by Nilab Saeedi

Avner Wishnitzer is the Chair of the Department of Middle Eastern and African History at Tel Aviv University, with a specialization in the social and cultural history of the Ottoman Empire. He is the author of Reading Clocks, Alla Turca: Time and Society in the Late Ottoman Empire (2015), and co-editor of A Global Middle East: Mobility, Materiality, and Culture in the Modern Age, 1880–1940 (2014). Nilab Saeedi spoke with Professor Wishnitzer about his most recent book, As Night Falls: Eighteenth-Century Ottoman Cities After Dark (2021).


Nilab Saeedi: History is concerned with the study of humanity over time. However, this typically means studying humanity in the light of day, given that our understanding of what people did after nightfall is usually limited. As you point out in your book, historians often consider the night a mere interlude, a “dark corridor” between days, which is when history “really happened.” What originally led you to take interest in this “corridor,” then? What was the process by which you began to view the night as a distinct social and cultural space worthy of deeper historical analysis?

Avner Wishnitzer: Thanks for the kind invitation. I consider the study of history an opportunity to probe both past and present and put them in conversation with one another. History is an exercise in familiarizing oneself with the alien and alienating the familiar. Especially in cultural history, we try to approach past societies whose ideals, social norms, and worldviews might seem strange or incomprehensible and strive to understand how they made sense to contemporaries. Understanding does not mean accepting, of course. As for alienating the present, people tend to “naturalize” what is, in fact, socially constructed. We often project ideas and values onto the world, failing to see that these are all figments of our mind and that they, therefore, change over time and space. By studying other places and times, we become aware that our reality is only one possibility out of many and that its forming was the result of countless human (albeit not exclusively human) processes, conflicts, and choices. This is crucial since it turns the present from a given into a potential, a potential of change that is open for intervention.

Most of the topics I work on—time, night and sleep, boredom and other neglected experiences, and imagination (which is my current project)—are borne out of an internal conversation I constantly have between the world I live in and that which I study. As Night Falls began from such a conversation. Concerns about the “loss of the night,” light pollution, the 24/7 society, and the “end of sleep” in our restless world got me thinking about the night in past times; and references to nocturnal practices in the sources I was reading (for previous projects), that were mostly left unstudied provoked ideas that I felt were worth exploring.

N.S: One particularly intriguing aspect of your research is the argument that the cover of darkness enabled a range of activities that were impossible in broad daylight. Yet, you note that not everybody could take advantage of this relative freedom. So, how did nighttime in Ottoman cities both empower and restrict different social classes? What insights does this offer about the complex relationship between visibility, power, and control?

A.W: For some groups, the night certainly offered opportunities that daytime could not. These opportunities, however, were not equally accessible. For many, the coming of darkness actually meant even more restrictions than during the day. The most obvious variable here was gender. Public order and morality in the early modern Ottoman Empire were mostly dependent on the “collective gaze” of neighborhood communities and guilds. Darkness impaired this gaze and allowed evading surveillance mechanisms more easily and engaging in smuggling and other forms of criminal activity or stigmatized leisure pursuits. Non-orthodox religious groups could practice rituals out of sight. At the same time, the lapse of state and communal oversight also meant that the night was more dangerous, especially for feebler members of society. Moreover, the reduced levels of state and communal surveillance heightened anxieties about the dissolution of social order. This was particularly true for patriarchal control. As a rule, then, chaste women were not to leave the domicile after sunset. As I show in different parts of the book, within households, too, the night was not a universal equalizer. Social hierarchies, it turns out, never sleep. In other words, both the relative freedom enjoyed by some and the tighter restrictions experienced by others stemmed, at least partly, from the diminished effectiveness of the “collective gaze.”

N.S: The policies of the Ottoman state with regard to nighttime activities, such as alcohol consumption, prostitution, and gatherings, provide insight into its approach to social order and control. In what ways do these regulations demonstrate the perspectives of the rulers on morality and authority, particularly insofar as they exhibited selective tolerance for certain activities while regarding others as political threats? To what extent did the control of nighttime behavior reflect broader ideological and political priorities within the empire, particularly in terms of what was deemed “acceptable” and “unacceptable” conduct after dark?

A.W: Looking at the dark hours reveals things that, during daytime, hide in plain sight. As I noted earlier, darkness indeed had a blinding effect, but it also made it easier to turn a blind eye. The night was an interval of “ambivalence and ambiguity” that served both the rulers and various groups of subjects. It served as a “safety valve” that allowed the easing of social, religious, and economic tensions out of sight. While violations and conflicts in daylight directly challenged the established order, it was often convenient for everyone involved to pretend that nighttime offenses never took place. For example, the huge drinking scene that flourished under the cover of darkness, with around 600 drinking establishments, provided livelihood for owners and employees, good time for drinkers, and much revenue to the state treasury. Although the scene clearly caused some embarrassment (and sometimes hostility) in elite circles, it was mostly left to thrive as long as it stayed out of sight and did not directly disturb diurnal order. These policies demonstrate several things. First, it shows the limits of state power and that those in power recognized these limits. Second, it shows that nighttime served not only marginal individuals who hoped to avoid state and community surveillance but also those who oversaw this surveillance.

