The protagonist of Intizar Hussain's novel Tazkira (1987) is a hapless muhajir, or refugee, in Lahore, Pakistan in the period shortly after the 1947 Partition of India, which witnessed the pell-mell transfer of Hindus and Sikhs to India and Muslims to Pakistan. He writes that while others were busy seizing abandoned sites in which to live, he was unable to feel at home anywhere. To compound his sense of dislocation, bu amma, his elderly companion, complains bitterly that she misses the sound of the azan, the call to prayer, in the first house they rent in an outlying area of Lahore, as yet forested and relatively un-peopled. Bu amma recollects how the call used to punctuate her days in her haveli, or mansion, in a busy neighborhood back in India. Without it, her days stretch out ahead of her, running uneventfully one into the other. How is it possible, she wonders, that one could be in this place created for Muslims and not hear the azan? In their next house, bu amma quickly realizes what it means to live in the shadow of a mosque. It was once a barkat (blessing), she grumbles, that has been turned into a curse by that satanic instrument (shaitani ala), the loudspeaker. The protagonist describes bu amma's efforts to shut out the sounds from the mosque that now invade her thoughts, shred her concentration, and make her efforts to say her prayers a daily battle. They eventually have to leave this house as well.

The statement above, by the former rector of the National University of Mexico, which serves as an epigraph to this essay, expresses a position, the very point of view to which most sophisticated students of Indian affairs in Latin America are today accustomed to subscribe. During the past twenty-five years, social scientists throughout the world have asked themselves and one another why poverty, disease and illiteracy persist in Latin America, Africa and Asia. Despite concerted efforts to promote general prosperity and improve public welfare, despite the expenditure of huge sums by national and international agencies, the problem is unresolved. In order to explain this paradox, they argue that underdeveloped countries do not possess the economic and political institutions which, in Western Europe and the United States, facilitate the growth of industry and the expansion of commerce. As a result, it is said, these countries find them selves largely incapable of ‘self-sustained’ economic development, of solving their demographic problems, of accumulating the capital which might permit them a greater degree of economic freedom.

This is a study in political anthropology. The feudal-bourgeois characteristics of the groups which dominated the Arab national movement and the socialist workers'ideology that was central to Zionism in Palestine during most years of the British mandate are discussed briefly. The main part of the study analyzes the circumstances underlying the rise of a new Arab class formation and the meaning of a struggle for minority rights within Israel where the state employs political and other means, and ideological mystifications, in order to deny the implications of this Arab class and national reality.

The plurals in my title carry two implications, neither of which I take to be controversial, if they ever were: first, that there is more than one kind of “original” state; second, that there is more than one way in which states originate. There is, admittedly, continuing controversy over the definition of “state.” But for the purposes of this article, I assume that there are four necessary and jointly sufficient conditions for the emergence of a state from nonstate or stateless forms of social organization: specialization of governmental roles; centralization of enforceable authority; permanence, or at least more than ephemeral stability, of structure; and emancipation from real or fictive kinship as the basis of relations between the occupants of governmental roles and those whom they govern. All four admit of differences of degree. But they furnish an adequate framework within which the different processes by which different states have come into being can be analyzed and compared.

In recent years historians of Europe and North America have discovered the importance of the spoken word in past times and have explored the ways in which language reflects particular social contexts. Retrieving fragments of popular speech from police reports, court records, and other sources, these scholars have sketched colorful vignettes which reenact such mundane activities of daily life as a game of cards or an argument over a stray calf. Their work has shown that seemingly trivial face-to-face encounters offer valuable clues for understanding social hierarchies and community values of a given time and place. Abstract relationships of class, gender, and social rank take concrete form in the routine conversations of men and women in streets, taverns, and markets, as “ordinary” people tell us about the societies in which they lived—sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly, but always in their own words. The historian of popular speech moreover recognizes that the social order, far from being static, remains subject to continuous modification not only by the powerful but also by those in subordinate positions, whose words and gestures may either reinforce or undermine accepted standards of behavior and social precedence.

According to Fatma Arığ, a fifty-one-year-old Turkish woman of Sabbatean heritage, her search for the past began with this shock she recalls experiencing as a child. Her quest was fulfilled by way of history, for lack of memory. Behind her story lies a little-known community, and its three hundred and fifty-year-old relationship with the state and the dominant society in Turkey.

In the international press Nigeria is represented almost exclusively as a state in crisis. Recurrent military coups, ethnic and religious sectionalism, a civil war, a series of bloody riots and local unrest (of which the Niger delta situation is the best-known example), economic turmoil, and the re-imposition of the Islamic criminal code in many northern states have all been used to paint a picture of chaos and collapse. Journalists and government officials alike tend to find the roots of Nigeria's problems in intractable ethnic conflict, the collapse of oil prices in 1983, structural adjustment mandated by the International Monetary Fund in 1986, and hatred between Muslims and Christians. The trouble with Nigeria is also understood to illustrate the trouble with Africa. With 25 percent of the population of sub-Saharan Africa, Nigeria appears as representative of Africa. Potentially wealthy from its oil revenue, it symbolizes Africa's promise denied.

