Visions of a grand hydraulic civilization and a pastoral ideal of paddy cultivation–based village life have shaped Sinhala nationalist discourse since the late nineteenth century. Derived from colonial sociology, the local political elite fashioned these ideas into a discourse of Sinhala authenticity that positioned themselves as legitimate representatives of the people while simultaneously placing them as custodians of national culture. However, this was a fraught dynamic given the elites’ highly Anglicized nature and their inability to maintain control over this discourse in the face of wider participation in public culture in the first half of the twentieth century. S. W. R. D. Bandaranaike, who became prime minister in 1956, eight years after Sri Lanka gained independence from British rule, is popularly seen as one of the few elite politicians of the late colonial period who sought to engage substantively in mass-based politics and is remembered as a heroic anti-colonial figure. This article explores the contradictions and ironies in Bandaranaike's turn to indigeneity and the political and cultural implications of this turn. It also briefly discusses authenticity's continued resonance in contemporary Sri Lanka.

The nationalist military intelligence service has long been a controversial topic in the history of the Chinese Republic (1912–49). This organization, known as the Military Bureau of Statistics and Investigation (Junshi Weiyuanhui Tongji Diaocha Ju, or Juntong), first impinged on civilian society in the 1930s, when it carried out violent deeds against urban-based intellectuals critical of the Nationalist party's rule. Newspaper writers and editors subsequently compared Juntong to the infamous Eastern Depot and Embroidered Guards of the despotic Ming emperors, denouncing the “feudal” and “fascist” nature of Nationalist rule in political tracts and assemblies. During the Pacific War the image of Juntong's chief, General Dai Li (1897–1946), was blackened when he was compared to the Nazi Heinrich Himmler by the Western press. In the bitter and protracted civil struggles between the Chinese Communist party (CCP) and the Guomindang (GMD) after 1941, the Communists focused sharply on the atrocities committed by Juntong and portrayed Dai Li as a monstrous instrument of Chiang Kai-shek's dictatorship.

Among the sins of scholarly translators from the Chinese, there is one which is so prevalent as to remain unchallenged generation after generation, possibly because no one is free from its taint. I refer to the practice of leaving uncooked and indigestible lumps in the sinological puddings served up to a tolerant public. This custom, against which I wish to make the strongest possible protest, has not yet been justified or even defended by any wellargued theory, but has become widely accepted usage in the absence of overt opposition. Specifically I challenge the common treatment of a large and poorly defined body of Chinese “names and titles” either by transliteration (an extreme kind of under-translation), or by what is sometimes known as “functional translation” (a species of paraphrase lacking consistent methodology). An obvious instance of the former would be the rendering of by “he styled himself T' ai-shang-huang,” and of the latter, the rendering of by “he was made Chancellor.” I oppose such procedures on the general grounds that the chief if not the sole responsibility of the scholarly translator is fidelity to his text. In other words it is to convey, as precisely as he may in a different tongue, the sense of the language of the original.

Rural settlement patterns on the island of Java conform in general type to the dominant mode throughout the rest of monsoon Asia: a nucleated residential unit surrounded by the lands cultivated by the residents, forming a community with political, economic, and religious dimensions. The dominant form of agriculture depends upon irrigated lands planted primarily with rice. In upland areas, where the topography has limited the spread of the irrigated land, the residential units are relatively small and isolated, and a characteristic village organization has developed in which the daily patterns of interaction can encompass the entire village. The much larger part of Java's population, however, lives in lowland areas where gentle, even gradients, plentiful sources of water, and the seasonal rains have permitted the establishment of widespread systems of irrigation. Here the residential units have expanded and coalesced into large blocks and strips of several square miles, alternating with large uninterrupted areas of irrigated land. Under these conditions, village units have expanded far beyond the daily interaction group, and vaguely denned neighborhoods (barisan or lingkungan) have developed within which most of the daily patterns of mutual interest and aid take place. Within the area studied, the average population of the lowland rural village is roughly 600, with a range from 200 to 2000. The average area encompassed by each village is roughly a quarter square mile, with a range approximately proportional to the population.

