Throughout his career Gilberto Freyre has refused to be classified as a fullfledged member of any academic craft union. He has preferred the title “writer” or “essayist” rather than “historian” or “sociologist”. Such courage is refreshing in an era when the labels of scholarly expertise, however baroque in their refinements, have come to be taken more and more seriously. Disdainfully rejecting the cult of specialization, Freyre has set out to “see the truth and see it whole”.

As in all Asian countries, modernization in China was a result of Western impact. The year 1860 was a turning point in Chinese history. Prior to that year tradition reigned supreme, and all foreign nations were considered as distant uncivilized peoples whose best fortune lay in becoming vassals of the Middle Kingdom. A preliminary sign of change came in 1839–1842, when China suffered defeat in the Opium War with Great Britain. The defeat, humiliating as it was at the time, proved insufficient to shake China's inertia and was soon almost forgotten. The age of change had, however, arrived. Internal rebellion flashed up in the fifties. In addition, a new war with France and Britain started in 1856. In 1860, the emperor was a fugitive at Jehol; his summer palace was burned down by the invaders; a humiliating “unequal” treaty was concluded. The wound was too deep to be ignored, and the ground for reform was prepared.

Gordon Griffiths and George Nadel have shown convincingly that the Revolt of the Netherlands shows some resemblance to the four great revolutions—the English, American, French and Russian revolutions—that Crane Brinton analyzed and compared in his stimulating work The Anatomy of Revolution. Both authors have been perhaps too modest. The resemblances are even more striking than they suggested; the Dutch Revolt had some features in common with the other revolutions which did not receive sufficient consideration in Brinton's analysis

Studies of the role of land tenure in the economic and social history of China are flawed by the unexamined assumption that the sale of land by impoverished farmers was the only process that generated high rates of tenancy and concentration of ownership of land. Debt-sales are assumed to occur as part of a cycle of immiserization in which a peasant population outgrows its landed resources and owner-farmers are forced to sell their lands and become the tenants or hired laborers of wealthy landlords. This essay demonstrates the improbability of such a scenario and establishes its opposite: that rates of tenancy and concentration of landownership rise, not in periods of economic decline but in periods of prosperity, and not through debt-sales but through the alternate processes of reclamation, migration, and changes in the mode of landlord farm management.

Man not only lives within history; he is changed by it, and he causes it to change. This interplay between individual lives and wider historical forces is many-sided, erratic, seemingly contradictory, charged as it is by capricious human emotions. Yet there are common patterns—shared images and styles of imagery—which men call forth in their efforts to deal with the threat and promise of a changing outer and inner world. These patterns can sometimes be seen most clearly in cultures outside of one's own, and I have found them to be extremely vivid in present-day Japan.

Among the causes of the demise of the Fourth Republic, one prominently mentioned has been the incapacity of governments to govern. Not merely cabinet instability as such, but the association of premiers' popularity in the Assembly with their disinclination toward bold policy innovations, is the charge. Stability indeed there was: continuity of ministers under changing cabinets, relative persistence of cabinets (such as those of Queuille and Mollet) that maintained the existing political balance or even defended the Assembly against innovation. Stability, too, of policy: the continuation of the Indo-Chinese war and the Algerian war, for example, long after a policy change might have been considered. Underlying this sometimes artificial stability was the threat that an innovating premier or minister might soon find himself returned to the status of an ordinary denuty.

In this article I engage the work of three scholars, each of whom speaks to reactions to Muslims or interventions in their lives in the United States and Europe. Each is critical of these reactions and interventions, and traces them to inconsistencies in liberal thought and practice. My purpose is to interrogate their theorizing by applying it to the interface of liberalism with another religious Other, one that tends to generate far less sympathy in the predominantly secular and liberal academy: religiously motivated Jewish settlers in Israeli-occupied territories. The first scholar is Saba Mahmood, who recently argued against U.S. involvement in trying to alter the theology and practices of Muslims in the Middle East. The second is Judith Butler, who in a 2008 article addressed Muslims in the Netherlands, the problems of citizenship, and the right to religious freedom. Finally, Talal Asad has spoken to issues of violence, arguing that suicide bombing is really not so different from state violences perpetrated by the United States and Israel. Each of their arguments contains critiques of secular liberalism and the contradictory ethics and inconsistencies within liberal thought and practice, and each carries different but related implications. My intent is to begin to explore the possibilities of applying the analyses of these writers to the case of conflict between religiously motivated settlers in Israeli-occupied territories and left-wing, secular, and liberal Israeli Jews. Although this case mirrors broader representations of “Islam and the West,” it is rarely considered in comparison when such representations are deconstructed. The questions raised through this uncomfortable comparison will, I hope, contribute to broader conversations about the challenges and complexities of living together with differences that may be threatening if not altogether incommensurable.

