Acknowledgments

In every way, this book is about traversing the delicate tightrope between change and continuity. But if there’s one thing that never changes, it’s my love of a good parallelism.

Change

This book is the culmination of a long and twisting journey. It has found a home at many institutions. It has found readers in people who study the same thing as me and people who have never studied political science a day in their lives. And it has changed for the better at every step along the way. My promise is to spend the rest of my career paying forward the generosity and engagement that so many have shown me.

To its core, this book is representative of my own academic transformation. I owe so much of that transformation to the people who knew just how to push me. At very different points, Rich Orgera and Helen Delfeld challenged me in a way that taught me how to expect—and get—more from myself. I am eternally grateful for their mentorship and lifelong friendship. In defiance of every progress report I received in grade school, I hope this book is evidence that I have finally worked to potential.

The project began at the University of California, Berkeley under the influence of a motley crew who, together, represent five of the best decisions I’ve made in my career thus far. David Collier and I met in 2010 when I baked a cake in the shape of one of his books. Emails about that cake turned into conversations about methods, meetings in Syracuse and Berkeley, and ultimately a push to leave my current institution. David set me on an intellectual path that changed my work and life for the better in more ways than I can count. I’m so excited to finally add this last student book to his shelf.

The first time I met Ron Hassner, our thirty-minute meeting lasted two and a half hours. Thirteen years later, we have still not managed to end meetings on time, and I hope we never do. In Ron, I found a mentor, an inspiration, and a friend. I never left Ron’s office without new insights and a face sore from laughter. Ron pushed the hardest for a single and underrepresented standard: that my work never be boring. More than anything, I hope this book meets his exacting standards. If it doesn’t, I hope it at least makes it down a Disneyland Log Flume ride.

Leo Arriola accidentally (and repeatedly) referred to this project as “your book” when it was in its earliest stages. Somehow both a ruthless and compassionate pragmatist, Leo always pushed my work to be analytically rigorous and clearly presented. His amazing support and feedback is a huge part of the reason why those earliest ideas are finally between covers.

Thirteen years ago, I walked into Heather Haveman’s office and said, “I want to do a project using organizational theory to model rebel-to-party transformation, but I’ve never studied organizational sociology and I need a bullshit detector.” Her full response was, “Sounds fun, I’m in.” And she was. In June of 2017, she handed me a printed and line-edited copy of my first draft. Her comments, which are (still) sitting next to me as I write this in 2024, made this project a better book than it ever would have been.

Ruth Collier’s instruction was likely the single most influential part of my training. A substantive chameleon, Ruth can bring the highest standards of conceptual, logical, and analytic rigor to every project that crosses her desk. My work and my writing are immeasurably better because of her. On this point, I would be remiss not to also extend my deepest gratitude to every member of every PS 290 seminar I attended.

After leaving Berkeley, this book first found a home at Dartmouth College’s Dickey Center for International Understanding. Despite being rather far afield from the specialties represented among the faculty, I received invaluable feedback from Stephen Brooks, Nelson Kasfir, Jennifer Lind, Katy Powers, and William Wohlforth. Then in 2018 and again in 2024, this book—with me in tow—found a home at Stanford University’s Center for International Security and Cooperation (CISAC). I am so grateful to Martha Crenshaw, Lynn Eden, Scott Sagan, Ken Schultz, and Harold Trinkunas for their mentorship over the years. My two CISAC cohorts represent the Platonic ideal of intellectual community. Fiona Cunningham, Erik Lin-Greenberg, Chantell Murphy, Rhiannon Neilsen, Caleb Pomeroy, and Lindsay Rand are amazing colleagues who have become lifelong friends. And, as promised, a special shout out to Maxime, who made me procrastinate writing this book to sew a button back on his shirt.

At the University of Southern California, when the book and I emerged from lockdown, the Center for International Studies coordinated a book workshop that remains one of the highlights of my career. My deepest gratitude goes to three academic role models—Anna Grzymala-Busse, Reyko Huang, and Paul Staniland—who flew out to L.A. armed with some of the most engaged and astute feedback I’ve ever received on any project. I am also so grateful to the many USC colleagues who contributed to this book through participation in my workshop, research assistance, and the casual conversations that often make all the difference: Jeb Barnes, Chlöe Bernadaux, Laura Breen, Allison Hartnett, Gerry Munck, Jose Muzquiz, Tine Paulsen, Brian Rathbun, Stephen Schick, Jess Walker, and Carol Wise.

