Representative Government was an institution dear to the hearts of nineteenth-century Englishmen. It was their pride and, they affirmed, the source of their national strength that they lived under this form of constitution. They were eager that others, especially their colonies, should enjoy its benefits. There were few obstacles in the way of the establishment of representative institutions in the white colonies: the land was different but the people were the same. But in India neither the land nor the people resembled those of England. Nonetheless, the British determined to train an educated, Westernized elite which would make possible the establishment of representative institutions there.

Few concepts in modern times are as full of paradoxes as nationalism. Widely agreed to be a general phenomenon of modern politics, it is known also to vary drastically in character in every country. It is presumed to make politics rational and purposeful, yet it is conceptually irrational, more akin to a “religion,” as Carleton Hayes once noted, than to a definable conceptual construct. Lacking precise definition, it is subject to manipulation and to being used as justification for a bewildering variety of often contradictory forms of political and social action. Despite this imprecision, it is thoroughly enmeshed in modern historiography, and the historian has little recourse than to seek greater precision in the use of this concept by providing it with explicit historical content. Of the many tasks that might be undertaken in this area, certainly one of the more serious is the reconstruction of patterns of political thought formulated in the traditional setting that exercised powerful influences on the specific character of nationalism in the modern history of a country. Especially important from the standpoint of this essay are those modes of thought that conceptualized subjective action against existing politics as being in the real or purported interest of the wider polity. For nationalism in modern Jajan, the key in this regard is, without question, the concept of “restorationism.”

In 1962 the association for asian studies met, as this year, in Boston, at its fourteenth annual meeting, when the Association was addressed by its President that year, Lauriston Sharp. In his search for “some of the continuities and discontinuities of human experience in Southeast Asia,” Sharp proposed that “we should first work back from the present and up the little streams, the short runs of Southeast Asian history and prehistory” (Sharp 1962:5). Following Sharp's metaphor of time as the river, we can find that the rocks and rivulets, the surges and pools and mighty dams of a very minor river in the northern part of what is now called Thailand have much to tell us of the rich and complex past of Southeast Asia. We are concerned here with a small and, most would argue, inconsequential river; but any river at its spate is capable of raising and pushing along the largest boulders. I would hope that this particular river might serve to wash clean and highlight anew the ground that Sharp so eloquently covered so many years ago.

The penal colony that the british established in the Andaman Islands at the end of the 1850s was originally intended as a place of permanent exile for a particular class of Indian criminals. These offenders had, for the most part, been convicted by special tribunals in connection with the Indian rebellions of 1857–58. As the British vision of rehabilitation in the Andamans evolved, the former rebels were joined in the islands by men and women convicted under the Indian Penal Code. In the islands, transported criminals were subjected to various techniques of physical, spatial, occupational, and political discipline (Sen 1998). The slow transition from a convicted criminal to a prisoner in a chain gang, to employment as a Self-Supporter or a convict officer in the service of the prison regime, to life as a free settler in a penal colony was in effect a process by which the state sought to transform the criminal classes of colonial India—the disloyal, the idle, the elusive and the disorderly—into loyal, orderly, and governable subjects.

During the first century of contact with the outside world, the history of Ponape has been marked by a series of violent outbreaks against Americans, Spaniards, and Germans. The causes and implications of these surprisingly effective uprisings, in which two governors of the island were killed, have become the direct concern of the American people. Ponape has been governed by the U. S. Navy since 1945, and was assigned to the United States by the United Nations in 1947 as part of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands.

The 1911 Revolution in China is usually considered a failure. Changing the perspective of judgement from the national level to the local level permits a reassessment. Enough information is available from Chinese memoirs, contemporary newspapers, and foreign consular reports to make the new judgement somewhat secure if attention is focused on one particular location—Swatow.