N.S: The contrast between the relatively dark Ottoman cities and their increasingly illuminated European counterparts invites an examination of the potential implications of the Ottoman choice to limit night lighting. In what ways did the Ottoman Empire’s approach to nighttime differ from that of contemporary European cities, particularly with regard to urban illumination and public oversight?

A.W: Ottoman elites in the early nineteenth century were aware of street lighting that was gradually being deployed in Europe. However, I did not come across any suggestions to install public lighting despite the deterioration of public security in Istanbul and other cities in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. It is hard to explain why something did not happen, and assuming that it was somehow “supposed to happen” is in itself problematic. However, considering the reform proposals that were deliberated at the time, many of which suggested adopting European models, that question does force itself upon us. Why did officials who were concerned with public order and willing to adopt foreign models to cope with the many challenges they were facing not consider street lighting? It may be that the costs of public lighting were found prohibitive or that the vested interests in the hooded nightlife scene I referred to above worked against large-scale illumination. It may also be that, as was the case in conservative circles in Europe and colonial North America, street lighting was deemed a reversal of the Divine order, and it was feared that it would encourage debauchery. Such voices were indeed heard when street lighting was introduced later. Whether or not such concerns were raised in the late eighteenth century remains a speculation at this point. In any case, it was only around the mid-nineteenth century that we begin to see efforts to light streets in a systematic fashion.

N.S: The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries were marked by growing tension between the Ottoman palace and the janissaries. In what ways did nighttime shape this dynamic?

A.W: Both the sultans and janissaries used the dark hours to further their interests, but in very different ways. Much like their peers in contemporary Europe, sultans would display their power and wealth in spectacles of light at night. These spectacles, however, were limited to special times and places. The seeming ability of the ruler to “turn night into day” (as court poets and chroniclers would frame these events) was meaningful exactly because it was unique. In fact, the night posed a great challenge to the authority of the sultan, and the janissaries knew it all too well.

The janissaries were the apex predators of the nocturnal urban ecosystem. They were armed and could rely on their strong group solidarity to protect them. With oversight impaired by darkness, the janissaries had more leeway. Often, they used this relative freedom to frequent taverns and brothels they were supposed to police or to fight over turfs with rival regiments. As the resentment toward the reforming palace elite grew, especially as the New Order gathered momentum, janissaries used the cover of darkness for subversion and sabotage, including inscribing their regiments’ insignia on doors, posting protests and threats in central places around the city, committing arson, and sometimes attacking houses of officials. Conspiring and organizing open rebellions would also benefit from the impaired oversight that characterized the night.

N.S: The concept of darkness as a dual entity, serving both as a protective and a menacing force, is a particularly compelling aspect of your book. Why is this perspective so important for you?

A.W: When thinking about the nights of times past, it is often the menacing aspects of darkness that come up, and quite naturally so. For millennia, nighttime was associated with danger and evil and, therefore, as a sphere to be conquered and subdued. Fossil fuels finally allowed this conquest, but the colonization of the night came at a price, a price we are only beginning to appreciate. A growing body of research draws attention to the economic costs of outdoor lighting, its significant contribution to carbon emissions, and its adverse effects on human health and the viability of whole ecosystems. A whole range of sleep disorders associated with our hyper-illuminated, around-the-clock lifestyle is also taking its toll.

The growing awareness of the importance of darkness got me thinking about how nighttime served humans in past societies, and the findings, I hope, add something to the way we think about our nights. Looking at current challenges in the darkness, rather than in the light of the past, sensitizes us both to the dangers and potentials of darkness. We should not fantasize about some lost paradise of serenity and relaxation. As I show in the book, even a good night’s sleep was, for many, a privilege they could only dream about.

At the same time, we must not reduce the night to its menacing aspects or see darkness as an absolute enemy. History is a good way (though certainly not the only way) to reacquaint ourselves with darkness, to befriend it, to become dark-sensitive. Just like after the designation of natural reserves outside the cities, there grew an awareness of the importance of “urban nature,” we now need to create space for more urban darkness (rather than contend ourselves with dark sky reserves outside the cities). To foster such awareness, it is essential not only to communicate the importance of darkness for human health and the environment—an effort already underway—but also to highlight its potential to enrich the human experience. Early Modern aesthetics and sensibilities could offer valuable insights here. To take just one example, convivial gatherings in the Ottoman world were often held after dark, drawing on the calm and mystery of the night to create a sense of intimacy and delight. The poetry that was read in these gatherings sensitized those present to the night’s unique acoustics and aesthetics: to the general quiet and the occasional sounds that could nevertheless be heard; to the stars and the moonlight, to the trembling flames of candles and the shadows dancing on the walls. Over time, we lost this sensitivity. If we learn to recognize not only the importance of darkness but its beauty, too, we will be in a better position to preserve it.


Nilab Saeedi is a researcher at the Institute for Habsburg and Balkan Studies at the Austrian Academy of Sciences in Vienna, Austria. She is also pursuing her doctoral studies in history at İbn Haldun University in Istanbul, Turkey.

Edited by Artur Banaszewski

Featured Image: Locals confront an adulterous woman, Ottoman Empire; between 1799 and 1817, via Wikimedia Commons.