This article examines the role of Chinese revenue farmers in defining the borders of the various colonial territories and the states of Southeast Asia during the nineteenth century. Their significance has largely been neglected in writing on the formation of state boundaries. Nicholas Tarling notes, ‘Between the late eighteenth and the early twentieth almost all southeast Asia was divided into colonies or protectorates held by the Western powers, and new boundaries were drawn with the object of avoiding conflict among them’ (Tarling, 2001:44). This paper argues that Chinese revenue farmers were of considerable significance in giving substance to the formalistic pronouncements of remote diplomats and statesmen.

The nature of the pre-colonial Indian state, especially as one could see it in similarity or opposition to the state in Europe, has exercised a particular fascination since the seventeenth century, when François Bernier spelled out his theory about Oriental monarchies, with special reference to the Mughal Empire and Turkey. It may be recalled that he saw eastern states different from the European in two major particulars: (1) The king here was the owner of the soil, in other words, the exactor of rent; and (2) those who actually collected the tax-rent held only temporary tenures, as holders of jagirs or timars, unlike the hereditary European lords. The temporary tenures, which were a necessary reflex of state ownership of land led to over-exploitation of the peasantry, and, therefore, a progressive decline of the economy and polity. This was in contrast to Western Europe, where the limitation of state right of sovereignty and the dominance of private property over the land, under its protection, were the surest means to progress and prosperity. Already in Bernier we have the articulation of the contrast between the Oriental despotic state and the occidental laissez faire state.

The subject of magistrates, the local administrative leaders in the hsien, districts, is central to the study of Chinese government and society. The district has always been and still remains the basic administrative unit in China. Magistrates, the ‘offcials close to the people’, in the districts, are the chief administrators, who have always been singly responsible for the direct implementation of governmental policies at the local levels. Although several studies have been published on local administrators of the Ch'ing dynasty and the Communist period, district magistrates of the Republican era have been little studied.

Reviewing his long reign in 1792, the Qianlong Emperor (r. 1736–1795) hailed his military triumphs as one of its central accomplishments. To underscore the importance he ascribed to these successes, he began to style himself ‘Old Man of the Ten Complete Victories’ (Shi Quan Lao Ren), after an essay in which he boldly declared he had surpassed, in ‘Ten Complete Military Victories’ (Shi Quan Wu Gong), the far-reaching westward expansions of the great Han (206 BCE–220 CE) and Tang (618–907) empires. Such an assertion, together with the program of commemoration discussed below, served to justify the immense expense incurred by frequent long-distance campaigning; to elevate all these wars to an unimpeachable level of splendor even though some were distinctly less glorious than others; and to align the Manchu Qing dynasty (16–191 i) with two of the greatest native dynasties of Chinese history and the Qianlong Emperor personally with some of the great figures of the past.

In this paper I attempt to answer three main questions: the first, who has access to university education? the second, what are the changes in the spread of opportunities for university education between 1950 and 1967? and finally, what employment do university students expect to obtain? and briefly to examine the implications of the answers to these questions in the formulation of educational policy.

Sabah (previously known as British North Borneo) occupies the whole of the northern portion of the island of Borneo, covering an area of 76, 115 square kilometres. Its immediate neighbours are Brunei, Sarawak and Kalimantan (Indonesian Borneo). From 1882 to 1942, Sabah was administered by the British North Borneo (Chartered) Company. The territory possessed three main attractions: its timber, its reputed minerals and its land. Timber has now grown to be amajor export commodity, second only to petroleum. With the exception of deposits of coal and some gold, economic resources of other sought-after minerals were not proven during the period. The land proved to be the most valuable asset. Many crops were experimented with: tobacco, sugar cane, coffee, coconuts and rubber and they laid the basis for the economic development of the territory. The expansion of these crops was largely assisted by the introduction of a modern transport system which supplemented the original means of communication, the rivers. The railway in particular provided the impetus for the rubber boom on the west coast. In turn, this resulted in the emergence of an export-oriented economy, specializing in rubber, timber, copra and tobacco. From 1942, Sabah was occupied by the Japanese until its liberation in 1945. After a brief period under military administration, it became a British Colony in 1946. Under colonial rule from 1946 to 1963 the previous pattern of economic exploitation continued.