“In my entire life I did not produce a single painting that was uppermost in mind to create,” the celebrated painter Dong Xiwen (1914–1973) reportedly lamented on his deathbed. Dong may not have produced the dream piece that he would truly cherish, but he did create, albeit unwillingly, a deeply controversial work of art in his 1953 oil painting The Founding Ceremony of the Nation (Kaiguo dadian) (Figures 1 and 2), for it epitomizes the tension between art and politics in the People's Republic of China (PRC). In this famous piece, Dong portrays Chairman Mao Zedong (1893–1976) in Tiananmen Square on 1 October 1949, with his senior associates in attendance—Liu Shaoqi (1898–1969), Zhu De (1886–1976), Zhou Enlai (1898–1976), Gao Gang (1905–1954), Lin Boqu (1886–1960), and others. They are surrounded by huge lanterns, a Chinese symbol of prosperity, and a sea of red banners that declare the founding of a new nation. When first unveiled in 1953, the painting was widely hailed as one of the greatest oil paintings ever produced by a native artist. In just three months more than half-a-million reproductions of the painting were sold. But the fate of this work soon took an ominous turn, and the artist was requested to make three major revisions during his lifetime. In 1954 Dong was instructed to excise Gao Gang from the scene when Gao was purged by the Party for allegedly plotting to seize power and create an “independent kingdom” in Manchuria. During the Cultural Revolution in the mid-1960s Liu Shaoqi was accused of advocating a “bourgeois reactionary line” and subsequently was purged, and Dong was ordered in 1967 to redo his painting again and erased Liu from the inauguration scene. Then, in 1972, also during the Cultural Revolution, the radicals, commonly labeled the “Gang of Four,” ordered a third revision, namely, that Lin Boqu be eliminated from the painting for allegedly opposing the marriage of Mao and Jiang Qing (1914–1991) during the Yan'an days. By this time Dong was dying of cancer and was too ill to pick up the brush, so his student Jin Shangyi (b. 1934), and another artist, Zhao Yu (1926–1980), were assigned the task. These two artists, afraid of doing further damage to the original piece, eventually produced a replica of the painting, with the ailing Dong brought from the hospital for consultation on his embattled work. Though Dong died the following year, the ill-fated story of The Founding Ceremony of the Nation did not end: in 1979, with the demise of the Gang of Four and the Party's official rehabilitation of Liu Shaoqi, the images of Liu, Gao Gang, and Lin Boqu were restored in the painting. Because Jin Shangyi was on a foreign tour, Yan Zhenduo (b. 1940), a graduate of the Department of Oil Painting at the Central Academy of Fine Arts (CAFA), was called upon to help reinstall the three leaders.

The assassination of Talat Pasha by Soghomon Tehlirian on 15 March 1921 in Berlin, as well as Tehlirian’s trial and acquittal on 2–3 June 1921, have contributed to the formation of conflicting legacies of the Armenian Genocide. Though minuscule in terms of violence and legal ramifications, these events and their reimagination in contentious narratives have shaped a dominant prism of sensemaking in Turkish-Armenian relations. In the imagination of rival groups, Talat and Tehlirian compete for the very same normative categories of hero and victim at once and each are demonized as a villain and perpetrator. Moreover, it is each figure’s embodiment of martyrdom and revenge that explains why their heroizations have proved so enduring and effective across time and space. This mutual framework of sensemaking, which I call the Talat-Tehlirian complex, ultimately denies the chances of historical reconciliation. In terms of its theoretical implications, this case study explains how a martyr-avenger complex can continuously demand solidarity, sustain grievances, and sacralize violence in post-conflict societies. Based on a thick description of what happened in Berlin in 1921 and its contentious narratives across different generations, this paper calls for a transition to a post-heroic age in Turkish-Armenian relations.

