Friday and ‘Eid prayers, for many years to come, all of the beloved people will wish you and your descendants and your kin health and strength, and peace and contentment.” Moved by this promise, Pir’ali reportedly cried out, “I will sacrifice my body! And I will sacrifice my soul on the road of faith! Write [in the petition] whatever seems good to you!”43 Pir’ali petitioned the state for permission to build the mosque. Russian officials, who believed that the proposed mosque would play a vital role in developing trade and diplomatic relations between Russia and its Kazakh and Central Asian neighbors, not only gave Pir’ali permission to build it, but also paid for the construction costs and provided a stipend for the imam posted there.44
The model of the Kazakh aristocrat-turned-Russian official using his wealth and/or political influence to build mosques and madrasas and thereby establish himself as guardian and benefactor of the Muslim community was repeated across the northern steppe throughout the nineteenth century. Recalling the career of Musa Shormanov, a Middle Horde Kazakh who began his career as a bii or judge in 1832 and reached the rank of senior sultan of Omsk in Siberia by 1848, poet Mashhur Zhusip praised him for founding mosques and madrasas and setting people on the path to knowledge.45
The Kazakh aristocrat-benefactor par excellence was Jangir Khan, ruler-administrator of the Inner Horde east of Orenburg. From his appointment in 1824 until his death in 1845, Jangir Khan established and financed mosques across his territory and strove to educate local youths as legal scholars.46 In 1825, Jangir took the pursuit of his community’s wellbeing beyond the confines of Muslim charity by applying to the Russian government to post veterinary and medical specialists in his jurisdiction. Between 1830 and 1832, he arranged for youths to be trained in smallpox vaccination techniques and requested fresh shipments of cow pox to inoculate the people under his administration.47
Jangir Khan worked to spread Islamic learning among the Kazakhs of the Inner Horde. Among the books held in his personal library was a 900-page mas’ala-jawab book composed between the 1820s and the 1840s. It addressed most of the major issues of Islamic law and daily life, and included over 60 pages concerning the founding and management of waqf endowments as well as a section on zakat. This text contains one of the most detailed discussions of Muslim charity under Russian rule from first half of the nineteenth century.48
But even as jurists in the Orenburg borderlands set down rules for managing Muslim charity, the charitable culture of the northern steppe began to diverge from its counterparts in Muslim-ruled states, especially with regard to the role of non-Muslims in that culture. A mas’ala-jawab book penned in the Ottoman empire in the 1780s and brought into the Kazan region in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century specifiedthat zakat may not be given to non-Muslims (dhimmis), and that the giving and receiving of zakat should not involve non-believers.49 Although non-Muslims may not have directly received zakat in Orenburg and Kazan provinces, they were still involved in charitable exchanges. Muslims turned to Russian officials to resolve disputes over charitable donations and endowments. As new opportunities for assistance from the Russian state appeared, such as financing for mosques or admission of a small number of Muslim boys to Russian medical institutes and cadet corps, Muslim community leaders took advantage of them. In the 1830s, Mufti ‘Abderrahimov issued a call to Muslims to send madrasa students to attend Russian medical programs to help combat the spread of cholera and small pox.50 There is no evidence that either he, Jangir Khan, or anyone else who recruited Muslims for such programs imagined themselves as secularizing figures or drew a strict line between the religious and secular spheres. Rather, traditional forms of mobilization and financing were used to bring practical and beneficial knowledge to Muslim society.
Semipalatinsk, a trading town near the Russian-Chinese border, offers another example of the growth of charity in the first half of the nineteenth century. The location of a customs house for goods entering Russia from China and Tashkent, the town was home to around 2,000 Muslim citizens and eight mosques by the 1850s. Fitr sadaqasy and holiday-associated charity figured prominently in the community life of Semipalatinsk. In the evenings during Ramadan, the wealthy citizens of the town set up long tables filled with delicacies in front of their houses and invited all passers-by to break bread with them.51 On ‘Eid al-Adha, sheep and cattle were donated by wealthy citizens and distributed to the poor, so that all community members could partake in the traditional sacrifice and holiday feast.52
Semipalatinsk produced a local literature that praised and encouraged generosity. One such work tells the story of ‘Umar, a wealthy merchant with many wives, who spent his life giving money “to build many mosques and madrasas.” Indeed, he took the matter of sadaqa so seriously that when a beggar came to his gate in the middle of winter, he emerged from his house barefoot to give the beggar a silver coin. ‘Umar became ill and died shortly thereafter. But he reportedly appeared to a fellow Muslim in a dream in which he assured the dreamer that he had gained admittance to heaven as a result of his generosity in bestowing sadaqa for the building of mosques and madrasas.53 The author of the work then exhorts his readers to “give sadaqa with your own hand and purchase the afterlife.”54 For those who could not afford to hold public feasts or donate money, the text points out that acts of kindness were also considered sadaqa. These acts included providing food to travelers and washing their clothes.55
From the early nineteenth century to the 1860s, a flourishing charitable culture existed in the Volga-Ural region and in the northern Kazakh steppe. This culture was shaped, in part, by the Russian government’s investment in developing trade and institutions in the eastern and southeastern borderlands of the empire. Trade brought new wealth into Muslim communities. These monies were used for mosque-construction, poor relief, and assistance to students. New government regulations facilitated not only the construction of mosques and madrasas, but also the education of youth outside the madrasa (i.e. in medical institutes and cadet corps) and investment in new medical technologies and methods of livestock care. Charitable cultures varied from one region to another. Whereas in Kazan Province, charity took the form of zakat and sadaqa collected by prominent spiritual leaders, in Semipalatinsk, sadaqa was often given directly by donors to individual recipients. In the Kazakh communities of Orenburg and Omsk, aristocratic and bureaucratic elites took the lead in shaping the charitable culture.
Despite regional differences, these nineteenth-century cultures shared certain characteristics. First, all of these charitable cultures were constructed within Muslim moral framework. Giving away one’s wealth was viewed as a religious obligation, for which the giver would receive a divine reward. Second, by giving, donors established or re-affirmed their position in the community. Third, these activities were not directly regulated by the imperial government, even though they were influenced indirectly by the empire’s economy and frontier policies. As had been the case since the middle of the sixteenth century, the collection and re-distribution of charity was managed within Muslim communities, and charitable donations paid for community needs that were not subsidized by the Russian state. When disputes that broke out over the control of donated resources were taken before Russian officials, those disputes were re-framed to fit into Russian legal categories.
Waqf after the Great Reforms (1860s-1917)
The Great Reforms of the 1860s brought the end of serfdom in Russia, and with it, the dismantling of the lord-serf relationship that had enabled imperial officials to govern through the provincial nobility rather than interact directly with the empire’s millions of peasants.56 The government filled this new gap in administration by two means: (1) the expansion of the provincial bureaucracy, and (2) the introduction of city councils (gorodskaia dumas) and provincial councils (zemstvos).57 This expansion of imperial and local government coincided with an effort by the state to provide more infrastructure and social services to the population. From the 1870s until 1917, both the zemstvos and the imperial ministries (primarily the ministries of education and internal affairs) undertook the construction of roads, hospitals, and schools. The justice system was also expanded in many regions to allow Russian subjects from all social estates to bring their conflicts to provincial courts for arbitration.58
In the Volga-Ural region, Siberia, and the Kazakh Steppe, the Great Reforms did not introduce any mechanism for systematically regulating Muslim charity. Imperial officials were aware of this situation. In 1887, the government commission charged with documenting and regulating waqf properties in Crimea noted that there were no published guidelines on the creation and management of waqf in the Volga-Ural region.59 Despite the absence of legislation on waqf, zakat, and sadaqa, however, the Great Reforms era initiated several changes in Muslim charitable culture. First, the Great Reforms brought much more state involvement in education, family law, health and social welfare. Schools funded by imperial ministries or provincial councils multiplied. Second, the foundation of the zemstvos introduced a new layer of taxation. Whereas, in earlier centuries, taxes collected from the provinces financed the operation of the imperial government, post-1860s zemstvo taxes funded improvements and programs in the provinces in which they were collected. Before the 1860s, it was possible to differentiate between taxes, which went to the emperor, and charity, which funded institutions and welfare within Muslim communities. This distinction was blurred by the zemstvo taxes and led some Muslims to consider whether they should avail themselves of zemstvo schools and financial assistance.