One basic phenomenon characterized administrative development in the Bombay Presidency between 1800 and 1820: a fundamental transformation in the British administrative mentality. In brief, this transformation amounted to a shift, completed by 1813, from a cautious conservatism to one of innovation for the sake of administrative regularity. This shift can in part be explained as the natural product of the territorial cessions by the Marathas to the Bombay Government in 1802–3: Bombay ceased from that date to be solely a commercial presidency and became a government with territorial responsibility. It took about a decade for this new role to be fully accepted and to be reflected in the attitudes of Bombay administrators.

The launching of this journal of Modern Asian Studies, on the initiative of the Hayter Asian Centres in co-operation with the School of Oriental and African Studies, provides a good opportunity to review the progress being made in these studies in the universities of the United Kingdom. We have nearly reached the half-way stage of a ten-year programme of development which was put forward in the Hayter Committee Report of 1961, and are approaching the new quinquennium in which what has already been started should be consolidated and the new pattern for the future established.

Situations of internecine warfare have in common to question the transitivity of everyday life—that is, its capacity to be taken for granted, to flow without any need for explication. These wars within the familiar generate specific anxieties about where to look at and what to believe. Events, persons, places, or objects whose status seemed hitherto undeniable become less predictable, while their worth comes into question. As individuals’ ontological security is threatened, the need for new monitoring devices and authentication procedures arises. Drawing on the phenomenology of civil wars and the anthropology of fakes, this contribution proposes to explore one such crisis of evidence: the nexus of political, ethnic, and criminal violence raging in Karachi's inner-city area of Lyari. Through the lens of local journalism, it reflects upon the tactics of social navigation deployed by residents confronted with chronic uncertainty in all sectors of life. Janbaz, the Urdu newspaper examined here, provides an opportunity to move beyond functionalist readings of the press in conflict situations. While insisting upon the pleasure derived by Janbaz’s readers from the sensationalized rendering of Lyari's predicament, we argue that the newspaper is the site of a continuous series of ‘reality tests’ and the focal point of private and collective investigations, pooling knowledge in an increasingly undecipherable environment. More than through its information, it is through its shortcomings that Janbaz has helped to recreate social ties in a world plagued by discord and uncertainty.

On June 8, 2001, Takuma Mamoru, a former psychiatric patient, broke into the Ikeda Elementary School in Osaka City and killed eight schoolchildren. This incident, which journalists have described as the Ikeda Massacre, resurrected public concerns about the mentally ill. The Osaka District Court declared that psychiatric evaluations had revealed that Takuma was sane enough to recognise the criminal nature of his actions. Discussion among the public and officials nevertheless remained focussed on the question of how to handle suspects in criminal cases who are not fit to stand trial as a result of psychiatric disorders. In August 2003, the same month that Takuma was sentenced to death, the National Diet passed legislation that could compel defendants, even those found innocent, to enter or regularly visit a mental hospital if judges and psychiatrists deemed them mentally ill and possessing a propensity to commit crimes.

Even after the Russo-Japanese War, Manchuria remained the powder keg of East Asia. In the war's aftermath, three empires, the Qing, the Russian and the Japanese, stationed their troops in Manchuria, in a struggle for military supremacy there. There has already been a considerable amount of research on these military activities. However, previous works have not discussed them from a triangular relationship. This paper contends that the history of modern East Asia cannot be understood until one examines the shift in the military balance in Manchuria from a triangular comparative point of view. The results of such examination show that, in Manchuria, each empire was unable to establish military domination alone, and therefore needed an alliance partner. During the Xinhai Revolution, the Russia-Japan ‘alliance’ wielded overwhelming military power against China. However, after the Russian Revolution in 1917, Japan renounced cooperation with a weakened Russia and built a new partnership with China to advance the Siberian intervention. The military triangle of Russia, China and Japan was unable to create a comprehensive regional security system in Manchuria because what was established was based on mutual distrust and fear.

