After 1955 the People's Republic of China looked to Western Europe to develop new economic and cultural relations, and to project its new image as an independent Socialist state. In this new context, between 1955 and 1957 several Italian delegations visited China to explore the possibility of cooperation between China and Italy in the field of literature and art. This article investigates the most important of these delegations, led by the jurist, Piero Calamandrei, in 1955, and some subsequent initiatives, such as the exhibition of Italian artists held in Beijing in 1956. Drawing mainly from Italian published and private sources, the article explores how Socialist China's revolutionary cultural identity was understood and received in Italy in this period. It does so with special reference to the impact of Soviet cultural influence on China, and the prospect of Sino-Italian cooperation in the field of arts and literature as a way to bridge the East–West political and ideological divide.

This article traces the way in which modern institutions emerged in one region of British-ruled India—the Godavari Delta of coastal Andhra—during the early nineteenth century. Rejecting recently popular cultural theories and the vague language of ‘multiple modernities’, it suggests that modernity can be defined as the practical effort to govern subjects perceived as strangers with abstract and general categories. But, arguing that our conception of modernity needs to be limited, the article suggests that modern institutions always rely on non-modern ways of life: the rule of law depends on ideas about individual honour; bureaucracy; on family connections and affective expressions of loyalty; and rational interests that are coordinated by archaic idioms of political leadership. The peculiarity of the history of modernity in imperial India was marked not by the limited or partial imposition of modern practices, but by the British regime's reluctance to accept the legitimacy of the very non-modern forms of power it relied on. Tracing this process in the Godavari Delta, the article shows how a regime with limited local resources asserted the monopolistic authority of its structures of government, but in doing so, corroded its own capacity to exercise power. Local institutions which had coordinated local productive resources were undermined, but alternative forms of local leadership were unable to emerge. The consequence was famine in the 1830s, and in the 1840s an effort to refound the imperial regime by imposing British power on the region's natural resources.

This article has four important goals. First, I want to ask why liberalization and market-friendly reforms failed to curb corruption in India. Indeed, confounding the predictions of most proponents of reform, corruption seems to have increased after the neoliberal reforms of 1991. Second, I aim to develop a typology in which the importance of particular sectors to corrupt practices is highlighted and explained. Third, I point out that India has failed to make the ‘transition’ historically seen in low-income countries as they develop. Nation-states have in the past moved from a system of vertical corruption—marked by the extraction of small sums from a large number of transactions with citizens in everyday life—to a system of horizontal corruption, in which governmental elites extract large sums in a small number of transactions from corporate and commercial bodies. Finally, I argue that anti-corruption movements cannot be understood without paying attention to the affective and emotional ties that bind citizens to the state. We have to take account of contradictory feelings about the state: cynicism about the state and popular anger against corruption on one side, and an attachment to popular sovereignty and patronage on the other. These contradictory sentiments will better enable us to understand the conjunctures that lead to effective institutional change.

Soon after the founding of the People's Republic of China (PRC), youth exchanges came to be a major part of the Chinese campaign to reach out and influence the people of other nations. Despite the growing scholarly discussion regarding the role of people-to-people diplomacy and external propaganda in China's foreign policy, so far no direct attention has been paid to the Chinese Communist Party's efforts to institutionalize youth exchanges and use them as a tool to promote the new Chinese government's foreign relations. This article locates the position of young people within the PRC's people-to-people diplomacy. It attempts to explore youth exchanges with the West in the early years of the Cold War by focusing on relations between Italian and Chinese youth groups in the 1950s. Relying mainly on unexplored archival material and memoirs, this article documents contacts and exchanges between adult-led youth organizations and their members, and shows how Italian left-wing party-affiliated youth groups and Soviet-dominated transnational organizations provided important channels for Sino-Italian encounters and for building long-lasting contacts among potential future leaders of these countries.

