THE HORDE RECONSIDERED

I also emphasize the importance of political assemblies. Their names may differ across sources, but what remains constant is the practice of collective deliberation. There were structured moments when the khan would consult with others—discussing, debating, and making decisions together. That principle of shared governance appears throughout the history of the Mongol successor states.

This aspect becomes especially important when we look at succession, which is always a delicate moment. What fascinates me is this combination of tradition and openness. On the one hand, you have deeply entrenched customs, like the importance of the Chinggisid lineage—one of the longest-lasting dynasties in world history. But on the other hand, the system could also adapt to new political and geopolitical realities.

And that, I think—from the early Mongol Empire to the Kazakh Khanate—is one of their greatest strengths. They had a very astute understanding of their geopolitical environment. It wasn’t just about internal governance; it was about positioning themselves in relation to neighbors, recognizing shifts, and adjusting accordingly.

I was recently reading Rashid al-Din’s account of Möngke Khan’s inauguration, about what we know as the kurultai, the political assembly and election process. What struck me is how similar it is to much later descriptions of the inauguration ceremonies of Kazakh khans, even those from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. It’s almost identical. There’s always a power struggle, and crucially, the khan has to be elected.

Another aspect I find particularly striking—and so different from Western models—is the Mongol relationship with cities. There’s a common stereotype that nomads don’t build cities, that they only destroy them. And that reflects a broader misconception, especially in Western narratives.

But when we look closely at the Golden Horde, for example, we see that this simply isn’t true. Yes, there may be destruction during periods of conquest. But beyond that, they built cities. In fact, they developed fairly sophisticated urban systems. They understood complex urbanism—how to organize, design, and manage cities, et cetera.

What’s interesting, though, is that they didn’t necessarily live in these cities. And this, I think, reflects a very different conception of state and society. For steppe polities, the people mattered more than the city itself.

So when circumstances changed—whether due to harsh climates, war, famine, or other disruptions—there was a willingness to abandon the city and start anew elsewhere. That’s fundamentally different from many Western traditions. In Europe, cities like Rome or Paris are often seen as inseparable from identity and sovereignty—they are seen as worth defending at all costs. For nomadic states, the logic was different: the people are the state, not the built environment. And I think this has profound implications for how we understand their political culture.

So if we take, for example, the Ulus of Jochi, the Golden Horde, and compare it to other imperial traditions of sovereignty within the Mongol world, what makes it different? How did the Golden Horde’s approach to statehood differ from that of the Yuan dynasty or the Chagatai Khanate?

I think several factors contributed, but one of the most important is geography. If you look at the wider Mongol Empire, the Jochid branch inherited a very strategic position. Compared to the Chagataids, who, for example, were geographically hemmed in, surrounded by their siblings' territories with little room to expand, the Jochids had a vast opening to the West—and they made use of that space effectively.

Instead of endless warfare, they gradually shifted toward diplomacy and trade. That’s something I emphasize in my book: the Jochids were among the first to end the cycles of war and pivot to long-term economic and diplomatic relations.

By the late thirteenth century, the Yuan were still aggressively expanding and transforming their territory while the Jochids had already defined their frontiers. They knew who their neighbors were, how to interact with them, and how to benefit from those relationships. That brought a certain kind of peace. This wasn’t simply a lack of war, but a strategic decision to prioritize exchange over conquest.

The Jochids, in many ways, exercised leadership in this northern corridor. They were well-organized and able to control, or at least influence, the routes stretching from what is now Mongolia all the way to Ukraine. When you look at the size of the territory they governed, especially compared to the other Mongol successor states, it’s quite extraordinary.

This also helps explain their economic resilience. Even during the Black Death, which devastated much of Eurasia, the Jochids were able to recover. By the end of the fourteenth century, they were dynamic and flourishing again. They didn’t just survive—they managed to rebuild, expand, and adapt at a time when others, like the Ilkhanate, were in terminal decline.

One key aspect we haven’t discussed is religion, particularly Islam. There’s a common narrative that the Mongols were tricked into accepting a softened version of Islam that downplayed elements like the prohibition of alcohol. But when you read about Berke, for example, he comes across as a devout Muslim, someone who refused to attend a Mongol gathering unless a halal kitchen was arranged specifically for him.

What I found in my research is that Islam played a critical role in this period, especially at the beginning in the mid-thirteenth century, which coincides with the fall of the Abbasid Caliphate. Of course, the caliphal institution didn’t disappear entirely—there were caliphs in Egypt under Mamluk protection—but politically speaking, the caliphate was no longer the central force it had once been.

