Despite the existence of a large Indian diaspora, there has been relatively little scholarly attention paid to India's relations with overseas Indians after its independence in 1947. The common narrative is that India abruptly cut ties with overseas Indians at independence, as it adhered to territorially based understandings of sovereignty and citizenship. Re-examining India's relations with Indian communities in Ceylon and Burma between the 1940s and the 1960s, this article demonstrates that, despite its rhetoric, independent India did not renounce responsibility for its diaspora. Instead, because of pre-existing social connections that spanned the former British empire, the Government of India faced regular demands to assist overseas Indians, and it responded on several fronts. To understand this continued engagement with overseas Indians, this article introduces the idea of ‘post-imperial sovereignty'. This type of sovereignty was layered, as imperial sovereignty had been, but was also concerned with advancing norms designed to protect minority communities across the world. India’s strategy to argue for these norms was simultaneously multilateral, regional, and bilateral. It sought to use the United Nations, the Commonwealth, and the 1947 Asian Relations Conference to secure rights for overseas Indians. As those attempts failed, India negotiated claims for citizenship with governments in Burma and Ceylon, and shaped the institutions and language through which Indians voiced demands for their rights in these countries. Indian expressions of sovereignty beyond the space of the nation-state, therefore, impacted on practices of citizenship, even during the process of de-recognition in Asia.

‘The rise of Japan is surely one of the great epics of modern world history’. Yet it is not easy to obtain an overview of the development of Japanese civilization. Since the 1960s there has been an explosion of research which has overturned many of the older orthodoxies. The Cambridge History of Japan provides us with an unique chance to take stock. Here I will consider the four volumes covering the period from the twelfth to the later twentieth century.

Stories matter—writing them down matters. For indigenous (Adivasi) peoples from oral traditions, literature has become a way to maintain culture and keep it alive. This article too is a story—an investigative one—questioning and vocalizing the challenges we encounter in trying to articulate our realities and histories in a form that is new to us, one that we've been denied as a practice and one we are not believed we are entitled to use. Mainstream cultures have side-lined, overshadowed, and subjugated our knowledge systems, placing us in structures we have to traverse, and within which we have to exist, which is possible only by internalizing and mirroring others' or mainstream ways and languages to gain legitimacy as peoples or, worse, being branded and judged by their versions of narratives of us. This article plots the course of Adivasi histories and narratives enduring, outlasting, or being demolished by dislocation and dispossession, by dominant languages and cultures, and how both writing and orality are practices of both resistance and resurgence.

IN 1912 Shaukat Ali drew from popular Hindu mythology to explain some recent disputes at Aligarh. Sayyid Ahmad Khan was represented by the god Indra, the Muslim community was his sabha, or assembly, and Aligarh College was the divine akhara, or wrestling pit. Shaukat Ali was the Red God, Muhammad Ali, the Little Red God, and Aftab Ahmad Khan, the White God.

Influential citizens of the French city of Lyon embraced the cause of expansion during the nineteenth century. Religious zeal led to the founding of the Oeuvre de la Propagation de la Foi during the Restoration, and local Catholics continued to lend fervent support to overseas missionary endeavors. But even when the religious impulse towards expansion stood at its zenith, the Lyonnais did not overlook the more concrete advantages to be secured through the acquisition of Algeria and the opening of China to Western trade. Economic motivation took on far more importance during the second half of the century when the devastation of French sericulture by pebrine forced the magnates of the silk industry, the most important local industry and the only French industry dominant in the international market, to look elsewhere for new supplies of raw silk. The Far East, the world's greatest silk-producing region, became the focus of attention, and the Lyon Chamber of Commerce, the most effective local organization devoted to the cause of imperialism, supported the opening of Japan, called for the wringing of new concessions from China, and backed the acquisition and development of Indochina. Just as within the larger pattern of French municipal imperialism the business communities of Bordeaux and Marseille acquired vital stakes in West Africa and North Africa, so also Lyon's business community came to play a pivotal role in French undertakings in Eastern Asia where the Lyonnais soon pushed their activities beyond the confines of the all-important silk trade.

