The Lower Sesan 2 Dam (LS2) is the largest and most controversial hydropower dam ever developed in Cambodia. The 400 megawatt-capacity project, which blocks both the Sesan and Srepok rivers in Stung Treng province, northeastern Cambodia, was first envisioned in 1998, although the project was only completed in 2018. LS2 was initially an Electricité du Viet Nam (EVN) project. Later, however, with strong Chinese government support, a Chinese company, Hydrolancang International Energy Company, took over the Vietnamese share in the project, with EVN holding just a 10 per cent stake, and the Royal Group, a Cambodian company, holding a 39 per cent share. The LS2 was ultimately developed as a Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) infrastructure, with its own political aspects. This article considers the relationship between LS2 and sacred spaces of rural ethnic Lao people, including how spirit mediums and the associated belief systems of local people have been impacted by LS2. We take a feminist political ecology approach to this study, as female spirit mediums have contested the LS2 since before its construction began and have also been directly affected by the dam. They have also served as important shadow infrastructure. We argue that, apart from having potentially important material impacts, dams such as LS2 also serve to alter nature-society relations through variously affecting spirit mediums, their practices, and beliefs associated with spirits.

How do ‘communist’ Chinese state companies handle sacredness and religions? What role do religions and sacredness play in infrastructural conflicts? Debates on Chinese investment and the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) often highlight the failure of China’s largest-ever hydropower project overseas—the Myitsone Dam, located in war-torn Buddhist Burma (Myanmar) in an ethnic Kachin Christian area. Public outcry against this mega-development led the Burmese regime to halt construction in 2011, shocking Beijing and causing an international scandal. This article explores this infrastructural conflict’s religious, sacred, and more-than-human dimensions. Based on interviews, Chinese media analysis, and ethnographic fieldwork among Kachin people since 2010, the article focuses on the project site—the famous Myitsone confluence, birthplace of the Irrawaddy River. There, local village church leaders helped lead and shelter the very earliest anti-dam resistance, despite military state repression. There also, Chinese state-owned companies encountered Catholicism, Baptism, Theravada Buddhism, and indigenous animist worlds, and described these foreign, rural religious worlds for China’s domestic audiences. Kachin dragon-kin deities, anti-dam activists, and the more-than-human charms of the local natural landscape helped create a sacredness, which the Chinese dam developers could not easily disprove. Throughout, sacred politics shaped this international infrastructure conflict.

Whilst the idea of infrastructure has animated scholarship for the past 20 years at least, there remains a need for more expansive understandings of what infrastructure is, and what it can be. The speed, scale, and material disruptiveness with which many of the infrastructural megaprojects that constitute China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) have been developed both underpin and validate this need. The effects of the BRI are both manifold and diffuse, and all of them expose situations of infrastructural complexity. We see the BRI as an infrastructural layer that comes into contact, competition, and collision with pre-existing infrastructural formations. It is an infrastructural vortex that causes once shared resources and public or common goods to become infrastructuralized in ways that bring about the (re)negotiation of meaning and value. These processes are acutely felt in South and Southeast Asia, where sedimented patterns of religion and belief shape the ways in which the BRI is engaged with and understood. Surprisingly, the sacred dimensions of these infrastructural commons remain unstudied, despite there being evidence to suggest that it is the transformative power of the sacred, rather than of secular modernity, that shapes and structures everyday lives. In this vein, the articles that constitute this special issue explore the sacred dimensions of the BRI’s infrastructural commons through a series of case studies from South and Southeast Asia.

This article examines how statecraft (jingshi 經世) policies were implemented in the Late Qing period. It focuses on Dai Zhaochen, a prefect who served in Shandong and Guangdong in the 1860s. Dai was from a noted family of officials and had numerous “weak ties” with prominent jingshi officials. One of his handbooks, this paper shows, drew primarily on the Collected Statecraft Writings from the Qing Dynasty (Huangchao jingshi wenbian 皇朝經世文編). In office, Dai adapted policies from it and other collections, appealing to practicability and simplicity as the criteria for policymaking. More generally, he insisted that he was just a humble practitioner of the art of governance. The conclusion reflects on that disavowal, arguing that existing definitions of “statecraft” do not attend to Dai’s core concerns. I propose, therefore, that we stop seeking an essential definition of “statecraft” and instead pursue a broader socio-intellectual history of policy in the Qing.

Development promises change. It is fundamental to the word both in English and in Lao: an improvement towards a pre-determined goal, but it is a process that is never entirely complete. In the Lao-speaking parts of Thailand, promises of development have formed the key commitments of particular regimes: military and monarchical, neoliberal and capitalist. Each presents a future that is nationally focused, guided by a paternalistic hand, be it that of a general, monarch, or tycoon. Spirits, too, play into such regimes, ensuring that development projects will fulfil their promises and that more such projects will come.

But what happens when these goals shift towards distant centres of power? Here, I examine the magico-religious aspect of these promises. As large-scale hydropower on the Mekong, part of Chinese infrastructure projects, throws the river into chaos, new regimes of development arise. In the realm of popular religion, the link between spirits and development, too, has altered, with old powers’ promises growing stale, and new ones yet to appear.

And between these two conflicting orders of power—orders that collapse state and religious dimensions—emerge different pathways towards navigating the uncertain world: an appeal towards other sources of monarchical authority, a search for survival in a newly shifting and globalized realm, and a waiting for a future as yet unrevealed.

The ‘commons’ has acquired a renewed theoretical currency in recent years as a way of conceptualizing how different beings live together in shared places that are shaped and modified by human and non-human actions and structures. Through socioecological changes, warfare, movements of populations, sacralizations of land, political territorializations, and man-made infrastructures, the topography of any region, as a commons, is a process of perpetual transformation, invested by different flows and communities of humans. In this article, we will consider the positioning of the Lanten Yao (Mun) ethnic group within the Luang Namtha region in northern Laos. In the twentieth century, the Lanten Yao lived through the transformation of the commons into the territorialization and infrastructural building of colonial empires and nation-states, and negotiated the routes and boundaries between Laos, Thailand, Vietnam, and China. Today, the land is once again being transformed through the Belt and Road Initiative, with the construction of Special Economic Zones, two ‘smart cities’, a high-speed railway, and a new speedway only a short distance from the Lanten villages. These new infrastructures are once again leading the Lanten to transform their relationships to their land, other peoples close and far, and distant states and administrations. In this article, we will explore how these shifting relationships to the commons are expressed in the rituals, sacred memories, and changing religious configurations among the Lanten Yao.

How did one become an astronomer in imperial China? Where did one start? What texts did would-be astronomers study, and what criteria did they have to meet? Combining the regulation of the Yuan (1271–1368) Bureau of Astronomy with biographies of astronomers who worked in different sections of the Bureau, this paper explores the physical, technical, and literary skills required for this profession in late medieval China. It underscores the pivotal role of family in training astronomers and offers fresh insights into the relationship between bureaucracy and science in imperial China.