Where do episodes of colonising failure fit into the historiography of European expansion? Almost by definition, this field, especially those aspects of it concerned with colonial social formation, privileges the study of those colonies which became established. Nor does an enquiry into failure have much to offer to those who have adopted the increasingly popular “Atlantic” perspective on European overseas activity. The students in this school of thought stress the importance of the commercial and social links between European-American settlements, as well as with Africa and Europe. These were forged through the unprecedented movement of people and commodities generated by early modern overseas activity, especially across the Atlantic Ocean. These connections and the corresponding mingling of peoples from four continents constitute the key elements in the development of “modernity” and the creation of a manifestly new world.

With the expansion of Western power from the seventeenth century onward, many Asian countries were confronted with difficult political and economic problems in their relations with Europe. In several countries in Asia, in order to suppress Western cultural influences within their own nations, governments often employed foreigners as interpreters for their own diplomacy and trade with Europeans, with some governments even prohibiting their people from learning foreign languages.

But, in the case of Japan, interpreters played a crucial role in both the study of the Dutch language and the integration of Western knowledge during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It seems that early-modern Japanese interpreters were quite different from the interpreters of Western languages in other countries in Asia, as in Nagasaki interpreters of the Dutch language were shogunate-appointed Japanese nationals.

Here I will examine and compare several aspects of the Chinese pidgin-English interpreters at Canton and the Japanese Dutch-language interpreters at Nagasaki, in particular their origins, incomes, duties, learning, and businesses. Through this examination I will demonstrate how the so-called Westernisation processes adopted in China and Japan were actually reflected in and represented by the different models of foreign trade at the ports of Canton and Nagasaki.

Western visitors to Japan are often surprised at how widely European art music can be heard. The roots of what is arguably one of Japan’s greatest success stories lie in the systematic introduction and dissemination of Western music by the government after the Meiji Restoration of 1868. Much research has focused on the government’s role; but how was Western music disseminated and received in different parts of Japan? This article discusses the roles of two brothers, Shikama Totsuji (1853–1928) and Shikama Jinji (1863–1941), who in different ways contributed significantly to the dissemination of Western music beyond Tokyo and in particular to the northern provincial town of Sendai.

In September 1621, Governor Nathaniel Butler of Bermuda was woken in the middle of the night to hear a report that one hundred Spaniards had landed on the west part of the islands. Bermuda had long been at risk of attack because of its close proximity to the homebound route of the Spanish treasure fleet, so Butler understandably went on the defensive. He ordered the manning of several forts and repaired to the landing area with twenty armed men, expecting to pick up additional strength along the way. Rather than find an invading enemy, Butler and his men found a group of Portuguese and Spanish men, women, and children, whose ship—the 300-tonne, Portuguese-owned San Antonio—had been separated from the treasure fleet by a bad storm and wrecked upon the rocks ten miles west of the islands. Saving what goods they could carry, most of the castaways made their way to Mangrove Bay at the north part of Somerset Island in a small cockboat.

On June 2, 1978, the Tanzanian government under President Julius Nyerere ordered the British multinational corporation, Lonrho Limited, to leave the country. The “official reason” provided for this action was Lonrho’s “continued defiance of the United Nations mandatory sanctions against Rhodesia and the expansion of its business interests in South Africa.” Using newly available materials, mainly from the National Archives London, this paper attempts to document the rise of Lonrho in Tanzania up until the nationalization, the factors that influenced the compensation negotiations process between Lonrho and the Tanzanian government, and the role the British government played in the entire episode.

Facing the crisis of a colony at war, Harriet Gore Browne experienced a crisis of mind as the wife of a governor heavily criticized for acting unjustly and illegally in provoking a racial conflict. Analysing the intimacies of power, the article depicts the doubts, pain and haunting pressure of violence on those proximate to as well as subject to imperial authority. Harriet Gore Browne’s intense scrutiny of her own and her husband’s actions expose an interior questioning of the legitimate use of force against indigenous resistance. The pain running through Harriet Gore Browne’s journals, tormenting her days and nights, speaks to the centrality of race, emotion and the intimate in colonial rule.