The colonial legal order was by its very nature a plural legal order. Multiple legal authorities were created out of the imposition of colonial law and the persistence, protection, and invention of indigenous legal practices. Less obvious but critically important, too, was the plural nature of European legal systems themselves—a complexity that carried over into, and was sometimes exacerbated by, conditions of colonial rule. Broadly speaking, we can trace a historical shift over three centuries of European overseas expansion from a relatively fluid legal pluralism in which semi-autonomous legal authorities operated alongside state law, to a hierarchical model of legal pluralism in which state law subsumed in one way or another all jurisdictions, including “traditional” forums given special status by the state.

Despite the historical significance of European decolonization after the Second World War, there has been no serious interpretive account of it as an overall process. A number of excellent case studies exist analyzing specific policies or periods in the imperial capitals or in the colonial territories, and there are several chronologically complete surveys of the decline of European rule overseas. These have neither been directed nor followed, however, by studies attempting to conceptualize synthetically the entire period. In default of a wide-ranging debate over the character of decolonization as an historical movement, a kind of conventional wisdom has grown up attributing the differences in the British and French experiences to a combination of their respective imperial traditions and the governing abilities of their domestic political institutions. As yet, there has been no systematic attempt to separate carefully the chief variables to be analyzed, to assign them weights of relative importance, and to coordinate them in an historical and comparative manner. This essay hopes to open discussion of these questions.

The plow is one of those seminal inventions which has transformed history; unfortunately, we have little archaeological evidence about its origins. We believe that the plow existed 4,000 years ago in both ancient Sumar and Egypt, but we do not know when it was first introduced, or where, or by whom. It arrived in human history without fanfare and was an integral part of complex technological and social systems by the era from which we have first evidence of its presence.

In the winter of 1861–62 there was a guerrilla uprising in WesternMissouri, directed in main against the Union Army and against localpro-Union sympathizers. The number of active participants was smallby more recent standards. At any given time the guerrillas in questionprobably numbered no more than 200 individuals. They had, however, an impact beyond that suggested by their size. In the ensuing three years the guerrillas managed to tie up more than 40,000 Union troops on stationary occupation duty. As in almost all classic cases of guerrilla warfare, the Union forces were rendered relatively immobile by the necessity to protect fixed points such as urban areas, supply depots, and lines of communication. In addition to their military effect, the guerrillas have become over time a fairly well known part of American folklore. Their leader through most of the period was William Quantrill. From their ranks came at least two of the more famous bandit gangs of frontier history—the James brothers and the Younger brothers. Their most famous exploit, the raid on Lawrence, Kansas, has been the subject of film and other commercial treatment.

A quarter century following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the people's democracies, many of the dwellings, utilities, and public spaces built by these regimes continue to be cherished by their inhabitants and users. This has only increased as post-socialist urban landscapes undergo an ever-intensifying process of neoliberal “re-privatization,” de-planning, and spatial as well as economic stratification. Scholars, however, continue to produce accounts emphasizing how socialist cities and buildings, as well as the audacious social goals built into them, failed. This article provides a critical overview of recent literature on built socialism and identifies a tension between two parallel ethnographic and historical narratives. One argues that built socialism failed, because it was too obsessed with the economy and industry and neglected every other aspect of social life. The other pins the blame for failure on built socialism's alleged fixation with aesthetic or discursive realms and its corresponding neglect of the economy. The article closes by suggesting pathways for comparative scholarship that consider built socialism in terms of not only collapse and disintegration, but also success and endurance; not simply of either economy or aesthetics, but also of their reciprocal inter-determination and co-dependence. We must look beyond the lens of imported theories and consider “vernacular” or “emic” concepts rooted in the specificities and singularities of the socialist city itself.

This essay has to do mainly with the economics of Ibn Khaldūn (1332–1406), historian and statesman of prominent Arab descent and medieval Islam's greatest economist, who spent most of his stormy life in northwest Africa and Egypt, engaged either in scholarly undertakings or in judicial and other governmental activities. His economic opinions, apparently the most advanced of those expressed in medieval Islam, are to be found principally in The Muqaddimah, originally intended as an introduction to his history (Kitāb al-‘Ibar) of the Arab and Muslim world and its pre-Islamic antecedents, though finally transformed into an exposition of the sources of historical change at work in that world. The Muqaddimah, initially completed in 1377, continued to be corrected or added to until shortly before the author's death; though manuscript copies were numerous, it was not issued in printed form until in the 1850's.

