This article explores the role of affect and sentiment in shaping cross-cultural encounters in late colonial Korea, as seen and experienced through the eyes of Japanese men and women who grew up in Seoul. By interweaving the oral and written testimonies of former settlers who came of age on the peninsula between the late 1920s and the end of colonial rule in 1945, the paper attempts to reconstruct their emotional journey into adulthood as young offspring of empire: specifically, how they apprehended colonialism, what they felt when encountering different segments of the Korean population, and in what ways their understanding of the world and themselves changed as a result of these interactions. Focusing on the intimate and everyday zones of contact in family and school life, this study more broadly offers a way to understand colonialism without reducing complex local interactions to abstract mechanisms of capital and bureaucratic rule.

India's history provides one of the best documented examples of colonialism. The British kept meticulous records of their attempts to improve, govern, and even exploit the people and institutions of the subcontinent. Improvement and government often occurred at the expense of traditional institutions, especially in the area of the legal tradition. The British are responsible for the decline and eventual demise of the living dharmaśāstra (science of orthodox behavior) tradition. The tradition has not been resuscitated in independent India. Nevertheless, even though the office of Paṇḍita (traditional expert) has long been abolished from the courts and the very training of modern Paṇḍitas has become rare, the texts of the dharmaśāstra tradition continue to be used in a very “paṇḍitic” fashion by the courts of modern India. The justices function as Paṇḍitas, and the texts they cite are mere window dressing for the interpretations of Hindu law they seek to promulgate.

Myanmar has been conventionally regarded as one of the most repressive countries in the world. As a result, many scholars, journalists, and human rights organizations understandably focus their attention on the draconian policies of the Myanmarese military regime. When the country makes headlines, the story of events taking place is typically framed in terms of state oppression and direct popular opposition. This leads to a restrictive view of the “political” dimensions of life in Myanmar, an approach to the topic that deals with only a small number of admittedly important subjects: authoritarian governance, organized efforts to bring about systemic change, and the fate of Aung San Suu Kyi, the Nobel Peace Prize Laureate whose latest release from house arrest put Myanmarese politics back in the headlines in November 2010. What is left out of the picture—or given only glancing attention—are a host of social, economic, and cultural issues that also have political dimensions and implications, namely the efforts by Myanmarese citizens to carve out space for independent, meaningful action on a personal level. These actions, which have political aspects but stop short of being outright forms of dissent, will be my focus in this essay.

This article is based on academic journals published in the People's Republic of China (PRC) from 1978 to early 1980 and analyzes the trend in post-Mao historiography regarding peasant rebellions. Previous belief in the revolutionary nature of peasant rebellions is being reversed, and their “anti-feudal” character being questioned. The question now is whether peasant rebellions, or even class struggle itself, constitute an important motive force for progress in Chinese history. Conflicting views persist, but overall a more negative view of peasant behavior has led many PRC writers to view the small producers' “patriarchy,” which fosters hierarchy and particularism, as a source of current bureaucratic problems.

The study of abandoned civilizations, and of the reasons for the disaster, is a field in which many imaginations have wandered. In several parts of Southeast Asia, notably in Cambodia, northern Siam (the Kingdom of Haripunjaya), the Pagan area in the dry zone of Burma, and the dry zone of Ceylon, this pattern has been repeated. Only in Ceylon is there a more or less continuous historical record, plus numerous stone inscriptions, to assist in solving the puzzle. Otherwise the cases are suggestively alike. All arose on reasonably level plains (often the only level land in the region), in a climate of alternating wet and long dry seasons, which especially in the tropics usually means irrigation if agriculture is to be productive enough to support a more than primitive civilization. All did in fact depend heavily on extensive irrigation, and appear to have shared the characteristics which Wittfogel has associated with this kind of basis: a strong central state, massive public works, a highly structured society, and a powerful ramified bureaucracy. All were plagued with chronic invasions from nearby densely populated areas, and all collapsed with dramatic suddenness, to be blotted out by jungle so that with some even their memory was forgotten. Finally, all were abandoned at about the same period, the thirteenth century (Angkor Vat somewhat later), and with few exceptions no significant attempts were made to reoccupy them until very recent years.

In recent years, a considerable change has taken place in the way in which analysts of economic development have come to understand the nature of the growth process in rural areas and the relations between agricultural and nonagricultural activity as industrialization takes place. Growing awareness of the significance of nonagricultural activities in rural areas, of rural industrialization, and of the “livelihood diversification strategies” adopted by rural households has prompted this shift in understanding (Ellis 1998, 1–2). The strict agriculture/industry divide of standard dual-economy models has been broken down, and scholars have recognized the implications, both theoretical and policy-related, of the existence and development of the “pluriactive” rural household that derives its income from a variety of sources alongside agriculture. Various ways of analyzing the nature and implications of agriculture/industry interaction within rural areas, and the economic activities of rural households that underlie them, have been developed, but central to much of the work on the issue has been a model of the “growth linkages” between agricultural and nonagricultural activity. This model seeks to demonstrate how backward and forward linkages between growth in agricultural output and the expansion of manufacturing activity in rural areas operate to produce a “virtuous circle” of expanding employment opportunities, rising and often quite equally distributed rural incomes, and improving standards of living.