Bhakti is viewed as a movement that is subversive of orthodoxy, and inverts the societal norms prescribed by the dharmashastras. This paper looks at the Bhakti movement's long history and transformations into the nineteenth century in Punjab. If womanly dharma within the normative tradition is defined by sexual containment through marriage and wifehood, the accumulated Bhakti legends and hagiographies are examined to see the place of the prostitute in it, and the limits of its revolutionary potential are brought to the fore. By looking at the writings of the Muslim prostitute Piro who comes to live in the establishment of a ‘Sikh’ guru Gulab Das, in Chathianwala near Lahore during the period of Ranjit Singh, this paper attempts to read Piro's use of Bhakti legends and imagery to build support for her unusual step. The imbrication of the Gulabdasis in hybrid practices that borrowed elements from advaita, Bhakti and Sufi theologies is also delineated. The paper shows Piro's engagement with the radical potential of Bhakti, but also maps her move towards social conformity—the paradox that makes her look at herself simultaneously as a courtesan and as a consort.

Since the late 1970s, historical studies of colonial Bengal have been dominated by the recurrent theme of the ‘return of the peasant’, generally set against the previously predominant notion that British-created landlords were omnipotent agents of agrarian relations. Although the new historiography restores agency to the peasant, it seeks to attribute the agrarian decline in the late colonial Eastern Bengal, roughly Bangladesh, to the ‘rich peasant’. It is argued that the rich peasant wielded hegemonic authority on their poor fellow co-religionists by forging a ‘communal bond’, while exploiting them from within. Such development is often considered linked to the separatist idea that offered a ‘peasant utopia’ in the form of Pakistan against perceived Hindu domination. This article, while not altogether denying the role of the rich peasant, argues that the bhadralok, or the non-cultivating middle-class gentry, were far more powerful as a catalyst in agrarian relations in Eastern Bengal than is conceded in contemporary historical debates. In so arguing, this article re-examines the post-structuralist turn that appeared to replace the classical Marxist paradigm of class by that of culture and consciousness.

In light of the current Rohingya crisis in Myanmar, this article investigates the emergence of Islamophobia in colonial Burma. Focusing on the under-examined Islamophobic riots that broke out countrywide in 1938, my research reveals that a nascent fascist movement used Muslims as a scapegoat for political and economic crisis. The colonial agribusiness economy had collapsed during the Great Depression, while the vast contract labour system of the Indian Ocean had brought millions of low-wage Indian migrants to Burma, causing a glut in the labour market. Burmese socialism provided a popular response to these issues. To compete, Burmese fascism emerged to appeal to a rising sense of nationalism, racially scapegoating Indians and the religion of Islam as the exploiters, colonizers, and invaders behind Burma's problems. Using the racialized term kala to conflate the ideas of colonizer, Indian, and Muslim, Burmese fascists inflamed hatred against Indian Muslims, Indian Hindus, and even indigenous Muslims, such as the Rohingya. By revealing the origins of this racialization, this article both deconstructs the lasting Burmese perception of the Rohingya as ‘Bengali immigrants’ and provides a generalizable case study into how races and racisms develop from specific historical factors and political movements. It also argues that the British amplified fascist ideas in Burma by focusing repression on movements that directly challenged their material control, such as socialism and communism. Therefore, it highlights how ruling classes often prefer nationalistic movements because they redirect popular unrest from the project of overthrowing structural factors to that of eliminating scapegoated minorities.

The purpose of the following remarks is to trace the way in which, for over a century from the time of the first Opium War to that of the emergence of the study of Chinese religions as a separate specialization in the 1970s, the English-language world sustained a description of religion in China that was at very considerable variance with the facts. The narrative is not designed to be definitive—the choice of materials drawn upon is restricted, and somewhat arbitrary—but I trust that it ranges widely enough to explain just how this faulty analysis not only came into being but also managed to survive for so long. More detailed studies of aspects of the problem are already under way, and will doubtless appear in due course, but an overview at this point may even so be helpful. It may indeed even be helpful in the wake of the appearance of one such extremely detailed and valuable study, Norman Girardot's weighty volume on the towering figure of James Legge (1815–1897). For while it is now possible to read an excellent study of Legge's views in the context of his own times—and no one interested in the topic treated here should ignore Girardot's research—a glance at the even broader context of the overall history of sinology in relation to Chinese religion suggests that Legge's views by and large fall into the more extended pattern outlined here. For rather than explore the outlook of any particular individual, the aim here is to illustrate, and to some preliminary degree explain, the persistence of a particular paradigm in the understanding of Chinese religion.