Third, the introduction of limited local governance in Russia’s provinces was linked to a new sense of civic responsibility among educated provincial elites. This sense of civic duty had developed over the course of the nineteenth century, fueled by the Enlightenment and revolutionary discourses of western Europe and an expansion of the imperial bureaucracy that began under Emperor Nicholas I (reigned 1825–1855). It only found full expression, however, after the Russian defeat in the Crimean War and the death of Nicholas I. A growing number of provincial bureaucrats, nobles, and wealthy townsmen believed that the empire could be modernized and saved through cooperation between the imperial government and provincial elites.60
In the Muslim communities of the Volga-Ural region, Siberia, and the northern Kazakh Steppe, this new sense of civic responsibility intersected with views on Islam and the individual that had coalesced over first half of the nineteenth century. With the spread of maktabs and madrasas and the increase in the number of printed and manuscript books on topics ranging from primers and didactic songs to fiqh manuals, a new emphasis was placed on the obligation of the Muslim layman (and laywoman) to read sacred and instructional texts, to know the basic tenets of their faith, and to enforce those tenets in his (or her) household and community. This sense of the Muslim community as the sum of its individual members was largely consistent with the Russian liberal emphasis on local and community self-governance. By the 1880s, this sense of individual responsibility in matters of personal and community faith had produced a ready audience for Isma’il Gasprinskii’s newspaper, The Interpreter, (Terjuman).61 It also fueled resistance to the encroachment of emblems of Russianness (European-style clothing, Russian language classes) and Christianity (bells, Orthodox prayers in textbooks) into Muslim communities.62 Rather than representing a clash between “modernity” and “tradition,” these two responses – the embrace of liberalism and the rejection of things deemed non-Muslim – were both linked to the idea that each believer should know his religion and implement its rules for the wellbeing of the community.
Russian liberalism and the nineteenth-century popularization of Islamic knowledge combined to create new conflicts between community members and community leaders whose wealth and authority had enabled them to control charitable resources in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Such a conflict occurred in the 1870s, when a dispute arose between Shihabeddin Marjani, then imam of Kazan’s First Mosque, and Ibrahim Yunusov, a wealthy merchant who occupied the post of district head (maḥalla raise). These two men clashed over control of the district mosque and madrasa and the money allocated for their maintenance. As district head, Yunusov was responsible for resolving problems related to the guardianship of orphans and their inheritance, collecting state taxes from his district, and “oversee[ing] other matters relating to Muslims” – presumably including the mosque and madrasa. 63 In this capacity, he acted as a manager (mutawalli) of the madrasa and any affiliated waqfs. At the same time, Yunusov also made large charitable donations for the maintenance of the madrasa.64 His status as district head and his donations gave him great power over the ‘ulamaʾ and students of the madrasa and he allegedly used that power to make them do whatever he wanted.65
In 1870, Marjani sought to escape Yunusov’s control by bringing together other wealthy men of the districtand persuading them to donate money to purchase a plot of land and build a new madrasa. With the moral and financial support of the district’s residents, the madrasa students were moved to this new facility. Shortly thereafter, Marjani advised the residents of the maḥalla to elect special administrators to oversee “the mosque, the madrasa and the waqf.”66 Under Marjani’s direction, they petitioned the Spiritual Assembly for official recognition of this new arrangement for administering the mosque-madrasa-waqf complex.67
The Yunusov-Marjani conflict reflected the sensibilities of the Great Reforms era in two ways. First, Marjani’s appeal to his district’s citizens to mobilize and pool their resources to counteract Yunusov was similar to the community activism and citizen participation that Russian liberals idealized from the 1860s to the end of the imperial period. The shift from administration by one manager to administration by a committee of elected residents mirrored the shift across much of the empire toward using elected bodies to manage aspects of local administration in towns and provinces. Second, Marjani and the residents’ engagement of the Spiritual Assembly to uphold the new administration of the madrasa reflected the increasing involvement of the imperial bureaucracy in the daily lives of its provincial subjects, a trend across much of the empire in the 1870s. At the same time, however, the conflict also reflected the idea that Muslim community members should assume responsibility for morality and order. By instituting collective or committee control over community religious and educational institutions and their financial resources, Marjani and his followers sought to curb the perceived abuses committed by Yunusov as manager. Committee management should not be viewed as a purely Russian innovation; nor should it be viewed as a movement toward secularism or away from Islamic views on morality and legitimacy. Rather, the Yunusov-Marjani case demonstrates that imperial and indigenous elements could reinforce one another and were employed to various ends. Parallel developments, cross-pollination, and flexibility characterized Muslim charity from the 1870s to the end of the imperial period.
As noted in previous scholarship, Volga-Ural Muslim society in the period between 1860 and 1917 was characterized by a wide range of charitable practices and strategies.68 Discussions of waqf and zakat from the 1860s to the 1910s were more sophisticated and better documented than anything written in the previous three centuries. These two kinds of charity continued to serve as the foundation of community funding. Indeed, more waqfs were recorded between 1860 and 1917 than for the period between 1552 and 1860. Eighty-seven waqfs were registered with the Orenburg Spiritual Assembly. Thirty-six consisted of land, ranging from 2 to 200 desyatinas in size.69 Ten consisted of shops, with part or all of the rents and profits going to support the waqf beneficiaries. Fifteen consisted of houses, apartments, or other buildings, whose rents supported a designated beneficiary. Sixteen were cash waqfs, with initial investments (in Russian banks) ranging from 500 to 500,000 rubles. All but three of these waqfs were established between the 1860s and the 1910s. Although there were a few exceptionally large waqfs, the value of most ranged from a few hundred rubles to 10,000 rubles.70 Their proceeds most often covered the maintenance and operating costs of mosques, maktabs, and madrasas, paid for imams’ housing or teachers’ salaries, or provided financial support to madrasa students.
The waqfs listed above included only those that were registered with the Spiritual Assembly and the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Other sources include details on additional waqfs not listed in the Spiritual Assembly’s records. One such unregistered waqf is documented in an endowment deed from the village of Malchyn in Siberia. In 1888, three donors established a waqf for a village library. The waqf included a four-room stone library building, books and other supplies, as well as a second, three-room building to be used to house travelers or to meet other needs of the library.71 In addition, 3,000 rubles were donated to provide for the maintenance of the library.72 This waqf was established at the same time as many of the registered ones and was comparable in purpose and scale.
