There was a time when the economic confrontation between East and West was perceived as a confrontation between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft. ‘East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,’—thus wrote J. H. Boeke, quoting Rudyard Kipling with warm approval. The notion has since been undermined by deeper explorations into the history of the Chinese and Indian merchant bankers, and the Jews of the Islamic world. Over large parts of Java, with which Boeke was most familiar, there was indeed a sharp contrast between the local communal economy and the sophisticated capitalism of the Dutch colonists. It appeared an inevitable process of history that the Dutch corporations should subjugate the petty Javanese communities of princes, peasants and pedlars. It was also taken for granted that the phenomenon was general and that European gesellschaft did not confront and conquer such petty gemeinschaften in Java alone. But when the individual studies of the Chinese, Indian and Islamic—Jewish long-distance trade and credit networks are seen in over-all perspective, the impression that emerges is one of confrontation, at the higher level, between two gesellschaften: one of European origin, the other Eastern. Nor does it appear to be the sort of outright collision that simply resulted in the latter being broken up and relegated to a corner. The idea nevertheless persists that the ‘bazaar economy’ of the East was a debased, fragmented and marginal sector absorbed and peripheralized within the capitalist world economy of the West.

The peasant farmers of Taishan County in southern China's Guangdong Province have created a pattern of village settlement which, using very limited resources, has produced an agricultural landscape and village environment that is a model of ecological integration. The pattern serves both the social and functional needs of the inhabitants by taking advantage of simple microclimatic modifications and the efficient use and recycling of resources. The result is a pattern of small dense villages set in a landscape that is highly evolved both aesthetically and ecologically.

A contemporary Hanoi newspaper, Viêt-Nam Tân Báo, reported on 28 April 1945: ‘Old men of 80 to 90 years of age that we talked with all told us that they had never before seen a famine as terrible as this one’. The Vietnamese starvation was described in a letter written in April 1945 by a foreign visitor named Vespy:

They roam in long, endless groups, comprising the whole family, the elderly, the children, men, women, all of whom are disfigured by poverty, skinny, shaky and almost naked, including young girls of adolescent age who should have been very shy. From time to time they stop to close the eyes of one of them who has collapsed and who would never be able to rise again or to take the piece of rag (I do not know what to call it exactly), that has covered the fallen victim. Looking at those human shadows who are uglier than the ugliest animals, seeing the shrunk corpses, with only a few straws covering them for both clothes and funeral cloth, at the side of the roads, one could feel that human life was so shameful.

Traditionally plantations in Malaysia provide primary school education for the children of their workers as well as other basic needs. This element is normally part of the ‘package’ of welfare facilities offered to the residential work force on plantations. However, the conditions under which this educational scheme is usually implemented are far from satisfactory, in comparison with those of the population as a whole and the progress achieved in the democratization of education since independence. Thus the plantation workers’ children have become an educationally disadvantaged group, with the highest drop-out rates, lowest achievement levels, and attending the ‘poorest and smallest’ schools in the entire nation. Almost all these schools in plantations are ‘Tamil Schools’ in accordance with the majority residential work force — Indian Tamils who form the bulk of the labour force in plantations. Basically this paper will review the characteristics and the educational climate of these schools, along with other indicators of education such as enrolment rates, drop-out rates, and achievement rates.

It may be expected of the Kingsley Martin lecturer that he addresses a theme of topical relevance. This is as it should be, for the modern history of South Asia offers an exceptionally wideranging choice of themes for reflection and inquiry. It will, then, seem strangely inappropriate to go to the other end of the time scale, to the early beginnings of Indian civilization. It would be vain to try and advance an excuse for this turn-about — such excuses would be too easily tainted by special pleading. It is just the romantic lure of a world that was irredeemably lost long ago. Or was it? It may be nearer to us than we care to admit.

In 1920, Sikhs in the Punjab started a campaign aimed at freeing their principal gurdwaras (temples) from the control of their hereditary incumbents. The campaign quickly gathered momentum, and, within a few months, it developed into a non-violent anti-government movement. Unlike the rather shortlived 1919 Disturbances and the Non-Cooperation-Khilafat movement in the Punjab, the Sikh agitation, which came to be known as the Akali movement, did not cease until 1925 and caused considerable concern to the Punjab authorities, as well as the Government of India. The Akali movement was not limited, as in past cases of anti-British agitation involving the Sikhs, to small groups of disaffected Sikhs, returned emigrants, or Congress sympathizers; at its height in 1922, the unrest encompassed the bulk of central Punjab's Jat Sikh peasantry, one of the most militarized sections of Punjabi society. The Sikh community's martial traditions, fostered by their religious doctrines and culture, had been kept alive during British rule by the recruitment policies of the Indian Army, where, in 1920, one in every fourteen adult male Sikhs in the Punjab was in service. This meant that the abiding allegiance of the Sikh community to the Raj was a matter of considerable importance, and their estrangement, especially that of the Jat Sikh peasantry, would adversely affect the Sikh regiments of the Indian Army. It also meant that if the community as a whole was provoked into open rebellion, British hold on the Punjab could well nigh prove untenable.