This article re-examines the meanings of Chinese nationalism and its relationship to vibrant and recurring National Products movements in modern China through the case of the Shanghai Coca-Cola protest of 1947–1948. In a campaign to revitalize national industry, the Chinese business community of Shanghai targeted Coca-Cola as a foreign luxury, and asked the Nationalist government to prohibit the importation of raw materials for Coca-Cola. However, archival materials show that not only was the Coca-Cola bottler in Shanghai—Watson's Mineral Water Company—a Chinese company but they had made large contributions during previous National Products movements. Using imported raw materials was also a very common practice in the Chinese soft drinks industry in the first half of the twentieth century. By revealing inconsistencies between the Chinese business community's statement of protest and the actual character of Coca-Cola's Shanghai bottler, this article argues that in this case Chinese nationalism became a pretext and tool for business competition. This research suggests that Chinese nationalism as an analytical lens remains complicated and its role and meaning in history must not be over-generalized. Rather than the existence of a unified and singular nationalism, Chinese nationalisms have been socially constructed over time, with multiple faces, interpretations, and functions for different interest groups.

In April 1839, 29 Muslims in Vellore (South India) accused their maulvi, Sayyid Shah Modin Qadiri, of preaching seditious sermons in his mosque, which exhorted Muslims to wage jihad against the ruling East India Company. The ensuing criminal trial of Maulvi Modin illustrates key aspects of liberal imperialism as it was interpreted and implemented in pre-Mutiny India. As a central ideology of the British empire, liberalism championed the rights and freedoms of rational individuals and constraints on state power. At Modin's trial, however, this framework did not lend itself to a sanitary, evidence-based enquiry that bracketed the identities of the accused or the accusers. Rather, the trial measured a Muslim's place within networks of patronage that ensured namak halal, or the bonds of loyalty between rulers and subjects. Far from being a post-Enlightenment adjudication of guilt or innocence, his trial reveals the Company's investment in a particular kind of social order maintained by its scrutiny of class backgrounds and its patronage of traditional identities—a fact that softens the distinction often made between a commitment to liberal transformation before the Great Rebellion of 1857 and a return to conservatism afterwards.1

Durga puja, or the worship of goddess Durga, is the single most important festival in Bengal's rich and diverse religious calendar. It is not just that her temples are strewn all over this part of the world. In fact, goddess Kali, with whom she shares a complementary history, is easily more popular in this regard. But as a one-off festivity, Durga puja outstrips anything that happens in Bengali life in terms of pomp, glamour, and popularity. And with huge diasporic populations spread across the world, she is now also a squarely international phenomenon, with her puja being celebrated wherever there are even a score or so of Hindu Bengali families in one place. This is one Bengali festival that has people participating across religions and languages. In that sense, Durga puja has an unmistakable cosmopolitan hue about it. With more than 10 million people visiting the different pandals (the temporary, covered pavilions or marquees created for the goddess) in Kolkata alone on any one of the four days of festivity (now effectively extended to a whole week), Durga puja could well be the biggest carnival on earth. Kolkata's image has become synonymous with this grand autumnal festival of the goddess.

David Washbrook's influential early work on South India set the terms for much subsequent debate about caste, with its exploration of the key role of the colonial state in shaping caste ideologies and institutions. Over subsequent decades, historians and anthropologists have come increasingly to emphasise the ‘colonial construction’ of caste and its enduring legacies in post-colonial India. Yet there were also significant continuities linking the forms of colonial caste with much earlier regional histories of conflict and debate, whose legacies can be traced into the late colonial period. In particular, the juxtaposition between Brahman and non-Brahman itself was anticipated in a tradition of conservative social commentary that emerged in the Deccan Sultanate state of Ahmadnagar, and came to circulate widely through Banaras and western India during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This tradition of commentary acquired new salience during the nineteenth century. It entered the colonial archive as an authoritative source of knowledge, and also provoked early ‘non-Brahman’ intellectuals into a fresh engagement with its conservative social vision. In their attempts to rebut this vision, these intellectuals displayed a detailed knowledge of its social history and a deep familiarity with the judicial decisions through which it had been upheld in earlier centuries.