A second unregistered waqf is detailed in ‘Abdullah Bubi’s A Short History of Bubi Madrasa. When ‘Abdullah’s father, ‘Abd al-‘Allam, became imam of Bubi village, there was no longer a madrasa there. ‘Abd al-‘Allam began to accept students and to hold lessons in a private home. Shortly thereafter, the wealthiest resident of the village built a madrasa for ‘Abd al-‘Allam, and a second donor gave money for the construction of a maktab. Over time, the number of ‘Abd al-‘Allam’s students increased, and, in 1858, the same donor paid for the building of a larger maktab and a cafeteria. He intended to finance additional construction, but he ran out of money. At this point, the first donor gave the money to finish the construction of the new maktab.73 This donor, Ahmadjan Ahmadi, and his son, Muhammadjan Hajji, continued to provide financial support for Bubi Madrasa until 1910. In 1888, another figure, Ahmadjan son of ‘Abd al-Karim, bought and donated a plot of land “as a waqf.” Muhammadjan Hajji paid for the construction of a new madrasa, including a gate and a bridge, on this land.74 The relationship between and among the abovementioned parties was complex. Muhammadjan provided most of the money for repairs and improvements to the madrasa, but a member of Ahmadjan’s family was manager (wakil) of the property, and the imam-mudarris (‘Abd al-‘Allam Bubi and then his son, ‘Abdullah) set the agenda for the work that needed to be done.75
A third unregistered waqf appears in a 1909 letter to Din va Ma’ishat. The writer inquired about a müezzin who had failed to fulfill his professional duties, but continued to occupy one of two houses that had been endowed by a merchant as waqf for use by the village’s licensed imam and müezzin.76 The writer was advised to refer back to the original deed in which the two houses had been designated as waqf. If the contract specified fulfillment of duties as a prerequisite for occupying the house, then the waqf manager (Arabic: mutawalli/Russian: popechitel’) could evict the negligent müezzin. If, however, the contract only specified that the müezzin had to hold a license from the government, and he held one, then it was not appropriate for the müezzin to be evicted.77
Based on these three examples and the registered waqfs discussed above, several conclusions may be drawn. First, there was no single pattern for waqf management between the 1860s and 1917. Relationships between and among donors, managers, and community members were negotiated according to the needs and wishes of those involved, and the conditions of the endowments were probably fixed in written deeds or contracts, most of which have not survived. Second, property endowed as a waqf was not necessarily intended to produce income. By endowing a plot of land, a building, books, furniture, or, in one case, a spring, as waqf, the donor transferred the property from private to community ownership with the intent that it would provide public benefit.
Dudoignon, Tuna, and Meyer have all highlighted the connection between community funding and disputes over Muslim education.78 A full discussion of those disputes is beyond the scope of this article. Conflicting views over the purpose of madrasas did play a role in a few disputes over how the proceeds from a given waqf should be spent. Major sources of conflict included: (1) whether madrasas should train legal scholars or provide a general education alongside of Russian gymnasia and teachers’ schools, (2) what a modern Muslim general education should look like, and (3) whether a single institution would be able to offer multiple kinds of training. There were as many different answers to these questions as there were madrasas in Russia. The information available on some waqf conflicts involving education is so limited that it is difficult to reconstruct the positions of the participants in much detail. One such dispute arose in the village of Staro-Kilimov between Sufiya Janturina (who had endowed 200 desyatina of land as a waqf to support the village mosque and madrasa) and the two village imams over whether a general education curriculum should be introduced at the madrasa. When one of the new teachers hired to teach general education subjects at the madrasa was attacked, Janturina suspected that the imams were trying to prevent changes to the madrasa’s curriculum. She asked the Russian police to maintain order at the madrasa.79 Another incident occurred in 1906, when a donor gave 1,000 rubles to the First Congregational Mosque of Sterlitamak as a waqf on the condition that only “religious subjects” be taught in its madrasa.80
The waqfs associated with these conflicts represent only a fraction of all of the waqfs in Russia in the early 1900s, and to focus excessively on them is to ignore other aspects of the practice of endowment in the early twentieth century. Waqfs were pervasive in the early twentieth-century Volga-Ural region. They were created by people at different levels of society, from wealthy merchants to villagers who pooled small donations to form a single cash endowment.81 Books and newspaper articles offered instruction on how to establish different kinds of waqfs.82 By establishing a waqf, an individual or family might exert control over community life. Community members also established waqfs to free themselves from the control of an unpopular donor or manager. This latter practice points to social conflicts in the Muslim communities of the Volga-Ural region and a shift from elite to community stewardship of resources and institutions. Neither the Jadid narrative nor the more recent “imperial turn” adequately addresses these issues. To attribute these shifts solely to Russian influence or secularization is to ignore developments in Volga-Ural Muslim culture over the course of the nineteenth century. These developments include the spread of literacy, the democratization of Islamic knowledge, and the rise of new views on the role of the individual in Muslim society.
Zakat and Sadaqa after the Great Reforms
From the 1860s to 1917, zakat was a critical form of funding for community institutions and welfare. Dudoignon has highlighted the debate over whether donors should give their zakat to the beneficiaries directly or through an intermediary.83 This debate represents only one element of a complex discourse on zakat that unfolded in the early twentieth century.
One of the greatest challenges faced by jurists was enforcing the collection of zakat from wealthy members of their communities. In his early twentieth-century essay on zakat and education, ‘Abdullah Sulaymani lamented a local custom that permitted the wealthy to pay less than the prescribed 1/40 of their annual income, or to pay the full amount and then have part of their donation returned to them in the form of a gift: “Is there a greater sin on this earth than to hire the maḥalla’s mullah for 10 or 15 rubles and say ‘this is zakat for you’, and to give a few thousand rubles that are then returned to you as a gift?”84 To encourage people to pay their share of zakat, Sulaymani first appealed to the generosity of his readers and their sense of obligation to their community. He emphasizing that knowledge could not exist without wealth and that by giving money to feed, clothe and educate the poor, donors planted the seeds of a better future for their society.85 Second, he warned his readers that their prayers would be negated if they failed to pay zakat and that anyone who failed to pay was robbing the Islamic community: “Zakat is not our money. It is the community’s money. Therefore, a person who does not give zakat is, according to Islamic law, considered a consumer of the wealth of the entire [Islamic] community.”86
In a one of series of books on the basic requirements of Islam, Kazan legal scholar Galimjan Barudi defines who should pay zakat and who should receive it. He explains that zakat is levied on wealth that is above and beyond what a person needs. Muslims are not supposed to pay zakat from money needed for clothing, food, shelter, school textbooks, or the maintenance of a modest household. The payment of zakat should cause no hardship to the donor.87 According to Barudi, the poor (those who cannot afford food, shelter, and clothing) are supposed to be the primary recipients of zakat, but zakat may also be used to support imamsand madrasa students, to fund the construction and operation of mosques and madrasas, and for the vocational training of impoverished youth.88 In all cases, Barudi suggested, zakat should be given directly to those in need, and donors should pay zakat from their annual income within the year in which that wealth was earned.89
Early twentieth-century legal scholars proposed that zakat should be used to fund new kinds of community activity. For example, Sulaymani proposed that zakat may be used to pay for the education of Muslim boys in Russian schools. He justified his proposal on two grounds. First, his Muslim audience was composed of citizens of Russia. By sending their sons to Russian schools, they would help their community integrate into the culture and society of the empire. Second, boys studying in Russian schools might receive training as lawyers, engineers, or medical doctors. The skills they learned in Russian schools would improve life in Muslim communities. Therefore, support for boys who studied at Russian schools was consistent with the spirit of zakat, even if the money donated paid for tuition or room-and-board at a non-Muslim institution.90 Sulaymani’s view reflects practices that date back to the first half of the nineteenth century. By the early 1900s, however, both the number of Russian educational institutions and the number of Muslims interested in attending them had increased.