This article discusses recent work on cross-cultural interactions between missionaries and Central Africans, including Images on a Mission by Cécile Fromont, Religious Entanglements by David Maxwell, and “What Is Religion in Africa?” by Birgit Meyer. These works adopt an entangled approach, examining how Christianisation engendered interconnections between Central Africans and missionaries and between Central Africa and Europe. In this way, the works paint a nuanced image of the cross-cultural interactions that occurred in the framework of the Christianisation of Central Africa, showing us how an entangled approach can help examine such interactions afresh. By contextualising the manifold ways in which Westerners and non-Westerners, the West and the non-West were entangled, we can better understand the (power) dynamics and outcomes of cross-cultural interactions. By reading sources in an entangled manner, we can get a completer view of the wide array of interactions between Westerners and non-Westerners. By acknowledging how historical entanglements shaped the analytical concepts we use, we can decolonise our scholarly practice. This article shows how the study of a fundamentally cross-cultural phenomenon—Christianity in the non-Western world—can inspire global and imperial historians to study cross-cultural interactions in a truly cross-cultural manner.

This essay revisits the events surrounding one of the most emblematic instances of colonial violence, namely the Amritsar Massacre of 1919, through the diary of an Englishwoman, Mrs. Melicent Wathen. Where most histories of the Amritsar Massacre emphasize British brutality and Indian suffering, Melicent’s experience was instead characterized by fear and the uncertainty of what became a headlong flight from Empire. Her diary thus offers an intimate account of colonial crisis. If we are to engage comprehensively with the lived experience of empire, the forms and functions of colonial fears and anxieties must be acknowledged; not because colonial panics were caused by real threats, which often they were not, but because they played such a crucial role in shaping colonial policies and in framing the relationship between rulers and ruled.

Based on Japanese and Portuguese sources, this paper aims at recovering local categories of bondage in order to identify mechanisms by which people were subjected to bonded labour in early modern Japan. The analysis focuses on crossing local forms of bondage, here referred to as genin, and the processes of subjecting individuals to this condition, the so-called called geninka, with the European notion of slavery and enslavement. Local forms of subjection to bondage are drawn from the analysis of early seventeenth-century Tokugawa legislation dedicated to the suppression of human trafficking networks. These documents use a number of labels such as genin, hōkōnin, wakatō, chūgen, hikan, and komono, all references to people subjected to various forms of bondage. At the same time, a crucial debate among members of the Society of Jesus in India offers the opportunity to scrutinise the application of the historical and legal European concept of slavery and enslavement to Japan, a region beyond the secular authority of colonial empires. Ultimately, slavery reveals itself as one of the many categories used by early modern actors to interpret and regulate labour arrangements in the budding Christian communities created by missionaries in the Iberian world.

This article posits that friendship has been a particularly fertile and creative category against the backdrop of imperial expansion and consolidation in the Himalayas. As a small but strategically perceived sovereign Himalayan country, Bhutan's history through the last centuries has been marked simultaneously by imperial and post-colonial asymmetries of power. The term “friendship” is deployed as a key diplomatic category in Bhutan's most significant relationship, that with its much larger neighbour India. However, the origin of this friendship is always traced back to the mid-twentieth-century post-colonial period. In contradistinction to this, I constellate a much longer history of this friendship with a special focus on the landmark 1910 Treaty of Punakha between Bhutan and Britain, which was a key turning point in Bhutan's relations with its southern neighbour (British India at the time). Scholars typically state as a matter of fact that in the year 1910, with the initiative of Political Officer Charles Bell, a treaty was signed between Britain and Bhutan that placed Bhutan's external relations under the guidance of Britain. This present work is situated within the oeuvre of critically rereading imperial sources and evaluating their historical legacies, and is the first detailed scholarly analysis of why this treaty was significant and how it came to be signed. I identify the factors that were at work in how and why the 1910 friendship treaty was realised for imperial British purposes—the interpersonal friendships fostered by the British Political Officers; the threat of China as an Other; and the representation of material and ideational advantages from associating with an imperial power. In making this argument, I analyse the role played by the vocabulary of friendship and draw upon primary archival sources to illustrate the factors that were at work as well as the dissonance between the archival and public rationales provided by Political Officer Bell. The 1910 treaty was signed at a watershed moment after the then-recent installation of a monarchy in Bhutan in 1907, and against the great game backdrop of Qing activities in Tibet and British interests in the region; throughout the twentieth century, the impact of this friendship treaty was of paramount significance, and its shadow continues into the twenty-first century.