There are very few states today which do not aspire to modernity. The day of rulers who were indifferent to the archaism of the society which they governed has almost disappeared. The leaders of nearly every state—both the old established states as well as the new states of Asia and Africa—feel a pressing necessity of espousing policies which will bring them well within the circle of modernity. Much of the opposition which they encounter among their politically interested countrymen contends that they are not modern enough. Many traditionalists are constrained to assert that only by cleaving to the essence of older traditions can a genuine and stable modernity be attained.

Modern states must be “dynamic”, above all else. To be modern, an elite, as the elites of the new states see it, must not fear change; on the contrary, it umst strive to bring it about. It does not wish to remain as it is. It is against the ancien regime; even where it affirms the past of the country, it stresses its adaptability to the needs of the pressent. “Dynamic” is one of the favorite adjectives of the elites of the new states. The elites pride themselves on their dynamism and they claim that the mass of the population demands it of them. Almost everything else which they esteem presupposes this praise of change.

The society built up by Overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia has always been remarkable for its wealth of voluntary associations. In the various historical and sociological studies of Southeast Asian Chinese which have appeared the importance of associations has been duly stressed, although in respect of only two settlements have we been given full treatment of their structure and significance. In this paper I shall consider the associations which Singapore Chinese created and modified in the course of the nineteenth century. Studying this earlier period of Singapore history we can see how the Chinese members of the colonial society adapted their social organization to the conditions of a trading settlement in which, while they often amassed great riches, they were not their own political masters. At the end of the paper I shall consider the Singapore evidence within the wider setting of Southeast Asia and put forward certain general conclusions which may be taken up in other papers on the same theme.

British imperial policy during the first three quarters of the nineteenth century was increasingly dominated by men of business and industry who prided themselves upon their clear-headed devotion to sound economic principles. The world in which they lived had no place for maudlin sentimentality. The industrial system which had made Britain the wealthiest and most powerful state in the world must not be trammeled by artificial restrictions nor should its expansion be slowed by uneconomic burdens. Their religion was Material Progress, and its high priests – Cobden, Bright, Merivale, and others – preached that the Empire was an anachronism, an expensive relic of a by-gone day. Few were disposed to sever the bonds between Britain and its colonies; but these colonies must be made to pay their own way.

The overarching argument of this paper is not a new one; others have made it in various forms. The argument suggests, in Bernard Cohn's simple formulation, that metropole and colony should be treated in a unified field of analysis. Reconstituting the analytical frame in the manner Cohn suggests has a range of implications not only for the study of colonialism but also, and perhaps more importantly, for understanding current geopolitical conjunctures. The suggestion diverges from the conventional analytical approach that divides and demarcates the world into separable entities—whether they be described as the mutually exclusive categories of metropole and colony, Europe and its Others, a set of distinct nations, first and third world, or indeed of areas and regions—and studies these distinct entities in isolation from, or in comparison with, each other. In contrast, Cohn's proposition asks for an analysis of how such demarcations are produced and of how, rather than being discrete entities with autochthonous formations, they are co-produced through a complex array of related and relational historical events. It is a call, in other words, to shift the analytical framework from one that functions, implicitly or explicitly, on the basis of comparison, to one that operates on the basis of co-production. Such an approach, this essay demonstrates, is especially necessary for a thoroughly historicized understanding of nation-state formation, particularly since the nation-state constitutes a preeminent category of and for comparative analysis.

Memory is a major theme in contemporary life, a key to personal, social, and cultural identity. Philosophers have long regarded continuity of memory as an essential quality of personhood. But personal and collective identity are intimately linked. Classical works such as Maurice Halbwachs's The Collective Memory, and Sir Frederick Bartlett's Remembering highlight the social nature of what we usually take to be individual memory, an insight reinforced by research on the historical consciousness of non-literate peoples.Sir Frederick Bartlett, Remembering (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1932); Maurice Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, Francis and Vida Ditter, trans. (New York: Harper Collins, 1980). For excellent descriptive and theoretical overviews of the problems that Halbwachs opened up, see Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989) and James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1992). Here I will explore, in comparative perspective, the social processes through which personal memory becomes collectivized and collective memory is instantiated through autobiographical recollection.

The still modest literature devoted to the history of the family in Brazil offers two conflicting interpretations of elite family organization. On the one hand, scholars have often ascribed an exaggerated organizing propensity to the elite extended family or parentela. Gilberto Freyre's early identification of ‘patriarchal cohesion’ as the foundation of Brazilian national organization persisted as the conventional wisdom until very recently. For Freyre, the elite patriarchal family assumed a ‘civilizing’ mission by imposing solidarity and order in an otherwise disorganized social milieu. Other commentators have been less impressed with the elite family's achievements over time. For them, Brazil's great families were disorganized, destructively violent, and even ‘schools of vice.’ Oliveira Viana, who probably best summed up the limitations of elite family organization, argued that the extended family (clã parental) lacked a common life except in crisis situations when its solidarity was only ephemerally evident.