‘Abdullah Bubi, a legal scholar from Viatka Province, suggested that zakat may serve as the basis for an entire system of social services. He begins his discussion by noting that socialism offers a challenge to Islam insofar as it promises to address the material needs of the poor. Bubi proposes that through the mechanism of zakat, Islam could “put an end to socialism and make friends out of the poor.”91 To achieve this end, he recommends that money donated as zakat be used to establish institutions (mosques, madrasas, poor houses) to assist impoverished Muslims.92 This recommendation contradicted Hanafi doctrine, which explicitly forbids use of zakat to build mosques.93 While acknowledging this point, Bubi argues that the assistance such institutions would render to poor members of the community was in the spirit of sharia and, therefore, permissible. In addition, Bubi proposes that zakat payments be given to mosques, madrasas, and benevolent societies, which would then be responsible for managing those funds.94 He recommends that donors designate their zakat payments for specific purposes rather than leaving it up to the impoverished recipients to decide how to spend the money they received.95 The purpose of these recommendations was to use zakat to create a self-sustaining, well-organized system of poor-relief in which money would be distributed rationally and for maximum benefit. Bubi complains that when zakat was given directly to poor people, “most of the poor waste the zakat money, buying alcohol with it or casting it hither and yon. In this way, there is no benefit [from paying zakat]. The ranks of the poor are increased and the zakat money goes to waste.”96 In Bubi’s model, newer charitable practices, such as the foundation of benevolent societies, do not replace the need for zakat or the role of mosques and madrasas in providing social services. Rather, he seeks to combine old and new institutions and practices to create a system that would be both effective and consistent with Islamic morals. As with waqf management councils during the same period, ‘ulamaʾ and laypeople sought to refine Muslim charitable practices in order to guarantee that resources would be used for their intended purposes and to help communities maximize the benefits they received from donations and endowments. In Bubi’s plan, by letting donors specify how their donations would be used and by requiring institutions to monitor how donations were spent, zakat became a means of encouraging both donors and recipients to adhere to standards of Islamic morality.
According to Dudoignon, the practice of giving zakat directly to needy individuals and institutions rather than indirectly through intermediaries blurs the difference between zakat and sadaqa.97 In fact, the two types of charity served different functions within the moral world of Volga-Ural Muslims. In the didactic literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the payment of zakat is a purifying act. Until a Muslim has paid zakat from his income, that income may not be considered ḥalāl (permissible). This distinction continued in the twentieth century, as seen in a letter written by a merchant to Din wa Ma’ishat in 1909. The merchant asked how he should treat money that he had recently inherited, part of which had accumulated through ḥarām (forbidden) activities. He was advised that such money should not be combined with the money he had earned through ḥalāl trade, lest the former contaminate the latter. First, zakat had to be paid from the tainted money in order to purify it. After that, the now-purified money should be donated as sadaqa to help Muslims make the pilgrimage to Mecca or to support a mosque or madrasa.98 Zakat retained its role as a purifying process that must be performed before a wealthy Muslim may make additional donations as sadaqa. The obligatory nature and fixed amount of zakat made it particularly appealing to legal scholars, madrasa directors, and imams, regardless of their views on education and Islamic law. Like Bubi and Sulaymani, these community leaders used the concept of religious obligation (farz) to encourage the wealthy to give zakat. Sadaqa, by contrast, was a voluntary act made in addition to, or separate from, the required zakat.
Unlike Bubi,Musa Bigiev did not view zakat as a viable foundation for constructing an institutionalized, centralized Muslim charitable economy. In his treatise, Zakat, published in 1916, he discusses the possibility of using zakat as an Islamic funding solution in a free society. He points out that zakat differs from tithing (‘ushr, khums) and taxation. Governments have the right to demand that their citizens pay taxes, and citizens pay taxes with the expectation of receiving direct benefit in the form of services. However, no person or government has the right to order the payment of zakat, because not everyone is required to pay zakat. Those who pay zakat do so without expecting any profit or return. Bigiev notes that, historically, zakat has existed side-by-side with taxes on land and commerce. Therefore, a government may implement taxes without interfering with zakat or duplicating its function. In fact, a society needs both zakat and taxation, because zakat payments cannot replace taxes.99
The discussion of an Islamic system of social welfare and the compensation of ‘ulamaʾ for their work continued during the Russian Revolution. At the council of Russian ‘ulamaʾ held in Kazan in July, 1917, three potential sources of income for such a system were proposed. The first was voluntary donations gathered by a central organization. The second was an obligatory sadaqa (sadaqa wajibalar) collected by a central organization, some part of which would be set aside for support of the ‘ulamaʾ. There was no mention of who would be expected to pay this sadaqa or what amount would be required. The third was the issuing of 20-kopeck postage stamps to commemorate the liberation of Volga-Ural Muslims and the first meeting of the Russian ‘Ulamaʾ Union. The profits made from the sale of these stamps would be put into a treasury to support of the ‘ulamaʾ.100
New Forms of Charity in the Muslim Community
Although waqf, zakat,and sadaqa continued to serve as the foundation of Muslim charity in the Volga-Ural region, by the early 1900snew options and strategies appeared in Muslim communities. The benevolent societies of the early 1900s have received the most attention from scholars, but Muslim citizens at different levels of society experimented with a variety of methods of collecting and distributing donations, including the collection of a fixed amount of money from all households in a district, and the payment of membership dues to a professional or social organization. The newly-formed all-Russian Muslim organization, Ittifaq, proposed to fund its work by requesting donations from those who attended its conferences.101 Similar strategies were used by madrasa students to raise funds to help their impoverished classmates. Requiring all residents of a maḥalla to contribute a small sum to support community mosques and schools was proposed as an alternative to dependence on large sadaqa payments from wealthy donors.102 Even school children were encouraged to participate in these community charity efforts. As one school primer advised:
A good child reads his lessons. […] He saves his money. […] A good person and a responsible child helps the poor. He does not flee from the poor. He feels pity for them. He tries to help them and he befriends learned people. He does much to support them. […] Oh, my son, be good. […] You will be happy in this world and the next, God willing.103
These sentiments were more than platitudes in textbooks. In 1917, for example, after reading about the need to fund Muslim women’s education, female teachers and pupils at one maktab collected 36 rubles and 75 kopecks and sent the sum to the women’s journal, Suyumbika. To recognize their generosity, the journal printed an announcement that included all of the donors’ names.104 Such recognition reproduced on a small scale the kinds of praise and public admiration that the great donors of the nineteenth century received in return for funding mosques, schools, and poor relief.
Scholars writing about Jadidism often point to such collections as evidence of a new, secular spirit in Muslim society, but charity remained closely linked to individual salvation, piety, and a code of community morality that dated back to the early nineteenth century. The pooling of tens or hundreds of small donations served the same function as elected waqf management committees: it removed control of community resources from the hands of a small number of elites and placed it in the hands of community members. The collection of small donations by communities and by citizens organizations made it possible for Muslims of modest means to contribute to the support of their schools, mosques, and impoverished co-religionists and to earn social recognition and spiritual benefits (i.e. salvation).
With fierce competition for community resources, some institutions used a combination of charity and state funding sources and strategies to meet their expenses. The 1915 budget of the Cheliabinsk Muslim Free Public Library, for example, included at least five different kinds of funding: (1) 500 rubles from the city administration, (2) 600 rubles from the Orenburg provincial zemstvo, (3) 200 rubles from a local Muslim benevolent society, (4) 150 rubles from members of the library, and (5) 100 rubles from private individuals who were not members of the library.105 “Members” included thirty-seven individuals and two commercial societies.106 Galiyya Madrasain Ufa likewise used multiple fundraising methods. The madrasa’s 8,000–9,000-ruble annual budget was covered through a combination of student tuition and private donations.107 Student tuition (40 rubles for auditors and 30 rubles 20 kopecks for official students) provided the madrasa with an income of 4,092 rubles during the 1914–1915 academic year.108 One hundred and twenty-three donors gave between one and 300 rubles during the year, providing a further 5,733 rubles for the maintenance and operation of the madrasa.109
Muslim charity, which thrived in the early 1900s, did not develop evenly across the Volga-Ural region, Siberia, and the Kazakh Steppe. As both Dudoignon and Naganawa have noted, there were vast differences in wealth between large towns such as Kazan and small villages in the Urals or the steppe. A community’s choice of funding sources was often dictated by availability. In parts of Ufa province, Siberia, and the Kazakh Steppe, many Muslim villages had no schools and their residents eagerly embraced any source of financial assistance to build educational and religious institutions and provide social services, whether from the Russian government, wealthy individual donors, or multiple small donors.110 In wealthier regions, in which there were many institutions and donors, community members and ‘ulamaʾ had greater latitude in determining from whom to accept money and how to manage that money.