Generally speaking, there are two dominant schools of thought with regard to the British annexation of Sind in the Indian sub-continent in 1843. One takes the view that individuals on the spot make history. It was a harsh, bitter and frustrated soldier by the name of General Sir Charles Napier who was determined to seek glory and wealth for himself by annexing Sind. In this respect, the eminent historian and former Special Commissioner for Sind (1943–46), H. T. Lambrick, has put his case extremely well. The other school interprets the annexation in strategic terms, as part of a search for a defence system which would safeguard British India from the dangers of attack from the northwest. In about 600 pages, the distinguished historian M. E. Yapp has achieved his goal with remarkable success. Furthermore, Yapp has done so without discounting the first school of thought. Indeed, the two are not mutually exclusive. In this paper I wish to suggest that there is a third dimension, an economic one; and that the three are not mutually exclusive either. Indeed, all three appear to have different weights at different levels of the policy-making process.

Comparatively little of a scholarly nature has been written about Indonesian trade unions, particularly on the two decades from 1945 to 1965 when, like the political parties to which so many of them were affiliated, the unions had their heyday. This paper focuses on the development of trade unions in one specific industry: refined sugar production. The period to be examined—1945 to 1949—runs from the proclamation of Indonesian independence by Sukarno and Hatta, through the revolution fought against the returning Dutch, to December 1949 when the Netherlands finally acknowledged Indonesian independence. It was during this period that the major post-war sugar industry unions were established. The circumstances surrounding the establishment of these unions will be examined, along with their leaders and members, ideological leanings and political and industrial objectives.

The decade preceding the Second World War was a crucial period in the history of the Indian nationalist movement. It was at this time that the leadership of Gandhi and the ‘Old Guard’—Congress veterans who, with few exceptions, were annually re-elected to the party's Working Committee—faced its most serious challenge for control of the Congress Party. The outcome of this internal party struggle determined the nature and scope of the independence movement throughout the war years and until the attainment of freedom in 1947. It also determined the political complexion of the party that was to guide the Republic of India through the early, and critical, formative years of its existence.

Throughout the twenty years which followed 17 August 1945 when, as President of the newly proclaimed Republic of Indonesia, Sukarno first stepped into the limelight, he has provided the most flamboyant example of the ‘charismatic leader’ who, by personifying the aspirations of a formerly subject people, enables them both to establish and to project their identity as a nation. During this time Western well-wishers of the Indonesian people have been increasingly fascinated by his performance, which they have watched, often at first with sympathy and even admiration, later with disappointment and anxiety, and finally with astonishment verging upon incredulity.

In significant contrast with Indonesian writing there is in Malay literature a body of work concerned with rural life. That this is the case suggests the degree to which Malay writers even today have their roots in the agricultural cycle of peasant experience. Those who now work in clerical jobs, in publishing, in journalism, in teaching, those in fact who make up the writers of the novels, however divorced and remote their present life-styles and occupations are from their origins, still look back to the village as the world of their formative experience. It is a world with which they are intimate and familiar, a source of spiritual reassurance, of values which they may not endorse, but which they understand fully, in opposition to the alien environment of the modern city where the totality of life is fragmented into exclusive and contradictory domains of experience. And it is precisely because the writers are not so removed from rural life in space and time, that when they do cast a glance backwards they are never tempted to review that life through the distorting lens of nostalgia. On the contrary, there is the realistic acknowledgement that their own moving away from the village has also been an escape. There is, therefore, ambivalence: the village is perceived as the repository of Malay culture, the locus of traditional values, yet at the same time it is a locus of ignorance, frustration and poverty, somewhere to return for spiritual regeneration, but never again for permanent residence.

The emergence of new groups in society willing and able to supply capital and enterprise to modern industry is one of the crucial aspects of economic development. The sources of entrepreneurship in China and the relations of those entrepreneurs with the rest of society have been insufficiently studied. Previous writers have tended to focus on outstanding individuals such as Sheng Hsuan-huai and Chang Chien, and to pay insufficient attention to their more run-of-the-mill followers. This paper surveys the changing sources of entrepreneurship in the Chinese coal industry between 1895 and 1937 and suggests reasons for the prominence or otherwise of the various groups involved. The concept of entrepreneurship used here is one much wider than the classic Schumpeterian definition, and includes the followers and adaptors who, as Redlich points out, also make a vital contribution to industrialization. Thus we take into our view all those who made a contribution to the development of modern coal mining enterprises as entrepreneurs, as managers or as stockholders—in many cases these functions overlapped. The companies covered are those owned either wholly or partly by Chinese nationals. Such companies accounted for 50–60 per cent of China's coal output of about 30 million tons in the 1930s.