In 1947, when Pakistan was created, scarcely any attention was paid to resolving the problems inherent in a culturally plural society. Existing institutions proved inflexible and new ones did not evolve to respond to the aspirations of the Bengali people. As a result, Pakistan was dismembered within twenty-four years of its birth. Contrary to expectations, Pakistan's national disintegration failed to generate analysis or debate among intellectuals. Via thematic analysis of a cross-section of Urdu creative writing about the events of 1971, the author of this article probes the mentality of selected writers, searching for their response to the disintegration of their nation. What is the meaning of Pakistani nationhood? How do the writers interpret the breakup of 1971? And what implications do their attitudes have for the issue of regional versus national identity? The author concludes that the ethos of the writers scarcely differs from that of their society—it is an ethos that might well have precipitated the 1971 crisis.

In 1956, eight years after political independence was secured for Sri Lanka, a major transformation was effected through the ballot. A confederation of forces led by the Sri Lanka Freedom Party (SLFP) under S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike turfed the United National Party (UNP) and its right wing, English-educated leadership out of office. These forces represented a groundswell of the underprivileged against the privileged, and, as such, represented a radical socialist thrust. They also included a powerful strand of Sinhala nativism, i.e., of cultural nationalism, which made Sinhala the language of administration and which espoused conspiracy theories directed against the influence wielded by Catholic cabals. This body of thought has been described in the literature as “Sinhala linguistic nationalism” and “Sinhala Buddhist nationalism.” What requires underlining here is the fact that this ideological corpus had previously been in a defensive position because it was deemed a “communalism.” But, now, in 1956, the majoritarian sanction of a populist and radical victory converted it into a nationalism (see Roberts 1994, 258–59, 263–64, and ch. 12)–a force which some scholars, standing in the mid-1990s, would redefine as “chauvinism.”

The nationalist struggle to bring about the end of colonial rule in India, and the Republican and communist struggles to arrest and reverse the humiliation and the “carve-up” of China by foreign powers, were both closely allied to the struggle to become modern. Indeed, the two goals were usually seen to be so closely related as to be indistinguishable: a people had to start becoming modern if they were ever to be free of foreign domination, and they had to gain sovereignty and state power in order to undertake the laborious but necessary task of building a strong, prosperous, and modern nation. Thus in India, as in China, political movements from the latter nineteenth century sought to found a sovereign nation free from domination by a Western power or powers, and also sought to make this putative nation and its people “modern,” both as a necessary means towards the nationalist end and as an end in itself.

Historians of India often write as if India, at the end of the nineteenth century, had only four cities: Bombay, Calcutta, Madras, and Poona. Several elements contribute to this perspective: Indian historians' own predominant interest in the development of nationalist politics in late nineteenth century India naturally leads them to concentrate on these four urban centers, the birthplaces of such politics1. But the structure of late nineteenth century politics in India itself mirrored more fundamental aspects of the administrative organization and social structure of the country. Administratively, the country was organized in a hierarchy of authorities of descending prestige and geographical scope, with authorities of greatest power centered in the three port cities, and authorities of least power, at the taluka and village levels in the hinterlands. This structure decisively established the political predominance of the port cities and assured a flow of potential recruits for government service and the white collar professions out of the countryside and into the Presidency headquarters towns. At the same time, India's status as a raw-materials exporting colony of an industrial mother country, and the increasing penetration of the world market economy, required that business and industry be increasingly concentrated in and about the port cities.

This paper explores the context in which skilled artisans introduced innovations in India around 1900 and suggests that such steps carried the potential for conflicts between the innovator and those affected by his actions. Conflicts could arise over the protection of knowledge, over the right to make a change, in the form of resistance, or as a choice between maintaining and diluting quality. Conflicts were absent when the mediation of social and political leaders was available and when skilled artisans emerged from unconventional backgrounds. By stressing the capacity of artisans to innovate and by suggesting that individuals were the agents of innovation, this paper refocuses attention on the skilled individual within a historiography that has been rather neglectful of both craftsmanship and the craftsman.

Anarchists publishing in small student journals in the years before the 1911 Revolution made a significant contribution to Chinese feminism. They linked feminism to their call for a complete social revolution; they understood the oppression of women in China to be linked to modern class divisions and economic exploitation as well as traditional culture. They discussed the relationships among feminism, individual rights, and political liberties. He Zhen in particular severed feminism from nationalism, proclaiming “women's liberation” not “for the sake of the nation” but out of moral necessity.