Morality, Community, and Money: The Fight for the Hussainov Waqfs
The 1907 dispute over the fate of a waqf founded by the prominent Orenburg merchant Ahmad Bai Hussainov exemplifies the ways in which Muslim charity did and did not change by the early 1900s. During his lifetime, Ahmad Bai was a strong supporter of universal literacy, of teaching non-‘ulamaʾ vocational skills and gymnasium-style subjects in madrasas, and of reducing the number of instructional hours needed to train Muslim jurists. He used his wealth to found Hussainiyya Madrasa in Orenburg and many maktabs in various parts of Russia that were designed to meet these goals.111 He died in 1906. In his will, he designated 500,000 rubles as a waqf to support teachers, mosques, schools, and other charitable goals. In 1907, a committee of twelve ‘ulama’, merchants, and community leaders was formed to administer what at the time was one of the largest waqfs in the Russian empire.112 This arrangement was soon disputed.
In 1907, students in Hussainiyya Madrasa convened a meeting of the Orenburg Muslim Society. They leveled a variety of accusations against Muhammadwali Hussainov, the son of Mahmud Hussainov, who was the brother of the late Ahmad Bai and a member of the waqf management council. They alleged that Muhammadwali was living in a house that had been endowed by his father, Mahmud, as waqf, that he had opened cafés in other waqf buildings, that he had illegally gained control over one of the city’s madrasas, that he had appointed his handsome male servant as a junior teacher, and that he publicly complained about having to use waqf proceeds to support students (the purpose for which the waqfs had been created).113 The students complained that, after they had made their accusations, Muhammadwali would enter the classrooms of Hussainiyya Madrasa, berate them, search their quarters for revolutionary songs, and threaten to have them turned over to the police.114
The conflict quickly took on moral and political overtones. The students presented the situation as a clash between destitute young Muslims and the wealthy Muhammadwali, who used his control over the waqf money to force the students to obey him.115 Instead of teaching religion, fiqh, and hadith, as they were supposed to, the madrasa teachers forced the most outspoken students to quit the madrasa and quieted dissent by buying the remaining students hard liquor and denying them food.116 The author of one pamphlet accused Muhammadwali of appointing madrasa directors and teachers without regard for the wishes of the district’s residents (and in violation of Russian law), of ignoring the committee of administrators elected to manage the waqf, and, in general, of running the waqf as though he were an “autocrat” (samoderzhavie).117 Since Ahmad’s death, instead of “serving the nation,” Muhammadwali had become a “bourgeois” and a “capitalist” who used the waqf to enrich himself and abused those forced to turn to him for charity.118 The students ended their protest against Muhammadwali with a fictional letter from the late Ahmad Bai in heaven to his nephew, in which he berated the latter for failing to respect his wish that his fortune be used to serve his nation.
The struggle to clarify the status of the two Hussainov waqfs continued until 1909, at which time the Russian bureaucracy intervened in the matter. The waqf management board appealed to the Muslim Spiritual Assembly to clarify the status of the Ahmad Bai waqf. The Muslim Spiritual Assembly, in turn, had to receive permission from Russia’s Ministry of Internal Affairs (MIA) before it could consider the case.119 The MIA granted that permission in April 1908, justifying its decision with reference to the Russian Civil Law Code of 1900; the Spiritual Assembly could resolve the case on the condition that the provisions for the creation of the waqf and the management council had been set down in Ahmad Hussainov’s will.120 In January 1909, the Spiritual Assembly ruled on the two Hussainov waqfs: (1) the waqf established by Mahmud Hussainov, which included the Hussainiyya Madrasa building, and (2) the waqf established in 1906 by Ahmad Hussainov in his will (which provided funding for teachers and students, including some of those at Hussainiyya Madrasa). In both cases, the Spiritual Assembly referred back to the intent of the waqfs’ founders as expressed in written documents (in Ahmad Bai’s case, his will) and upheld the terms established in those documents. In both cases, this meant that the Spiritual Assembly confirmed the right of the management councils to run the affairs of the waqf and of Husainiyya Madrasa.121 But this did not end the dispute over how the Ahmad Hussainov waqf was to be used. In April, Din va Ma’ishat published an open letter to Mahmud Hussainov. The anonymous author of the letter expressed sympathy with Mahmud’s desire to serve his community, but pointed out that he was making a grave error by giving money to people who considered it permissible for Muslims to hold theater performances and for young men and women to socialize freely. If Mahmud really wanted to benefit the Muslim community, he should use the waqf revenues to support moral people and moral projects.122
Ahmad and Mahmud Hussainov are often cited as examples of Jadid activists and secularizers.123 However, there are clear links between the rhetoric surrounding their charitable activities and that of the previous century. A ballad composed in Orenburg in the early 1900s praised Ahmad Bai and his brothers Mahmud and ‘Abd al-Gani for their generosity and mercy, crediting them with the construction of “4,400 mosques” and comparing them to the prophets Solomon, Job, and Joseph. It predicted that their charity would earn them a place in heaven. This rhetoric of salvation was mixed with praise for serving their nation and the community.124 The persistence of nineteenth-century rhetoric is also visible in the Hussainiyya students’ protests against Muhammadwali and their criticism of him for not using waqf proceeds for their intended purpose, for abusing his power as a manager and teacher, and for mistreating the students. The students portrayed themselves as pious Muslims concerned with the moral and material wellbeing of the community. This belief that laypeople should take on the responsibility of enforcing proper Muslim behavior at all levels of their community continued a trend that began with the popularization of Islamic knowledge in the early nineteenth century.
The idea of Muslim morality and individual responsibility was sufficiently resilient and compelling to support and incorporate concepts of nation and class. Had education at Hussainiyya been secular, as some historians have suggested, one would have expected the students to protest that they were not being taught geometry, French, or world history. The students’ use of the language of Marxist class struggle to protest that they were being deprived of the opportunity to study fiqh and hadith suggests that the secular-religious dichotomy put forward in studies of Jadidism is inadequate to explain how Volga-Ural Muslims viewed themselves, their faith, and their community.
The conflict over the Hussainov waqfs also points to the limits of the imperial government’s involvement in the charity-based economy of Muslim communities. By the last decades of imperial rule, the Russian government had encroached upon the edges of that economy by providing new sources of funding to schools and by founding courts in which property disputes among peasants and townsmen could be resolved by arbitration. Despite its entry into the sphere of elementary education, however, the Russian government created neither a full system of social services capable of replacing Muslim charitable networks nor administrative mechanisms to regulate the activities of those networks. Muslims, for their part, were ambivalent about government intervention into community affairs. Although they were willing to accept funding from the zemstvos and to settle conflicts over waqf assets in the courts, Muslims generally sought community-based, non-governmental sources of funding for schools and social services. The result was piecemeal state intervention into community-based networks of support.