This book found a forever home at Cornell University Press with Jackie Teoh. Comparing my experience with Jackie to other publishing stories is like finding a Pixar movie stuffed in a collection of Grimm’s fairy tales. She is somehow a jack of all trades and a master of them as well. Jackie is a brilliant editor, a nuanced marketer, and a deeply compassionate human with excellent taste in food. Somehow, even in this moment, I am excited to start on book 2 just to do it all over again.

Continuity

A core premise of the book is that without an anchor, change can be as damaging as it is refreshing. Anchoring the moves, the affiliations, the different job titles, and the endless drafts has been the most amazing community of people I could hope for. Adequately thanking everyone who has been there for me through this process is somehow more daunting than writing the book ever was. First and foremost, thanks to my family who has had to hear of nothing but book panic and LA traffic for the better (or worse) part of five years.

One morning in 2013, Sarah Parkinson sent me a link to a book with the following text: “Hey, I just finished this book. It’s weird and technical; I think you’ll love it.” The book was John F. Padgett and Walter W. Powell’s The Emergence of Organizations and Markets. It was my first exposure to organizational sociology. I do not know what book I would have written were it not for that moment, but it would have been less good and far less enjoyable. Like the book she handed me that day, my conversations with Sarah over the years changed the way I think about the political world for the better. I am profoundly grateful for every role she has played in my life—friend, colleague, coauthor, mentor, and the fiercest advocate—and especially grateful for her teaching me how important roles are in the first place.

I owe an immeasurable debt to all of my friends who, during every crisis, provided reassurance that I was, in fact, working to potential (or who made me laugh enough to forget to panic about it): Noam Bleiweiss, Jenn Cryer, Rex Douglass, Dani Gilbert, Laura Jakli, Billy Lezra, Seth Masket, Liz Ortiz, Libby & Pop Ortiz, Ali Puente-Douglass, Ian Smith (no, not that one), Kai Thaler, Nancy Wadsworth, Jack Wolflink, and the entire crew at Deadly Nerd Gym. Hilary Matfess and Meg Guliford make me laugh as often as they make me think. I am so lucky to have them as colleagues and friends. Sarah Orsborn’s comments made the book infinitely better and our absolutely ridiculous antics kept me going. Pogo, a true Swiss-army human, commented on my work with forensic precision, built me a desk to incorporate their comments, and helped plan a party to celebrate my sending it off.

As I was rounding the corner to the book’s first submission, Alena Wolflink read and commented on the entire manuscript in seventy-two hours. While that stint of generosity was motivated in part by the promise of a homemade five-course Indian feast, she has since read every review and every new draft without commensurate bribery. Alena’s capacity for intellectual engagement and her endless generosity with those skills are two of countless reasons I am so lucky to have her in my life. I cannot wait to make this book into a cake, but before that, I promise to finally bake one just for her.

Every word of this book (except for any time I use the word “upon,” sorry) is dedicated to my wife, Evan Ramzipoor. If there is one relationship that embodies the tightrope between change and continuity, it is my marriage. For ten years—spanning five houses, four institutional affiliations, three states, two cross-country moves, and one tenure clock—Evan and I have woken up and written together side by side. In the easiest moments, I got to share the archival finds that made me yelp and the sentences that made me proud. In the hardest moments, I got to look over and know that the most brilliant person I have ever met chooses to be next to me. And regardless of which moments took up the most space on a given day, I would emerge from my book to find a story waiting for me. On many days, my only crumb of motivation was the promise of guiltlessly immersing myself in the adventures that press at Evan’s mind until they are released onto paper.

In all the interstitial moments, we made our own stories: traveling, eating, climbing, punching, more eating, and hiding small animals around the house for the other to find. I could double the length of the manuscript and only scratch the surface of everything Evan has done for me to make this book possible. I’d have to double it again to catalog everything they’ve done to make me feel loved, worthy, and even remotely sane. Ev, it’s not that I couldn’t have done this without you; but as with most things in life, I wouldn’t want to.