The old administration was overthrown by expeasants led by deracinated rural intellectuals. They took power in the name of modern merchants. These merchants easily pushed the young radicals out because the ideology of the radical prevented them from using force against the wealth and status of the merchants. Rural disorder of the ex-peasants and republican election victorier for the radicals forced the urban merchants to rely on foreign election victories for the radicals forced the urban merchants to rely on foreign wealth and rural power to maintain law and order needed for trade and to maintain their own urban power base. Armed peasants and the young radicals were suppressed or bought off. Power fell to rural warlords and other political allies in urban enclaves. Only a rejoining of radical intellectuals and ex-peasants could offer China a revolution instead of just another bloody cycle.

Turbulent years before and after the Meiji Restoration in 1868 have been one of the most extensively written pages of Japanese history. Much work has been carried out on the revolutionary samurai and the aspiring merchants who implemented the upheaval. Curiously, however, revolts and rebellions which erupted at more popular levels, such as peasant uprisings and urban mass disturbances during this period, have drawn little scholarly attention. According to the literature survey of Irwin Scheiner, no work on Japanese peasant uprisings has been published English since Hugh Borton's study in 1938.

Both Beijing and London have vowed to maintain Hong Kong's stability and prosperity in the uncertainty surrounding the expiration of the New Territories Lease in 1997. The six books under review are timely but not entirely successful attempts to trace local socioeconomic developments since the riots of 1967. Three major themes emerge. The still-prevalent Chinese family system and social values have provided the foundation for political stability during this period of drastic changes. The general “prosperity” also entails human sacrifices and widening inequitable distribution of this increased wealth. The policies of the colonial administration have been a far cry from the ideals of laissez-faire government, and yet much remains to be done to make Hong Kong a just society.

Scholars of medieval Japanese history are not often blessed with sufficient statistical data to employ it systematically in their analysis of problems in the political, social, and economic history of the period. Yet in certain limited areas of investigation, enough information does exist to permit independent testing of the validity of conclusions that have been based on the historian's examination of the archival record—for example, the lower bureaucracy during the Muromachi period (1336–1573), which consisted of a group of officials known as the bugyōnin.

An outline of the history of Confucianism in the Three Kingdoms, Silla, Koryŏ, and Yi periods and a consideration of certain political and factional problems of Confucianism in Korea occupied Part I of the present “Outline History.” Part II will now attempt to deal briefly with the schools of Confucianism as they developed during the Yi dynasty (1392–1910) and with the principal Confucian institutions of Korea.

Beginning with the classification of the schools of Yi Confucianism, we find a problem hardly less complex than the analysis of factionalism which was considered at the end of Part I of the present study. The corpus of Confucian doctrine and interpretation was vast when the dynasty opened; it increased steadily as the scholars of the contemporary Ming and Ch'ing dynasties produced their works. Within China, schools of interpretation were numerous, and their names more so. Korea inherited both the possibility of establishing on its own soil schools modeled after the Chinese and of proliferating native-grown variations.

This reflection on Errington's thought-provoking paper, by an intellectual historian and a student of Chinese philosophy, does not dispute her interpretive position on classical Malay literature in general and on hikayat in particular. Rather, it attempts to challenge three salient points of her argument: that the distinction between “oral” and “written” is a hazy one in the paratactic style of the hikayat; that the “images” in this type of literature are flat, repetitive and without content; and that the Malay art of story-telling is diametrically opposed to the rhetorical style of history characteristic of the post-Renaissance West. It is hoped that such a discussion will bring about fruitful encounters between scholars in different fields and disciplines in Asian studies.

The internal political dissensions of the Yi period (1392–1910) provide a fruitful object of study for students of Korean history. Throughout all but its first decades they troubled the dynasty, eroding the effectiveness of government, introverting the intellectual concerns of the educated, narrowing access to needed new influences, producing social and political rifts which have become deeply ingrained. For all their faults, factional dissensions also brought marked political and intellectual stimulation, and are as important as any of Korea's native institutional phenomena for the formation of her modern political life. Ending only with Yi power in 1910, these struggles still echo under the surface of Korean society.