Muslim charity in the Volga-Ural region and Siberia was shaped by encounters between the Muscovite-Russian conquerors and their Muslim subjects in the sixteenth century. The Muscovites engaged in Christianization by building churches and converting individuals, not by restructuring community social and economic relations from the ground up. Muscovite taxation practices were based on a policy of non-interference, so long as community representatives made their payments on time. In return, the Russian state provided only minimal services. These governing strategies created unregulated spaces for the development of village and regional economies of gathering and redistributing resources structured primarily around Muslim categories of charity.
By the beginning of the nineteenth century, as trade brought more wealth into Muslim communities from Kazan to Siberia, charitable offerings grew in size, documentation relating to charity improved, and regional differences in Muslim charitable culture became evident. The shaykh-centered networks in villages such as Ory, the Kazakh aristocrat-sponsored projects in the northern steppe, and the sadaqa-funded holiday celebrations in Semipalatinsk represented adaptations of Muslim charitable practices to Russian rule. Despite differences in these regional charitable economics, all were organized by Russia’s Muslim subjects at the local level. The Russian government sometimes provided incentives for community mobilization (the construction of a new mosque) or was called upon to resolve conflicts over community funds and property, but it neither defined Muslim morality nor established laws for regulating charity and the services supported by donations and small endowments.
The Great Reforms era and its aftermath continued the developments of the early nineteenth century. Influenced by Russian liberal reforms and rising expectations about what lay Muslims should know about their religion, non-elite actors took on a growing role in managing donations and endowments. ‘Ulamaʾ attempted to better regulate the collection and distribution of donations. Collective management and institutionalization came to be preferred over older practices that concentrated authority in the hands of a single donor or manager. In some cases, ‘ulamaʾ and laity attempted to use the distribution of charity and the monitoring of waqf managers as mechanisms of social control to enforce moral behavior among both the wealthy and the poor.
The absence of imperial laws and regulatory agencies generated periodic conflict among donors, ‘ulamaʾ, and community members who sought to control the flow and distribution of charitable funds. By keeping the Russian state out of community charitable life, Muslims could exercise greater autonomy in the communal economy, but had little leverage to enforce charitable obligations. Calling upon Russian officials for support might facilitate the enforcement of religious law, but this approach might also lead to the imposition of laws by non-Muslims. The Russian government, for its part, did not attempt to take over the management of Muslim charity. It continued to resolve conflicts on a case-by-case basis and to interpret those conflicts in terms of Russian civil law. As a result, Muslim charity in the 1910s remained, institutionally, more or less at the same level as in the 1550s, outside of the Russian administrative system and addressing social and cultural needs that the Russian government did not.
1 Azade-Ayşe Rorlich, The Volga Tatars: A Profile in National Resilience (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1986); Serge Zenkovsky, Pan-Turkism and Islam in Russia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960); Charles W. Hostler, Turkism and the Soviets (London, 1957); Alexandre Bennigsen and Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay, La Presse et la Mouvment National chez les musulmans de Russie avant 1920 (Paris/The Hague: Mouton, 1964).
2 Studies of Russia’s Muslims written from the Russian imperial perspective include Robert D. Crews, For Prophet and Tsar: Islam and Empire in Russia and Central Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006); Robert P. Geraci, Window on the East: National and Imperial Identities in Late Tsarist Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001); Paul W. Werth, The Tsar’s Foreign Faiths: Toleration and the Fate of Religious Freedom in Imperial Russia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); Charles Steinwedel, Threads of Empire: Loyalty and Tsarist Authority in Bashkiria, 1552–1917 (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2016). Studies written from the Muslim local perspective include Michael Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte in Tatarien und Baschkirien: Der Islamische Diskurs unter russischen Herrschaft, (Berlin: Schawrz, 1998); Allen J. Frank, Islamic Historiography and “Bulghar” Identity among the Tatars and Bashkirs of Russia (Leiden: Brill, 1998); idem, Bukhara and the Muslims of Russia: Sufism, Education, and the Paradox of Islamic Prestige (Leiden: Brill, 2012); Agnes Nilufer Kefeli, Becoming Muslim in Imperial Russia: Conversion, Apostasy, Literacy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2014); James H. Meyer, Turks across Empires: Marketing Muslim Identity in the Russian-Ottoman Borderlands, 1856–1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); Mustafa Tuna, Imperial Russia’s Muslims: Islam, Empire, and European Modernity, 1788–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015).
3 See, for example, Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte; Frank, Islamic Historiography and “Bulghar” Identity; Allen J. Frank, Muslim Religious Institutions in Imperial Russia: The Islamic World of Novouzensk District and the Kazakh Inner Horde, 1780–1910 (Leiden: Brill, 2001).
7 Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte; Nathan Spannaus, “Islamic Thought and Revivalism in the Russian Empire: An Intellectual Biography of Abu Nasr Qursawi (1776–1812), (Phd diss., McGill University, Montreal, 2012).
9 S.J. Barnett, The Enlightenment and Religion: The Myths of Modernity (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2003); Nathan O. Hatch, The Democratization of American Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991).
10 Muhammad Qasim Zaman, Modern Islamic Thought in a Radical Age: Religious Authority and Internal Criticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Saba Mahmood, Religious Difference in a Secular Age: A Minority Report (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015); Rethinking Secularism, ed. Craig Calhoun, Marx Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan Vanantwerpen(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).
12 Stéphane A. Dudoignon, “Status, Strategies and Discourses of a Muslim ‘Clergy’ under a Christian Law: Polemics about the Collection of Zakat in Late Imperial Russia,” Islam in Politics in Russia and Central Asia (Early Eighteenth to Late Twentieth Centuries), ed. Stéphane A. Dudoignon and Komatsu Hisao (London: Kegan Paul, 2001), 43–73; James H. Meyer, “The Economics of Muslim Cultural Reform: Money, Power, and Muslim Communities in Late Imperial Russia,” Asiatic Russia: Imperial Power in Regional and International Contexts,ed. Tomohiko Uyama(London: Routledge, 2011), 252–70.
14 D.D. Azamatov, Iz istorii musul’manskoi blagotvoritel’nosti. Vaqfy na territorii evropeiskoi chasti Rossii i Sibiri v kontse XIX-nachale XX veka (Ufa: Bashkirskii universitet, 2000).
15 Aidar Khabudtinov, Ot obschiny k natsii: Tatary na puti ot srednevekov’ia k novomu vremeni (konets XVIII-nachalo XX vv.) (Kazan: Tatarskoe Knizhnoe Izdatel’stvo, 2008), 42.
17 Matthew Romaniello, The Elusive Empire: Kazan and the Creation of Russia, 1552–1671 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2012), 33–36.
18 Polnoe sobranie zakonov Rossiiskoi imperii. Sobranie 1-e, tom 1, No. 616, .1029; PSZ tom 2, No. 700, 129; No. 867, 312–13; No. 870, 315; No. 923, 403; No. 944, 456.
19 On the treatment of Tatar converts, see “1555 Maiia. Akty ob otpuske v Kazan’ tamoshniago Arkhiepiskopa Guriia,” Akty Arkheograficheskoi Ekspeditsii (St. Petersburg, 1836), 259–60.
20 Kazan Federal (Povolzh’e) University – Otdel’ Rukopis’ i Redkikh Knig (KF(P)U – ORRK), AR 2969, 63ob-64; Institut’ Iazyka, Literatury i Iskusstva im. G. Ibrahimova Respubliki Tatarstan (IYaLI), fond. 39, opis’ 1, delo 4814, list 1–2ob.
21 Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus, 1190–1350 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 61–63; Jean-Claude Garcin, “The Regime of the Circassian Mamluks,” The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume One: Islamic Egypt, 640–1517, ed. Carl F. Petry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 302.