When Cantonese cartoonist Liao Bingxiong (1915–) mounted his show, The Cat Kingdom (Maoguo chunqiu), at the Sino-Sovfet Cultural Association (Zhong-Su wenhua xiehui) in Chongqing—China's wartime capital—in March 1946, he was prompted by more than an artistic urge: He intended to issue a strong criticism of the Guomindang (Nationalist) government for its inability to deal with the country's rapidly deteriorating situation. The show was an overwhelming success, “creating a sensation in this hilly city,” in the words of one contemporary artist. The show was greeted with equal enthusiasm when it was put on later in other cities, such as Chengdu and Kunming. Such a favorable reception reflected both the artistry of Liao's works and, more important, the relevance of cartoons as a powerful tool for airing opinion.

Following the lacklustre performance of many developing countries over the last fifteen years, the problem of international debt is once again creeping back into the policy limelight. The achievements of structural adjustment and new lending programmes that have been at the heart of previous policy responses have been limited in terms of their ability to deliver new growth to debtor nations. Latin American countries are still heavily indebted to multilateral institutions with heavy debt burdens still threatening access to markets (World Bank 1995; Langfield 1995; and UNCTAD 1995). Similarly, some of the Asian “success stories” are once again becoming exposed to dangerously high levels of sovereign debt, especially to Japan (Ana and van Hees 1995). Such developments are naturally a renewed challenge to policy makers and to the accepted understandings of the causes of the crisis and its sustenance. It is postulated that analytical approaches that examine the issues surrounding new lending in the 1970s or, more commonly, the spate of defaults started by Mexico in 1982, are focusing attention on what is symptomatic, rather than on what is causal. By doing so, there is a danger that such analyses will provide a new inheritance of misinterpreted policy developments and limited future options.

The Brazilian historian, Gilberto Freyre, has stated that only the Portuguese had the innate adaptive capacity which enabled them to stay in the tropics and, through intermarriage with indigenous people and imported slaves, create a new culture suitable to the challenges of an underdeveloped tropical environment. He emphasized that it was particularly Northern Europeans who were incapable of adjustment. They returned home after their tours of duty, and those few remaining invariably degenerated. Yet many Dutch and other Europeans stayed on in Batavia (present-day Djakarta), and through intermarriage with Indonesians helped create a new Indonesian-European culture. Admittedly this resulted initially through imitation of the Portuguese style of life, but it is nevertheless evident that the new Indische culture became in many ways as adaptive to local conditions as the mestizo culture of Brazil, and as much a channel for the introduction of new cultural elements.

The characteristics of nobilities vary considerably. However, they share the attribute which permits their identification. This quality is deference; and the nobility in any society are those who are deferred to most in most fields. A community without gradations of rank, formal or informal, is virtually inconceivable. Doubtless, the primitive tribe whose distinctions of rank are limited to specific situations and dissolve with them does not have an identifiable nobility. This, however, is best regarded as part of their lack of specialisation. Once division of labour emerges, so also does a nobility. The variable characteristics can be considered as symbols which indicate that their wielder is to receive deference, and which change with changing circumstances. Such characteristics are, for example, birth, rank and title. In studying the nobility of a community our problem is to identify the conditions which are associated with the various characteristics.

The elites of the new states are seeking to a greater extent than ever before to create something new. Their aspirations are cast on a more drastic and more comprehensive scale even than those of the European revolutionaries who have flourished since 1789. They are working to a model, which however vague in its details, is more elaborate and more exogenous than those which guided the formation of the modern state in Great Britain, France, Germany and the United States. These were, of course, influenced by models drawn from outside their own territories and their own current culture. The models of the Roman Republic, of the China of the Mandarins, of the British Constitution as portrayed by Montesquieu have played their parts in the formation of modern Western states. They were, however, only fragments accepted in isolation or as parts of a larger program which was constructed largely from elements already existent and accepted in the situation to be reformed. There was moreover very much in their current situation which they were prepared to accept.