Representations of dancing minorities have often been viewed in contemporary Chinese studies as examples of a broader discursive practice of “internal Orientalism,” a concept developed by anthropologists in the mid-1990s, based on fieldwork conducted in the 1980s and early 1990s. A historical examination of state-sponsored minority dance in the early PRC (1949–54) suggests that internal Orientalism may not be a generalizable explanatory framework for minority dance and its relationship to PRC nationality discourse. During a time when external military threats to the nascent PRC loomed large, long-standing ethnic stereotypes were perceived as a vulnerability to national security and targeted for reform through new policies of state multiculturalism. Thus, rather than portraying minorities as exotic, erotic, and primitive, early PRC dance constructed minorities as models of cultural sophistication, civility, and respectability. Likewise, rather than envisioning a developmental hierarchy between Han and minority dance, national performing arts institutions established during this period constructed Han and minority dance as parallel modes of ethnic performance categorized together as a new genre, “Chinese folk dance.”

We provide evidence contrary to long-standing general expectations that before 1949 most Chinese women married up the social hierarchy and that footbinding facilitated this hypergamy. In our sample of 7,314 rural women living in Sichuan, Northern, Central, and Southwestern China in the first half of the twentieth century, two-thirds of women did not marry up. In fact, 22 percent of all women, across regions, married down. In most regions, more women married up than down, but in all regions, the majority did not marry hypergamously. Moreover, for most regions, we found no statistically significant difference between the chances of a footbound girl versus a not-bound girl in marrying into a wealthier household, despite a common cultural belief that footbinding would improve girls' marital prospects. We do find regional variation: Sichuan showed a significant relation between footbinding and marital mobility. Nevertheless, our evidence of the basic economic circumstances of rural women's marriages from several of China's regions, including Sichuan, supports a different cultural belief as relevant to the lives of most women: marriage among equals. These results have implications for understanding pre-1949 Chinese gender relations and rural life as well as for theorizing social causation.

There is a long history of Theravada Buddhist monk involvement in militarism in mainland Southeast Asia. Here, I examine recent Lao monk support for political and military activities directed against the communist Lao People's Democratic Republic government and its Vietnamese supporters since 1975. Monks have not become directly involved in armed conflict, as monastic rules do not allow participation in offensive violent acts, or arms trading, but they have played various important roles in supporting armed resistance against the Lao government. Some monks assisting insurgents have been shot in Thailand. Now most of the Lao insurgent-supporting monks live in the United States, Canada, and France, where a few continue to assist the political resistance against the Lao government, arguing that providing such support does not contradict Buddhist teachings. This article demonstrates how Lao Buddhist monks have negotiated religious conduct rules in the context of strong nationalistic convictions.

Much productive scholarship across Asia has considered the links between religious resurgence and authoritarian governance. However, limitations persist in conceptualizations of state authority, which I examine in the literature on Southeast Asia. Noteworthy are the assumptions that central institutions are definitive of authoritarian states, and divides between study of the sacred and secular. I propose the notion of “ritual governance” to address these conceptual issues and illustrate this with an ethnographic case study from a major development project in Laos, the Nam Theun 2 hydropower scheme. I show how Lao government officials working with ethnic minority villagers used a baci ritual and village meeting to combine a persuasive sense of unity with coercive use of hierarchy. Significantly, the baci and other Buddhist rituals were suppressed by the early socialist state, but regained prominence with ideological shifts from socialism to modern developmentalism. This case study demonstrates the contemporary significance of state-sponsored ritual for development in Laos as well as the need for more nuanced conceptions of the state in discussions of religiosity and authoritarianism across Asia.

This article examines daily life in North Korea from the perspectives of recent North Korean defectors from a variety of social backgrounds. The following three questions are explored: how does the individual live from day to day; what tactics does one continuously evolve in order to survive; and, most importantly, what theoretical and methodological frameworks are available to explain the strategies for survival employed by the country's population? Employing the concept of “everyday politics,” this study argues that state-society interactions once constrained by a highly centralized regime, characterized by an emphasis on political and moral motivations, have yielded to more fragmented and autonomous systems strengthened by realization of individual self-interest. In the process, the state and society have reshaped patterns of interaction regarding information flow structures, rules of behavior, and motivations. That is, both the state and society seek coexistence, and the “market” spontaneously developed by the population functions as a shock absorber.

Although China's Tibetans profoundly mistrust the ideologies of the party-state, associating them with illegitimate practices of domination, protest and revolt are rare and effectively suppressed. This might be seen as quasi-colonial domination, the state securing subjection through the performance of paramount power, demonstrated by its suppression of the 2008 protests, or it could be attributed to a form of indirect rule, by which local officials engage with local leaders to generate hegemonic consent. While both dynamics are present on the Tibetan plateau, ethnographic fieldwork among the Tibetan populations of Qinghai and Gansu Provinces reveals that consent is primarily generated by local officials who negotiate a form of local order with religious and tribal leaders. Ignoring the ideological demands of their superiors, they engage constructively with the expectations of the Tibetans about how order should be maintained and, in doing so, subvert the state's ideal of uniform and unitary sovereignty.