The scholarly discussion of archives in the premodern Islamicate world is beset by problematic generalisations. Such a view to some degree stems from a top-down view of archiving that focuses on state archives at the expense of practices of archiving occurring outside a chancery context. This article challenges the assumptions that support an enduring narrative of paucity, by examining non-chancery archival practices in Mamlūk Cairo on the eve of the Ottoman conquest in 922/1517. In doing this, it looks to some of the surviving original documentary material: legal property deeds with connections to waqf endowments whose potential to shed light on archival history has largely remained untapped. Surviving in large numbers in modern collections in Cairo, these documents contain abundant traces of their own archival histories. By presenting a micro-scale case study drawn from this material, this article shows the energetic and meticulous documentary and archival practices that surrounded property transactions in late-Mamlūk Cairo.

On 13 April 1650 the young Chief (Opperhoofd) of the Siam factory of Dutch East India Company (VOC), the Merchant (Koopman) Jan van Muijden, arrived at Batavia aboard the flute de Gecroonde Liefde (Crowned Love), with a cargo unusual even by the standards of this thriving stapling port. Aboard were a total of twelve elephants, a gift from the King of Siam and his Mandarins, Oya Sabartiban (Okya Sabartiban) and Oya Berckelang (Okya Phrakhlang), to Governor-General Cornelis van der Lijn and the four Councillors of the Indies present in Batavia at the time, one of whom was the Director-General and second-in-command François Caron. When Van Muijden stepped ashore, he presented Van der Lijn and the Councillors with a letter from Prasat-Thong, the King of Siam, in which the King requested several precious diamond rings for himself and for his Mandarin, Oya Sabartiban, ‘various curiosities from the Netherlands and elsewhere’, military assistance against his rebellious subjects in Cambodia and on the Malay peninsula, and an end to the all-too-frequent molesting by Company ships of Chinese and Portuguese vessels en route to Siam.

Our joint work, like so much else in life, had its origin in an accident of fate. It would never have seen the light of day, at least in its published forms, had it not been for the chance that the authors both came to the University of Birmingham in the mid-1960s, from different backgrounds and with different interests, and then found that, by the mid-1970s, their research interests had converged to the point where co-operative work began to appear both logical and feasible. At that moment, like countless other scholars in all branches of research, we did not have a clear idea of what we were embarking on or, of course, how long it would take. But we made a conscious decision, at a time when we had built up a considerable amount of intellectual capital, to attack one of the big problems of modern history, namely the causes of imperial expansion, and to take a chance on the outcome.

Scattered as it was over thousands of miles of African and Asian coastline, the Portuguese empire in the East had a peculiar shape when compared to the Spanish one in the New World. As one author of the early seventeenth century put it, ‘the king our lord does not have more than twenty leagues of land in all Asia, from Macao to the Cape of Good Hope’. Portugal was a small country with a population of one and a half million people, and it is no surprise that the Portuguese presence in Asia - a ‘network’ rather than an ‘empire’, as some authors claim - had to rely heavily on diplomacy. The wholesale ‘conquest’ (conquista) of the East was perceived as a theoretical right of the Portuguese crown, but in practice most relations with Eastern polities rested on a complex set of negotiated links of ‘friendship’ (amizade) or indirect submission (uassalagem).