22 H.R. Roemer, “Timur in Iran,” The Cambridge History of Iran, Volume 6: The Timurid and the Safavid Periods, ed. Peter Jackson and Lawrence Lockhart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 52, 54; Beatrice Forbes Manz, “Temür and the Early Timurids to c. 1450,” The Cambridge History of Inner Asia: The Chinggisid Age, ed. Nicola Di Cosmo, Allen J. Frank and Peter B. Golden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 198; Paul Jurgen, “Forming a Faction: The Himayat System of Khwaja Ahrar,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 23:4 (1991), 533–48.
23 An Economic and Social History of the Ottoman Empire, 1300s-1914, ed. Halil Inalcik and Donald Quataert (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 123–26.
24 L.M. Sverdlova, Kazanskoe Kupechestvo: Sotsial’no-ekonomicheskii portret (Kon. XVIII–nach. XIX v.) (Kazan: Tatarskoe knizhnoe izdatel’stvo, 2011), 276.
25 Akty Istoriicheskie i Iuridicheskie i drevniia tsarskiia gramoty Kazanskoi i drugikh sosedstvennykh gubernii, Tom I, ed. Stepan Mel’nikov (Kazan, 1859), 179–85.
26 Dudoignon has argued that the Russian state treated waqf endowments as private property. However, as will be argued below, Russian officials and Muslim legal scholars tended to give waqf foundation documents precedence over the proprietary claims of donors and their descendants.
27 Dudoignon, “Status, Strategies and Discourses,” 49; Tuna, Imperial Russia’s Muslims, 38–39; Crews, For Prophet and Tsar, 31–61; Allen J. Frank, Islamic Historiography and “Bulghar” Identity; Michael Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte: 27–33.
29 Kefeli identifies popular religious literature as a key factor in how baptized non-Russians in the Volga-Ural region crafted, discussed, and altered their religious identities; she also emphasizes that nineteenth-century Muslims believed that even minimal literacy would bring them closer to God and contribute to their salvation (Kefeli, Becoming Muslim in Imperial Russia, 61–116). These factors had played an important role in the popular mobilization and re-conceptualization of faith in the Volga-Ural region’s Muslim communities in the early 1800s.
30 A.G. Karimullin, U istokov tatarskoi knigi: ot nachala vozniknoveniia do 60-kh godov XIX veka (Kazan: Tatarskoe knizhnoe izdatel’stvo, 1992) 96; Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte, 43–50.
32 Danil’ Azamatov, “Russian Administration and Islam in Bashkiriia (18th–19th centuries),” Muslim Culture in Russia and Central Asia, 4 vols.(Berlin: Schwarz, 1998), 2:108–9; Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte, 57–61; Crews, For Prophet and Tsar, 62–66.
33 Shihabeddin al-Marjani al-Qazani, Al-qism ath-thani min kitap mustafad al-akhbar fi akhwal Qazan wa Bulghar (Kazan: Tipo-litografiia imperatorskago universiteta, 1900), 190–91.
34 In the Hussainov case, it is not clear whether the money donated to build and maintain the mosque was given as zakat, sadaqa or waqf.
36 “Risala-i Damella Habibullah al-Orywi,” Institut’ Iazyka, literatury, i iskusstva im. G. Ibragimova – Akademiia nauk Respubliki Tatarstan, fond 39, opis 1, delo 3442. list. 35ob.
37 “Risala-i Damella Habibullah al-Orywi,” Institut’ Iazyka, literatury, i iskusstva im. G. Ibragimova – Akademiia nauk Respubliki Tatarstan, fond 39, opis 1, delo 3442. list. 35ob, 36.
43 Gabdessalam Gabderrakhimov, “Khater daftare,” in Gabdesalam Mofti, ed. Masgud Gainetdin. (Kazan: Iman nashriiaty 2002), 22; Mami Hamamoto, “Tatarskaia Kargala in Russia’s Eastern Policies,” in Asiatic Russia: Imperial Power in Regional and International Contexts, ed. Tomohiko Uyama (London: Routledge, 2012), 32–51.
45 Mashhur Zhusip Kopeev, “Musa Shormanov,” Qazaqtyng burynghydan qalghan sozi, (Almaty: Zhazushy, 2007), 122–24.
46 Istoriia Bukeevskogo khanstva, 1801–1852 gg.: Sbornik dokumentov i materialov, ed. M. Zh. Khasanaev (Almaty: Daik-Press, 2002), 291, 296.
47 Istoriia Bukeevskogo khanstva, 1801–1852 gg.: Sbornik dokumentov i materialov, ed. M. Zh. Khasanaev (Almaty: Daik-Press, 2002), 256, 332.
51 Natsional’naya Biblioteka Respubliki Kazakhstan – Fond Redkikh Knig No. 58 (N.A. Abramov, “Gorod Semipalatinsk”) 43–45 ob.
52 Natsional’naya Biblioteka Respubliki Kazakhstan – Fond Redkikh Knig No. 58 (N.A. Abramov, “Gorod Semipalatinsk”) 43.
56 Marc Raeff, The Well-Ordered Police State: Social and Institutional Change through Law in the Germanies and Russia, 1600–1800 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983); George L. Yaney, The Systemization of Russian Government: Social Evolution in the Domestic Administration of Imperial Russia, 1711–1905 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1973).
57 B.B. Veselovskii, Istoriia Zemstva za sorok let (Petersburg, 1908–1909); Yaney, The Systemization of Russian Government.
58 Stefan B. Kirmse, “Law and Empire in Late Tsarist Russia: Muslim Tatars Go to Court,” Slavic Review 72:4 (2013), 778–801.
60 W. Bruce Lincoln, In the Vanguard of Reform: Russia’s Bureaucratic World, 1825–1855 (DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press, 1982).
61 On Isma’il Gasprinskii and the history of Jadidism, see Edward Lazzerini, “Ismail Bey Gasprinskii and Muslim Modernism in Russia, 1878–1914” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1973); Azade-Ayşe Rorlich, The Volga Tatars: A Profile in National Resilience; Adeeb Khalid, The Politics of Muslim Cultural Reform: Jadidism in Central Asia (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998); James H. Meyer, Turks across Borders; Tuna, Imperial Russia’s Muslims, 148–51.
62 Mohammat Mahdiev, “Shagyir’neng bishshege,” Syzyp ak nur belan ...: Shakhexlarebez tarikhynnan, ed. Gauhar Khasanova (Kazan: Tatarstan kitap nashriiaty, 2014), 182–83.
76 After 1789, in order to hold the position of imam, khatip, mudarris, or muezzin, an individual had to receive a license from the Orenburg Spiritual Assembly.
82 Mas’ala,” Din va Ma’ishat, 8 (1909) 20; “Ġallat al-waqf khaqında,” Din va Ma’ishat, 17 (1909), 263.
87 Galimjan Barudi, Su’al-Jawably Gibadat salas: Zakat, rauzy, hajj gamallary baianynda (Kazan: Elektro-tipografiia “Milliat,” 1913), 3.
88 Galimjan Barudi, Su’al-Jawably Gibadat salas: Zakat, rauzy, hajj gamallary baianynda (Kazan: Elektro-tipografiia “Milliat,” 1913), 8.
89 Galimjan Barudi, Su’al-Jawably Gibadat salas: Zakat, rauzy, hajj gamallary baianynda (Kazan: Elektro-tipografiia “Milliat,” 1913), 7–9.
91 ‘Abdulla Bubi, Haqiqat, iahud Tugrylyq: berenche juz (Kazan: Lito-Tipografiia I.N. Kharitonova, 1904), 15.
92 ‘Abdulla Bubi, Haqiqat, iahud Tugrylyq: berenche juz (Kazan: Lito-Tipografiia I.N. Kharitonova, 1904), 16.