The role of the State in promoting Indian economic development in the nineteenth century is one of several aspects of modern Indian economic history which have been ‘re-interpreted’ in recent years. The conventional wisdom once portrayed the policy of the British government in India as one essentially geared to serving British economic interests. By means of ‘discriminatory interventionism’ in economic affairs, it was argued, the Government encouraged the development of a primary commodity export economy, with all its attendant defects, in India. However, over the last two decades the reputation of the Government of India has undergone a rather noticeable transformation. Economic imperialists became, first, benevolent nightwatchmen, and then ‘development-orientated’ officials formulating an embryonic unbalanced growth model for Indian development. Parallel with this improvement in the Government of India's reputation has been a deterioration in the economic reputations of certain other governments in nineteenth-century developing economies, governments whose performances used to be favourably compared with that of the British in India. In the cases of Japan and Tsarist Russia, for instance, both the extent and effectiveness of State intervention in the economy has been questioned, and there has been an increasing recognition of the primacy of non-governmental factors in the economic growth of those countries. Given the ideological and organizational parameters limiting the range of possible activity by any nineteenth century government in its economy, the performance of governments in other developing countries of the period, and the political constraints imposed by being a subordinate section of a world-wide Empire, it is no longer possible regard the actions of British officials in India as wicked, and many would now regard them as almost respectable.

On 11 January 1943, Britain signed the ‘Treaty Between His Majesty In Respect Of The United Kingdom And India And His Excellency The President Of The National Government Of The Republic Of China For The Relinquishment Of Extra-Territorial Rights In China And The Regulation Of Related Matters (With Exchange Of Notes And Agreed Minute)’ with China.

In the past decade or so there have been several critical revisions of the long-accepted view of the important role of the state in Japan's economic development and programme of modernization generally. Professor Harry Oshima has attempted to demolish the argument that the Meiji governments' policies were at all economically beneficial. On the contrary, he has said, those policies retarded growth, particularly through their neglect of agriculture. Professor Hugh Patrick has cautioned us against giving the Meiji governments too much credit for the development of the banking system. Private enterprise, he has insisted, was also important. Most recently, Professor Kozo Yamamura has delivered yet another broadside against what he considers the myths of Japanese economic history. This time he criticizes the view that the government, by intervening and pioneering model plants, played a significant role in Meiji Japan's industrial dcvelopment.

According to Sir George Grierson, one of the pre-eminent Indologists of the early twentieth century, Ramanand led ‘one of the most momentous revolutions that have occurred in the religious history of North India.’Yet Ramanand, the fourteenth-century teacher of Banaras, has been conspicuous by his relative absence in the pages of English-language scholarship on recent Indian history, literature, and religion. The aims of this essay are to reflect on why this is so, and to urge historians to pay attention to Ramanand, more particularly to the reinvention of Ramanand by his early twentieth-century followers, because the contested traditions thereof bear on the vexed issue of caste and hierarchy in colonial India. The little that is known about Ramanand is doubly curious considering that Ramanandis, those who look to Ramanand for spiritual and community inspiration, are thought to comprise the largest and most important Vaishnava monastic order in north India. Ramanandis are to be found in temples and monasteries throughout and beyond the Hindi-speaking north, and they are largely responsible for the upsurge in Ram-centered devotion in the last two centuries. A fairly recent anthropological examination of Ayodhya, currently the most important Ramanand pilgrimage center in India, has revealed that Ramanandi sadhus, or monks, can be grouped under three basic headings: tyagi (ascetic), naga (fighting ascetic), and rasik (devotional aesthete).4 The increased popularity of the order in recent centuries is such that Ramanandis may today outnumber Dasnamis, the better-known Shaiva monks who look to the ninth-century teacher, Shankaracharya, for their organizational and philosophical moorings.

. . . There had always been some corner of the Empire where His Majesty's subjects were causing trouble . . .