It’s also important to consider what was happening in other major Muslim powers at the time. The Seljuks in Anatolia were in decline by the thirteenth century, and the Khwarazmshahs, who had been extremely powerful, militarily even more so than the Abbasids, also fell. The Mongol conquest shattered all of this—it created an entirely new political and religious landscape. Muslim leadership across the region was fragmented and disoriented.

So when Berke Khan made the decision to embrace Islam, and not merely as a superficial gesture but as a personal and principled commitment, it had enormous symbolic weight. Whether we consider Islam the official religion of the Golden Horde at that point or not, what matters is that the broader Muslim world began to take notice.

Communities across the Islamic world were looking for a new political center, a court that would not only accept them but offer protection and legitimacy. Berke, and later his successors, created exactly that space. Their court became a new hub of Islamic life and authority. What’s more, the Jochid rulers, like many Mongol leaders, were remarkably tolerant. They didn’t force conversions, and that kind of religious flexibility, that commitment to tolerance, played a major role in fostering social cohesion across the vast and diverse population of the Golden Horde.

A topic I’d like to discuss, especially given your work, is the role of women. Compared to Europe, the Middle East, or China, it’s clear that Mongol women held an unusually prominent role in political and economic life. What’s your take on that?

Yes, this is absolutely fascinating. Travelers, whether from the Middle East, Europe, or East Asia, were often shocked when they saw women being active in court. Take the Jochid court for example. One thing I always emphasize in my work is that the khan was never ruling alone.

Of course, you have tribal leaders and military figures, but the primary wife of the khan (known as the khatun) also held immense importance. When you look at miniatures from the period, they often show the khan and his wife sitting side by side on a double throne. I always discuss this with students as it shows that it’s not just a man ruling—it’s a political couple. The idea of dynastic legitimacy is not just about one ruler, but about lineage, continuity, and the shared authority of the ruling household.

Sometimes, you even find religious responsibilities divided between the two. There are instances where the khan handled affairs related to Islam, while his wife engaged with Christian communities within the realm. Some of these khatuns were Christian themselves, attending church, maintaining ties with that part of society. It was a clever political arrangement, especially in such a religiously diverse empire. They acknowledged the different populations under their rule and incorporated them into governance through shared representation.

This is also evident on the diplomatic front. There are letters exchanged between Jochid queens or princesses and European rulers, including the Pope in Rome. These women received ambassadors, managed correspondence, and ran their own merchant networks. They intervened in trade disputes, especially when Jochid merchants abroad faced trouble, say with the Genoese. These women had real economic agency, which is something that continues to surprise many Western scholars.

I’m also deeply interested in material culture, and I’ve looked closely at their clothing. Whether in miniatures or through archeological findings from burials, we have found garments that were practical, wide, flowing, and suited to movement. These weren’t women bound by corsets or tiny shoes; their clothes allowed them to ride horses, travel, and govern. Most were not veiled, and they were visibly present in public space, which is quite remarkable in the Islamic world at that time.

They also wore distinctive headdresses like the boqta, which were tall red hats, later famously seen in art. These hats made them instantly recognizable, and they weren’t reserved just for royal women. Even the wife of a herder could wear a simpler version. The red boqta became a symbol of pride and identity, signaling not only marriage but status and visibility.

That’s just like the Kazakh saukele, the traditional bridal headdress. It’s incredibly tall and striking, especially when worn on horseback, with its vivid colors. In terms of diplomacy, several Byzantine princesses, including from the Palaiologos dynasty, were married into the Jochid elite not as ceremonial gestures but as strategic alliances tied to trade and politics. And clearly, no royal court would send a princess into a realm where women weren’t safe or respected.

What I also find really interesting in the Chinggisid world is that they didn’t marry off their princesses just about anywhere. In contrast, you often see in Byzantine diplomacy that princesses were sent out as part of the pragmatic political machinery, and the individual woman’s agency wasn’t always a priority.

But in the case of the Mongols, especially within the high-ranking Chinggisid lineages, you get the sense that it was very different. These were important women, and it seems clear that they weren’t simply forced into diplomatic marriages. There was a process of negotiation, especially when the woman came from a powerful or royal family.

You can feel that they wanted to be sure the woman herself was willing, and that the match made sense politically and personally. They wouldn’t just send her anywhere. There was a degree of respect and autonomy involved, and they were very selective about where, and to whom, these women would be married.