The Guangbao, published in Guangzhou between 1886 and 1891, was one of China's earliest native-owned newspapers, with a circulation three times larger than the Xunhuan Ribao. The newspaper, founded by Kuang Qizhao, provides important information on the ideas that were circulating at the time in Guangzhou, a place where a number of reformers were beginning to formulate their thoughts. The newspaper may have sown some of the seeds for the nationalism that would become a powerful force after the Sino-Japanese War. The Guangbao protested against the mistreatment of overseas Chinese and printed stories recommending retaliation against Americans. It opposed Western imperialism, advocated a strong national defence, and even suggested annexing Korea. However, the newspaper was not xenophobic and tried to encourage good relations between Chinese and foreigners in China. Unlike future political newspapers, the Guangbao continued to support the existing political system—not because of fear or ignorance, but because of a sense that democracy may not have been appropriate for China at this time. Although Kuang was not a supporter of many Neo-Confucian traditions or beliefs, because he equated Confucian morality with Christian morality, and morality was needed to combat corruption, the Guangbao emphasized Confucian moral training.

The newspaper also served as a platform to promote reform ideas. Kuang carefully picked ideas that he felt were appropriate for China, including: free universal and specialized education, women's rights, economic nationalism/industrialization/business, free trade, entrepreneurship through patent and copyright protection, support for the common people versus corrupt officials, and philanthropy.

This article studies the career and writings of Sir Malcolm Darling to make three main claims. First, an intellectual genealogy of development studies is presented through the examination of close parallels between colonial efforts at rural welfare and post-colonial prescriptions for the same. Darling was central in the British efforts in Punjab to formulate ideas of reform from below or thrift among the peasantry, both of which remain popular in contemporary theories of community development and microfinance respectively. The similarities between colonial and post-colonial reforms are striking because the colonial experience remains largely forgotten. This intellectual amnesia serves a political end by blaming the peasant for his poverty and redemption from the same. Simultaneously, any structural or revolutionary social change is avoided. Secondly, the article probes the exaggerated focus on indebtedness and the political interests this served. Indebtedness gave the Unionists in Punjab political legitimacy, and the colonial state formulated solutions for the problem that did not tax its resources, for example the cooperative movement was designed to be self-financing. Finally, the article speaks to the themes of this issue by challenging the assumption that ‘institutions’ alone are a legacy of colonial rule and developmentalist reform is a post-colonial preoccupation of independent states. By presenting a case study of attempted economic and institutional reform during colonial rule, it allows one to appreciate the close, contemporaneous connections between colonial modes of governance and current modes of development.

There are not many other issues in South Asia that have attracted as much scholarly attention in the last decade as India's Naxalite or Maoist movement. At least 50 scholarly or political books, several novels, and numerous essays have been published since 2007. What we hope to do in this article is to ask why this movement has generated such attention at this moment in time, to analyse the commentaries that have emerged and the questions that have been asked, and also to identify some of the shortfalls in the existing literature and propose some lines of research to be pursued by future scholars.

The sirdar (also termed sardar and jobber in Indian historiography)—foreman, recruiter, at once a labour leader and an important intermediary figure for the employers of labour both in India and in the sugar colonies—is reassessed in this article. Tithankar Roy's thoughtful 2007 article looked at how the sirdars’ multiple roles represent an incorporation of traditional authority in a modern setting, giving rise to certain contradictions. In 2010 Samita Sen, conversely, developed Rajnarayan Chandavarkar's argument about the use of labour intermediaries in colonial India to reveal how, in the case of the Assam tea plantations, the nexus between contractors and sirdars belies the ‘benign’ role often accorded to the intermediary within narratives from the tea industry. This article provides examples from the overseas labour destinations in the Indian Ocean region, particularly Mauritius, to further develop and nuance the debate, through an assessment of the complexity of sirdari roles in the colonial Indian labour diaspora.

