The ethnic composition of the contemporary world has become very confusing. Recently, the thirty years' anniversary of the Cuban revolution was commemorated and some journalists remembered that in 1959 it was not yet clear as to whether Castro headed a nationalist or a communist insurrection against the then ruling dictator of Cuba, Batista. In fact, at the time a commentator of the New York Times made much of a photograph showing a triumphant Castro with a Chinese face among his entourage. Was that not a sure sign of the influence of Communist China on the future direction of Cuba's revolutionary movement? Fortunately, a reader's letter pointed out that more than 100,000 Chinese had moved to Cuba when the island was a Spanish colony and when many governments with sugar colonies had concluded treaties obtaining the right to recruit migrant Chinese labourers. Thus, the Chinese face on the picture did not necessarily belong to a newly arrived Chinese, it might also have belonged to someone from the Cuban Chinese community established more than a hundred years ago.

In a by now classic definition, European expansion in the nineteenth century has been characterised as the integration of large tracts of the earth's surface into a world-economy dominated by Britain,. Distinctions are conventionally drawn between two processes of integration: on the one hand, the creation of new economies by European settlement in ‘empty’ lands of temperate climate, from which a thinly scattered indigenous population had been displaced, and, on the other, the subordination and partial development of existing economic systems in densely populated tropical areas. Migration from Europe clearly had a role in both processes. It was crucial to the first: economic integration of ‘new’ lands could hardly take place without it, or at least historically it has not done so. The role of European migration in the second process would appear to be more limited. Whites were only likely to be involved in productive processes of agriculture or manufacturing at the highest managerial levels or as technical experts, and much of the military and administrative underpinning deemed necessary for economic domination could be provided by Asian or African clerks and soldiers.

In his recent work on the Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, Paul Kennedy stresses the importance of Great Britain's colonial empire in establishing its credentials as the most imposing ofthe great powers in the decades before the First World War. Britain not only possessed ‘the greatest empire the world had ever seen’, but its status as the great global power appeared to be enhanced by the fact that in the last three decades of the nineteenth century ‘it had added 4.25 million miles and 66 million people to the empire’. Other key ‘indicators of British strength’ marshalled by Kennedy include overseas fleets, naval bases and cable stations, which were inextricably bound up with its farflung colonial enterprises. Though empire is essential to Britain's great power status, in Kennedy's argument it has almost nothing to do with the steady decline in British power in the period before the Great War and, at an accelerating pace, throughout the twentieth century. He alludes in places to imperial crises and commitments as key contributors to Britain's perilously overextended position both before and after the war. He also concedes that resistance by colonized peoples, whether in the form of ‘tribal unrest’ or ‘western-educated lawyers and intellectuals seeking to create mass parties’ was somewhat troublesome, but ‘less threatening’ than developments within Europe itself. In Kennedy's view, Britain's retreat from imperial and global power (and, for that matter, that of France as well) can best be understood by charting the decline, relative to that of the other great powers, of its economic base, both industrial and commercial, and its incapacity, due to that decline, to meet the ever-expanding and more costly military commitments that its leaders viewed as essential to the maintenance of its positions as a great power.

When the abolitionists achieved the suppression of the British slave-trade in 1807, they believed that a brave new world of free labour was opening up for Africa. Although they thought mainly in terms of ex-slaves providing the labour for plantation areas, they hoped that any shortfall could in part be met by free emigration from Africa. The reality was to be cruelly different from these dreams. Emigration continued, but overwhelmingly in the form of coerced labour, and most attempts at stimulating free emigration failed. Labour exports across the Atlantic remained close to the late eighteenth-century high point for about four decades, and then fell away steeply to almost nothing by the First World War, as the long, halting and often contradictory European campaign to abolish coerced labour slowly bore its fruits. In the interests of comparison with other areas of emigration, this report will devote a little space at the end to analysing why a small current of free emigration developed, and why it remained so limited. But the bulk of the report will focus on large exports of coerced labour.

In the long run, no country can avoid capitalism. No matter how bad the condition of the lower classes in a country in which they are defenselessly subjugated to the capitalist mode of production, they would still be worse off in a country that is economically under the spell of capitalist exploitation, whereas the ruling system does not give capitalist production the opportunity to arise; in a country where the population is proletarianized by the usurer, the merchant and by foreign competition, and where this proletariat cannot be absorbed by nascent big industries and cannot be gradually prepared for resistance against capitalism. The example of such a country is nowadays Turkey, and the Philippines will arrive at the same situation if the Spanish regime continues for a long time.