J. G. Farrell, Troubles (London: Cape, 1990) p. 215.

J. G. Farrell has, in common with Paul Scott, an admiration for Joseph Conrad (obvious in their use of symbolism, topographical and otherwise), a fascination with the decline of Empire as a subject for fiction; a reputation that rests on a series of historical novels on this subject. Farrell died at the age of 44 whereas Paul Scott did so at 58; therefore it is not fair to compare their overall achievement. Yet it is necessary to observe that, whereas Scott portrayed one country during a single short period in his major work, Farrell's view was global and spanned virtually a century, lighting upon three important crises in three different countries during three different periods: Troubles (1970), set in the context of the Irish disturbances of 1919-21; The Siege of Krishnapur (1973), located during the 1857 ‘Mutiny’ in India; The Singapore Grip (1978), focusing on the period leading up to the surrender of Singapore to the Japanese during the Second World War, the first signal defeat of the might of the British Empire by an Asian power.

To many observers Japanese decision-making is an enigma that defies conventional analysis. Neither the traditional rational actor model of decision-making, nor alternative pluralist models proposed for the analysis of Western democracies fit the Japanese case. As a result Japanese security policy decision-making is described as ‘reactive’ or even non-existent. Likewise, the anomaly of Japanese decision-making is ultimately predicted to be resolved through a process of ‘normalization’ whereby Japanese policy formation evolves into a form that does fit these models. However, this paper contends that the fact that Japan's security decision-making does not fit commonly-used models is due rather to the limitations of those models. Japan's security policy, like that of all states, is gradually evolving, but this does not mean that it is about to become just like the West. This paper addresses how a conjuncture of external factors and internal factors has stimulated important changes in Japanese security policy-making which are frequently missed or misinterpreted by observers. In order to understand Japanese security policy-making, and to chart its future course, a refined cybernetic approach is introduced.

The peasant unrest which marked the period 1850–1875 in China was not solely a matter of major risings such as the Taiping or Nien rebellions. These posed the most serious threat to the Ch'ing dynasty and received accordingly the lion's share of the government's attention, but the period saw an increase in more localized disturbances as well. Sometimes the harbinger of larger rebellions, sometimes their result, most often in response to purely local miseries and opportunities, local and regional unrest ranged from banditry and smash-and-grab raids on market towns to large outbreaks such as the Red Turban revolt which threatened Canton in the summer of 1854. Although there was the constant possibility that their sparks might ignite a more massive conflagration, much of this unrest was sporadic and confined, as the horizons of peasant life were confined, to a single district or to even smaller areas—market towns which lay on the outskirts of a district, particularly if the district boundary ran through hilly country, were standing invitations and encouragements to bandit gangs. Some parts of the country—the relatively prosperous, the relatively homogeneous, or those under the eyes and guns of major concentrations of governmental power—were relatively tranquil. In other areas, disorder became endemic.

Most contemporary scholars involved in economic development research think that the government should be playing an important role in the technology transfer being carried out in developing countries. However, during the end of the Ch'ing Dynasty no plan for large-scale technology transfer was made owing to financial difficulties, and railways were the only enterprise which proceeded at a constant rate. At the end of the Ch'ing Dynasty railways, in the eyes of government officials and the gentry, would widely promote the development of various sectors as well as benefit the national defense to help reach the objective of making China strong and wealthy. After more than half a century of development railway construction made considerable progress in China, and according to statistics in 1933 a total mileage of more than 10,000 kilometers covering 19 provinces had been constructed. Assets reached $860 million yuan and liabilities were more than 1.2 billion. Although still a very minor operation compared to other industrialized countries, this was the largest enterprise in modern China, transporting 45 million passengers and 27 kilotons of cargo annually, employing 120,000 people. Operating income reached $148 million yuan and output, $160 million yuan.

Between the late 1950s and the 1960s, a significant community of Indians appeared in Seria, an oil town in Brunei. Most of these Indians were recruited from India by the British Malayan Petroleum Company to staff its company offices in the wake of the rehabilitation of the Seria oilfields after the end of the Japanese occupation of Borneo. However, in official hagiographies of the Sultanate and historical accounts of Brunei, the Indians of Seria are invisible. Juxtaposed against this silence in the historical record, I pose the narrative agency of these Indians in asserting their place in the emergence of the modern state of Brunei and in historicizing their presence in a frontier oil town in Borneo. This article is based on extensive fieldwork in India, where most of these Indians retired to after decades of expatriate life in Brunei. Recalling their work and youth in Seria, they collectively claim an ‘origin’ in Seria while improvising a Brunei-Indian diaspora in India through their shared memories. In the absence of an archival record for the Indians in Seria, this article seeks to affirm the historical value of story-telling and diasporic remembering in recording a partisan genealogy of migration and settlement.