The only really unique feature of the Mappilla outbreaks which occurred in Malabar District during the period of British rule was that each attack was conducted as a kind of suicidal jihād, in which the Mappillas involved intentionally sought to become shahīds or martyrs for the faith. No other South Asian Muslims who took part in protest movements to achieve goals similar to those which underlay the Mappilla attacks resorted to suicidal jihāds as a means of coercion. Yet no satisfactory explanation has ever been given to account for the Mappillas' peculiar militancy. Modern scholars have generally ignored the question, while the few British officials who tried to answer it usually argued, or implicitly suggested, that the attacks represented the inherent fanaticism of Islam. This explanation is, of course, vitiated by the very uniqueness of the Mappillas' suicidal ritual.

Kinnaird College alumnae who did not work often expressed regret for having been ‘just’ wives and mothers, and a feeling of not having lived up to expectations. In some cases, these women's parents planned for them to have professional careers, but more often, such women mentioned the expectations of their college teachers that alumnae would contribute to their society in some concrete way.Educated women, in short, left Kinnaird with a sense that their education implied obligations to society. Women with careers, whether or not they had married, were satisfied that they had ‘used’ their educations fittingly. Women without careers often expressed dissatisfaction, at least to a foreign observer, butat the same time, they justified their education by pointing with pride to the way they had reared their own children, recognizing that mothers are active transmitters of social identities within the family. Alumnae who remained in primarily domestic roles as wives and mothers frequently expanded their world to include non-domestic social work and other activities beyond their immediate kin group.

Hong Kong's hospital system has long been the territory of Western medicine. However, during the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) outbreak in 2003, an integrative approach, combining Chinese and Western medicines, was used in some hospitals in Hong Kong, suggesting a revival of Chinese medicine in the hospital system of this former British colony. This paper will explain how this could happen, by situating the event in the over 160 years' long history of Chinese medicine in Hong Kong. Specifically, it will focus on the role of ‘Chinese medicine’ and ‘traditional Chinese medicine’ in Tung Wah Hospital, a local charity established in 1870, which grew subsequently into one of the largest voluntary organizations in Hong Kong. It will also show how the fall and revival of Chinese medicine in this hospital were related to two epidemics: the bubonic plague in 1894, and the SARS outbreak in 2003.

In the middle of the twentieth century, statistician P. C. Mahalanobis strove to haul India into the computer age. Convinced that these machines were integral to the future of economic planning in India, he and the Indian Statistical Institute mounted a campaign to bring India its first computers. In the years following independence, Mahalanobis and the Indian Statistical Institute acquired significant influence in the Indian planning process—culminating in them effectively authoring India's Second Five-Year Plan (1956–61). The tale of the computer's journey to India demonstrates that the decision to centrally plan independent India's economy, and the resultant explosion of official statistics, provided the justification for the pursuit of computers. They potentially solved what was considered centralized planning's greatest puzzle: big data. Mahalanobis persuaded the Indian government of the need to import computers for the purposes of development, and then negotiated the import of these exorbitantly expensive machines during visits to Europe, the United States of America and the Soviet Union. Needless to say, the question of which country would provide India its first computers would ruffle Cold War feathers. This article brings together and identifies a link between the research activities of the Indian Statistical Institute, its deepening association with economic planning and the installation of India's earliest computers.

In 1971, David Bergamini, a journalist, published a very large book, Japan's Imperial Conspiracy, which sought to prove that the Emperor was virtually the sole cause and instigator of Japanese aggression in the 1930s and 1940s. Bergamini even believes the Emperor planned, among other skullduggeries, several political assassinations. The book is a polemic which, to our knowledge, contradicts all previous scholarly work, whether in English or in Japanese. It also contradicts the facts upon which this previous scholarship rested. Specialists on Japan have unanimously demolished Bergamini's thesis and his pretensions to careful scholarship.