Biography in the People's Republic of China is not exempt from the ubiquitous slogan: “politics in command.” It is a highly purposeful craft, but rarely, if ever, is its primary purpose to portray an individual personality for his own sake, to inform objectively, or to entertain. The aim, instead, is to convince, enshrine, or inspire. Biography is didactic, hagiolatrous, or propagandistic. It is but one among many methods used in Communist China to support Marxist-Leninist views of history, provide sanction for the leaders of the Chinese Communist party, and fire enthusiasm for the acceptance and fulfillment of party programs. The accuracy, art, treatment of character, and probably even the quantity of biography published are limited by party preconceptions and enforced through party control over all media of information.

The study of chinese religions is a lively and growing field. Its major bibliographer in the West, Laurence G. Thompson, comments that in revising his bibliography of Western-language publications through 1980 to include those published in the following ten years, the index of various types of contributors increased by over 1,100 names, and the number of research categories grew from eighty-four to one hundred and three (Thompson 1985, 1993). Anna Seidel of the École Françhise d'Extrême-Orient, Section de Kyoto, published in 1990 a discussion and bibliography of Taoist studies in the West from 1950 to 1990 that for this topic alone is 124 pages long (Seidel 1989–90). New documents, from Shang oracle bones to twentieth-century spirit-writing texts, are being discovered, the Taoist canon has been systematically surveyed for the first time, and fresh interpretations

Early modern rulers in asia and europe frequently sought to secure a better grasp of the land and other resources that provided them with the economic resources t o maintain their governments, expand their power, and permit them to conquer new lands (see, for example, Tilly 1985; Hellie 1971; Ali 1966). The “reunification” of Japan and consolidation of authority in the hands of Toyotomi Hideyoshi and his Tokugawa successors is generally viewed in this same light. There is widespread scholarly agreement that Hideyoshi's authority and that of the early Tokugawa shoguns represented a new, unprecedented level of political centralization in Japan. Hideyoshi's edicts on class separation, pacification of the countryside through sword hunts, and inventories of daimyo financial resources are all taken as emblematic of this new authority. So, too, are the Laws of the Military Houses, Tokugawa edicts compelling the destruction of castles, and related measures.

The six conditions for good painting set by Hsieh Ho in the fifth century a.d. were apparently the first Chinese attempt at a systematic approach to the theory of the art. Their primacy ensured them the respect of later centuries; and since they satisfied the general requirements of classical lore by being at once ancient, terse, and superficially simple about a core of mystery, they came as early as T'ang to acquire a unique weight of authority. The emphasis given them, by quotation and long discussion, in the theoretical sections of the first two grand histories of Chinese painting–Chang Yen-yüan's in the ninth century and Kuo Jo-hsü's in the eleventh–is an obvious sign of high esteem. To these instances might be added countless others, throughout the later literature of the art, in which the Six Laws or the name of their author appear in a place of honor.

The revolution that erupted in China in 1911 came as a shock to Japan. The Japanese had taken advantage of the opportunity created by their victory over Russia in 1905 to annex Korea and extend their influence into China. Their chief aim was to use the Korean peninsula as a base for an advance into Manchuria. Encouraged by various interests acquired through the Treaty of Portsmouth, Japan already had begun to exercise some control in Manchuria.

The expansion of political participation is generally recognized as an essential aspect of modernization. China's twentieth-century experience certainly fits this model. Yet we are far from understanding the processes by which participation expanded in China—especially in the early twentieth century, when complex patterns of social change and institutional reform brought new groups to political awareness. Who comprised the newly participant strata in the first decades of this century? How large and powerful were they? How did their members participate? Who were their leaders?

The Social organization of the Chinese in Singapore is so complex that many studies of it will have to be made before we can understand it as a whole. Three anthropologists and one sociologist have worked among the Singapore Chinese, two of them concentrating on religious organization. In this essay we try to give an outline of the sociology of Chinese religion in Singapore, making use of our incomplete knowledge and pointing out what seem to be reasonable conclusions from it.

In 1941–42 Dr. Robert B. Hall, professor of geography at the University of Michigan, investigated Japanese settlements throughout Latin America. Since his survey was made in the months just before and after Pearl Harbor, when Japan was winning successive victories, Professor Hall found the Japanese at a high peak of morale which sometimes bordered on arrogance. Subsequently, as the Allies gained the upper hand, the total situation of the Japanese underwent a marked decline. Under these circumstances it seemed likely that a postwar study might provide a valuable insight into several aspects of sociocultural change. Plans for a follow-up of Dr. Hall's work by the writer were discussed in 1947, and a decision was made to concentrate on Peru.