This article reflects on C. A. Bayly's legacy, with particular attention to his late turn to the history of Indian political thought. It highlights the force of his attempt to approach South Asian history with a keen eye to its specificity without correlatively compromising his attention to questions of comparability. It also highlights some of the conceptual and methodological dilemmas with which his final work confronts us.

Given war's propensity for trampling over and demolishing borders—its literal, one might even say primordial, function as a motor of deterritorialization and reterritorialization—the scant scholarly attention paid to it as a globalizing force remains surprising. An extensive body of literature has responded to the complex role of globalization in the making, as well as the supposed unmaking, of conflict. Liberal economists and political theorists, in an intellectual lineage that dates back to the writings of the European Enlightenment, have made bold claims about global economic integration and the emergence of a ‘capitalist peace’. Critics of their arguments have pointed to the Western imperial violence which, from the mid-eighteenth century on, cleared the ground (and perhaps, more importantly, the seas) to make way for the so-called ‘free’ market world economy, a process which established several of those fundamental worldwide inequalities that have been perpetuated to this day. The hard evidence of a more recent past makes a mockery of the presumption that global capitalist enterprises such as Starbucks and McDonalds might bring about some kind of Big Mac and Frappuccino-mediated universal fraternity. Critical observers of globalization during the ‘Noughties’ (2000–2010) now recognize it as both one of the most interconnected decades in world history, and also one of the bloodiest.

With a focus by scholars on states and classes, the environment of India and its impact on agriculture has been neglected, except to provide a context—which was largely unchanging—in which states extracted and classes struggled. One example of environment as the backdrop is the distinction between ‘wet’ and ‘dry’ areas in Tamilnad and South India more widely. This distinction is based on the availability of water and on the local categorization of agricultural activity (nanjai versus punjai). There are two problems with this approach, however. First, it is a narrow treatment of the environment as it neglects other features of the land such as forests, grasslands, scrublands, and other so-called wasteland. Second, it sees the environment as a fixed entity, but the landscape has changed dramatically in the past, especially in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. If changes in the environment are included in the mix, the development of agriculture in nineteenth-century Tamilnad may be seen in some new ways. Agricultural production existed in symbiosis with the complex and varied environment of the region. In the early nineteenth century Tamilnad contained extensive tracts of forests, widespread wastelands, and abundant surface water. This diverse environment made it possible to maintain high levels of agricultural productivity as it provided the resources to maintain the fertility of the soil and the supplies of water that were critical for agricultural enterprise, as well as the well-being of the rural population. The consequences of changing regimes of water is the focus of this article.

This article discusses the way in which assemblages of technologies, political institutions, and practices of exchange have rendered both language and script a site for an ongoing politics of authority among Santals, an Austro-Asiatic speaking Adivasi (Scheduled Tribe) community spread throughout eastern India. It focuses particularly on the production of Santali-language print artefacts, which, like its dominant language counterparts, such as Bengali, has its roots in colonial-era Christian missions. However, unlike dominant languages, Santali-language media has been characterized by the use of multiple graphic registers, including a missionary-derived Roman script, Indic scripts such as Devanagari and Eastern Brahmi, and an independently derived script, Ol-Chiki. The article links the history of Santali print and graphic practice with assertions of autonomy in colonial and early post-colonial India. It then ethnographically documents how graphic practices, in particular the use of multiple scripts, and print technologies mediate a contemporary politics of authority along vectors such as class and generation within communities that speak and read Santali in the eastern state of West Bengal, India.

This is with reference to the article ‘British Rule and Tribal Revolts in India: The curious case of Bastar’ published in Modern Asian Studies 50 (5) 2016. I would be grateful if MAS could publish this letter.