101 Musa Jarulla Bigiev, “Istoricheskoe sobranie,” trans. I.F. Gimadeev <http://www.idmedina.ru/books/materials/rmforum/1/sect1_gimad.htm> (accessed 11/4/2014)
105 Chelabi shaharenda ijratsez musulman kitapkhana-kira’atkhanaseneng senawi otchetı, 1915 (Ufa: Sharıq, 1916), 20.
106 Chelabi shaharenda ijratsez musulman kitapkhana-kira’atkhanaseneng senawi otchetı, 1915 (Ufa: Sharıq, 1916), 16.
110 Norihiro Naganawa, “Maktab or School?” Introduction of Universal Primary Education among the Volga-Ural Muslims,” in Empire, Islam and Politics in Central Eurasia, ed. Tomohiko Uyama (Sapporo: Slavic Research Center, Hokkaido University, 2007).
111 On the Hussainov family and their philanthropic work, see Tuna, Imperial Russia’s Muslims, 136–39; Mădină Răkhimkulova and Liron Khămidullin, “Khȯsăeniia mădrăsăse,” Mădrăsălărdă kitap kishtăse: Măshhür măg’rifăt üzăklăre tarikhynnan (Kazan: Tatarstan kitap năshriiaty, 1992), 74–114.
112 N.V. Koncheva, “Istoriia sozdaniia medrese ‘Khussainiia’ (po materialamarkhivnykh dokumentov),” in Sbornik materialov mezhdunarodnoi nauchno-bogoslovskoi konferentsii “Islamskoe obrazovanie. Istoriia, sovremennoe sostoianie i perspektivy razvitiia” (Orenburg: Medrese Khussainiia, 2011), 122.
Azade-Ayşe Rorlich, The Volga Tatars: A Profile in National Resilience (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1986); Serge Zenkovsky, Pan-Turkism and Islam in Russia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960); Charles W. Hostler, Turkism and the Soviets (London, 1957); Alexandre Bennigsen and Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay, La Presse et la Mouvment National chez les musulmans de Russie avant 1920 (Paris/The Hague: Mouton, 1964).
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)| false , ( Azade-Ayşe Rorlich Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1986) ; Serge Zenkovsky, Pan-Turkism and Islam in Russia(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960); Charles W. Hostler, Turkism and the Soviets(London, 1957); Alexandre Bennigsen and Chantal Lemercier-Quelquejay, La Presse et la Mouvment National chez les musulmans de Russie avant 1920(Paris/The Hague: Mouton, 1964).
S.J. Barnett, The Enlightenment and Religion: The Myths of Modernity (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 2003); Nathan O. Hatch, The Democratization of American Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991).
Muhammad Qasim Zaman, Modern Islamic Thought in a Radical Age: Religious Authority and Internal Criticism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); Saba Mahmood, Religious Difference in a Secular Age: A Minority Report (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015); Rethinking Secularism, ed. Craig Calhoun, Marx Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan Vanantwerpen(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).
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)| false , ( Muhammad Qasim Zaman Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) ; Saba Mahmood, Religious Difference in a Secular Age: A Minority Report(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015); Rethinking Secularism,ed. Craig Calhoun, Marx Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan Vanantwerpen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011).
Michael Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus, 1190–1350 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 61–63; Jean-Claude Garcin, “The Regime of the Circassian Mamluks,” The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume One: Islamic Egypt, 640–1517, ed. Carl F. Petry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 302.
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)| false , ( Michael Chamberlain Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 61–63; Jean-Claude Garcin, “The Regime of the Circassian Mamluks,” The Cambridge History of Egypt, Volume One: Islamic Egypt, 640–1517, ed. Carl F. Petry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 302.
H.R. Roemer, “Timur in Iran,” The Cambridge History of Iran, Volume 6: The Timurid and the Safavid Periods, ed. Peter Jackson and Lawrence Lockhart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 52, 54; Beatrice Forbes Manz, “Temür and the Early Timurids to c. 1450,” The Cambridge History of Inner Asia: The Chinggisid Age, ed. Nicola Di Cosmo, Allen J. Frank and Peter B. Golden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 198; Paul Jurgen, “Forming a Faction: The Himayat System of Khwaja Ahrar,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 23:4 (1991), 533–48.
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)| false , H.R. Roemer “Timur in Iran,”, ed. Peter Jackson and Lawrence Lockhart (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 52, 54; Beatrice Forbes Manz, “Temür and the Early Timurids to c. 1450,” The Cambridge History of Inner Asia: The Chinggisid Age,ed. Nicola Di Cosmo, Allen J. Frank and Peter B. Golden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 198; Paul Jurgen, “Forming a Faction: The Himayat System of Khwaja Ahrar,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 23:4 (1991), 533–48.
Dudoignon, “Status, Strategies and Discourses,” 49; Tuna, Imperial Russia’s Muslims, 38–39; Crews, For Prophet and Tsar, 31–61; Allen J. Frank, Islamic Historiography and “Bulghar” Identity; Michael Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte: 27–33.
A.G. Karimullin, U istokov tatarskoi knigi: ot nachala vozniknoveniia do 60-kh godov XIX veka (Kazan: Tatarskoe knizhnoe izdatel’stvo, 1992) 96; Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte, 43–50.
Danil’ Azamatov, “Russian Administration and Islam in Bashkiriia (18th–19th centuries),” Muslim Culture in Russia and Central Asia, 4 vols.(Berlin: Schwarz, 1998), 2:108–9; Kemper, Sufis und Gelehrte, 57–61; Crews, For Prophet and Tsar, 62–66.
Shihabeddin al-Marjani al-Qazani, Al-qism ath-thani min kitap mustafad al-akhbar fi akhwal Qazan wa Bulghar (Kazan: Tipo-litografiia imperatorskago universiteta, 1900), 190–91.
Gabdessalam Gabderrakhimov, “Khater daftare,” in Gabdesalam Mofti, ed. Masgud Gainetdin. (Kazan: Iman nashriiaty 2002), 22; Mami Hamamoto, “Tatarskaia Kargala in Russia’s Eastern Policies,” in Asiatic Russia: Imperial Power in Regional and International Contexts, ed. Tomohiko Uyama (London: Routledge, 2012), 32–51.
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)| false , Gabdessalam Gabderrakhimov “Khater daftare,”in , ed. Masgud Gainetdin. (Kazan: Iman nashriiaty 2002), 22; Mami Hamamoto, “Tatarskaia Kargala in Russia’s Eastern Policies,” in( Asiatic Russia: Imperial Power in Regional and International Contexts, ed. Tomohiko Uyama London: Routledge, 2012), 32–51.
KF(P)U – ORRK, T 1422.
Marc Raeff, The Well-Ordered Police State: Social and Institutional Change through Law in the Germanies and Russia, 1600–1800 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983); George L. Yaney, The Systemization of Russian Government: Social Evolution in the Domestic Administration of Imperial Russia, 1711–1905 (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1973).
Mohammat Mahdiev, “Shagyir’neng bishshege,” Syzyp ak nur belan ...: Shakhexlarebez tarikhynnan, ed. Gauhar Khasanova (Kazan: Tatarstan kitap nashriiaty, 2014), 182–83.
After 1789, in order to hold the position of imam, khatip, mudarris, or muezzin, an individual had to receive a license from the Orenburg Spiritual Assembly.
N.V. Koncheva, “Istoriia sozdaniia medrese ‘Khussainiia’ (po materialamarkhivnykh dokumentov),” in Sbornik materialov mezhdunarodnoi nauchno-bogoslovskoi konferentsii “Islamskoe obrazovanie. Istoriia, sovremennoe sostoianie i perspektivy razvitiia” (Orenburg: Medrese Khussainiia, 2011), 122.