This paper investigates the development of social Darwinism in China from the mid-1890s to 1930 vis-à-vis its ties with social Darwinism in the West, employing a comparative analysis of Spencer, Huxley, and Yan Fu. A form of evolutionism that envisioned a cosmological order based upon strength was transformed into a component of power politics in Republican China, despite unsuccessful political endeavors that illustrated both the triumphs and social malfunctions of evolutionary ideas. From the late 1910s, a new variety of social Darwinism arose alongside the scientific one, reflecting the influence of Kropotkin and de Vries, as Chinese thinkers incorporated non-Anglophone texts. The theories that emerged made sense of the changing Chinese adaptations of evolutionary thinking by contextualizing and modifying them within the intellectual and political dynamics inside China and also in China’s evolving relationship with capitalism and imperialism.

While Alice brushed the White QueenÕs tousled hair, the monarch offered her employ as a ladyÕs maid for a salary of two pence a week, along with a regular ration of jam. As Lewis Carroll relates in Through the Looking Glass, Alice was disinclined to accept in any case. Nonetheless, she grew disturbed when the Queen informed her that the offered jam was only to be given Òevery other dayÓ--that is, only ÒyesterdayÓ and Òtomorrow,Ó but never Òtoday.Ó Alice immediately realized that she would never receive jam on the series of ÒtodaysÓ she worked, but could only enjoy the expectation of receiving it in the future, or perhaps the memory of having received it previously. In response to AliceÕs questions about the proposed arrangement, the Queen attributed her confusion to the Òeffect of living backwards,Ó a prospect that Òalways makes one a little giddy at first.Ó The Queen explained that Alice lived ÒforwardsÓ and was thus condemned to remember only Òbackwards.Ó The White Queen, on the other hand, lived ÒbackwardsÓ and could remember Òboth ways,Ó informed by a previous experience both of the future and of the past. The monarch was so confident of her faculties that she had the KingÕs Messenger sent to prison for punishment in advance of his trial and sentencing. ÒOf course,Ó the White Queen explained, Òthe crime comes last of all.ÓSee Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland (New York: Norton, 1971), 150-51.

In 2016, the National Database and Registration Authority (NADRA), which produces Pakistan’s biometric-based national identity card, publicly announced that it would be “re-verifying” identity cards for a national security drive. NADRA relies on the documentation of descent-based relations, including genealogical charts (shajarah-yi-nasab), for its verification procedures. In so doing, NADRA asks the difficult question of who belongs where and who is a citizen, based on who they used to be. This article historically traces the movement of genealogies between the realm of the familial and the bureaucratic. I examine how the colonial state deployed genealogical expertise and how this formation folds into the postcolonial present in ways that shape capacities for genealogy-based claims to identity. It demonstrates how what I term “genealogical computation” extends beyond the domain of governance into articulations of identity that seek to establish status, reliability, and trustworthiness. I argue that “reliable persons” are produced in contemporary Pakistan through an encounter between the genealogical computations of citizens and the expectations of an ethno-securitized state. This encounter is borne out of a rehearsed relation where one’s genealogy, which has held a particular meaning in relation to one kind of security state (the colonial), is now asked to take on another.

At the heart of the problematic of colonialism lies a deceptively simply question: why did the colonized put up with their subjection? I say deceptively simple because, while there is an obvious answer on which practically all researchers are agreed—that is, European ‘power’—its nature, sources, and mode of implementation have always been hotly debated.

Shahab Ahmed’s What Is Islam? The Importance of Being Islamic (2016) challenges Islamic Studies scholars, (art) historians, and anthropologists to reconsider theoretical frameworks underpinning historical and ethnographic research. This article addresses Ahmed’s concerns that studies of Islam often conceptually privilege orthodoxy, by including drinking and intoxication as worthy of close attention in examining the history and the anthropology of Islam. The case of Wine Shop the Philosopher, run by a former Afghan refugee in The Hague and Amsterdam, is presented after establishing the comparative and interdisciplinary relevance of alcohol consumption in studies of Islam and Muslims. Ahmed’s conceptual framework is used and assessed in comparison with the wine shops’ contemporary pluralist reality by exploring the idealized boundaries of Persianate culture and Islam in dialogues between Persian-speaking interlocutors. It is argued that alcoholic drinks lend themselves to competing gastro-nationalisms and prompt ethnolinguistic tensions between and within groups with Turkish, Moroccan, Iranian, and Afghan backgrounds in the Netherlands. The focus on diverse, coexisting and clashing drink regimes, in conclusion, allows us to deconstruct dichotomies between sober Muslims and European drinkers, African and Asian believers and European unbelievers, and refugees and citizens.