Our Association has met this year in Philadelphia, a city of historic memories, an appropriate place in which to contemplate anniversaries. There are several which come to mind.

First, the Association for Asian Studies is itself twenty years old this spring, a fact in which we can all take pride; for we have grown as a professional society from a mere handful of scholars in 1948 to an organization of over 4000 members today.

Next there is Japan, which in its modern incarnation is one hundred years old this year—a memorable national and even international event.

And finally, I am put in mind by our presence in Philadelphia, that by a bit of stretching we can think of the United States as being roughly 200 years old. (In fact it was just 200 years ago that the citizens of this city banded together to prevent imports from Britain. And in 8 more years we shall be able to celebrate the bicentennial of the moment when Philadelphia's Liberty Bell rang out the news of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.)

The great Chinese philosopher Ch'eng Hao (1032–1085) once set forth in a A memorial to the throne a three-point training program for statesmen. His formula for success is as valid today as it was for the Sung emperors nearly a thousand

years ago:

understand the principles taught in books;

find out the right and wrong in history;

know how to deal with men;

—more briefly, knowledge and wisdom.

An explosion of early childhood programs in Yogyakarta, Indonesia, has followed on disaster, democratization, growth of the middle class, and global neoliberal reform at the beginning of the twenty-first century. New forms of professional expertise have emerged as a part of this global assemblage to deal with the expanded notions of development advocated by the World Bank and other intergovernmental organizations. Yet, what has remained relatively unremarked is the continued reliance on older New Order forms of social welfare linked to the community form and women's labor. Here, trauma healing programs aimed at the young after the 2006 earthquake, new preschools and playgroups in the era of democratization, and the proliferation of international curricula and pedagogy illustrate how the restless contingency associated with global assemblages is rooted in durable forms of community organization.

This article investigates Chinese warlord authority in the east of the Kham Tibetan region between 1911 and 1949. The colonial government established by the Qing Empire in Kham during the five years before the end of dynastic rule relied on central government funding. With the fragmentation of the Chinese state in the Republican period, Chinese regimes in Kham were forced to raise more revenue locally and reduce expenditure. Responding to these challenges shaped the nature of Chinese authority in Kham. The late Qing colonial government had paid Tibetans who provided livestock and labor for transport as part of the 'u-lag corvée. Republican-era governors lacked the resources to do the same. They struggled to develop other ways of controlling the corvée, and attempted to create alternative state transport organizations. Changes in the sources of county government revenue also had important effects on Chinese officials' approach to what they considered to be “wasteland.”

This paper explores the contradictory discourses on manners, safety and emotion that arose with mass motorization in Japan in the 1960s and which continue through the present. It documents the way in which multiple government entities end up working at cross-purposes in their attempts to cultivate safer drivers and slow the epidemic of traffic accidents. On the one hand, the discourse on driving manners suggests a widespread embrace of the Traffic Bureau's and other government agencies' concern with safety. On the other hand, the emphasis on manners may lead to angrier driving, which promotes accidents according to psychological studies of driving. The picture that emerges is one in which attempts at social control are complicated by the often unpredictable emotional reactions of subjects caught in a web of institutional and ideological processes. By exploring the relationship of emotion to driving school curricula and the discourse on manners, this article extends previous studies of self, social control, and social management in Japan.

It is impressive how, in Prasenjit Duara's essay, Asian regions are understood and presented—in the breadth of the world, not as objects with sharp edges, or compact entities of cultures, economies, and politics, not as blocks of which the present and the global so often are still thought to be made. Reading Duara's essay, I was made to think of the celebrated Japanese architect Fumihiko Maki's current grand plan for Singapore, the epitome of Asia today, a design conceived not as a space made of buildings, offices, and flats, not of blocks, but of flows—bridges and flyovers, “links,” as Maki calls them. These links are there as the most powerful part of the whole, making the city-state space by cutting through it, over the blocks, and along them. The links are empowered to make everything in the city-state to face the open, and to move into the open. A skeptic, of course, may ask, “into what open?” Indeed, the “links” of Singapore, at least those already in action, often lead from offices, flats, and blocks into one mega-supermarket and then into another.