This article addresses conversion and its consequences for a Bactrian family known as the Mir family during the Umayyad and early Abbasid periods. It explains the social, legal, and economic ties that bound this Bactrian family, and the problems created within the family after a member of it converted to Islam. Based on a systematic analysis of a group of Bactrian and Arabic documents issued for the members of this family by the local Bactrian and Muslim authorities, this article will show the centrality of the ‘household’ in the Bactrian society and the changes that occurred in it after the arrival of Islam. It argues that conversion to Islam seriously affected this family and eventually dismantled it. Although conversion did not remove the kinship within the household, it ended cohabitation and joint ownership, which were central social elements in the Bactrian law that kept the household together.

This chapter explains how the artificial creation of the Nigerian state – spurred principally by colonialism – drove colonial and eventually Indigenous officials to promote a system of regionalism to accommodate the creation of a federal system of government. In doing so, the concept of ethnicity was arbitrarily and crudely introduced to the complex and diverse patchwork of peoples inhabiting what would become Nigeria. Regionalism fostered self-interested political groups, whereby the individual interests of Nigeria’s three principal regions (North, West, and East), each dominated by one of three major ethnic groups (Hausa/Fulani, Yoruba, and Igbo), competed amongst one another for power, leading to extraregional conflicts. Complicating this system was the presence of many hundreds of other, much smaller, minority ethnic groups. The promotion of regionalism would ultimately give rise to ethnonationalism, in which Nigeria’s three largest ethnic groups were given precedence over minority groups, leading to intra-regional conflict. The concepts of regionalism and ethnicity would become inseparably intertwined and would significantly hamper decolonization and efforts at building a consolidated and equitable state.

At the prompting of the Nixon White House, President Nguyen Van Thieu sent South Vietnamese forces into Laos in February 1971, seeking to cut North Vietnamese supply lines to the battlefields in the South. Lam Son 719 was a bloody failure, and it shaped the final phase of America’s Vietnam War. Convinced that the South Vietnamese could never withstand a full-scale offensive, the North Vietnamese leadership committed to a nation-wide attack in early 1972, designed to bring a decisive end to the war. The Easter Offensive, as it is remembered in the West, broke on three fronts in late March 1972, initially with a series of victories by the NVA. President Richard Nixon and his national security advisor, Henry Kissinger, viewed this offensive as a threat to their political and diplomatic objectives, and ordered a massive deployment of US air and naval forces to reinforce the South Vietnamese. In May 1972, Nixon ordered an air offensive against North Vietnam code-named Linebacker to deny resupply to the North Vietnamese forces. The NVA offensive stagnated in late June, setting the stage for negotiations between the US and Hanoi to end the war. Kissinger and Le Duc Tho reached a settlement in early October, but it was rejected by Thieu, forcing the US to renegotiate the treaty. In the end, Nixon directed the most violent air campaign of the war, sending B-52 heavy bombers over Hanoi to coerce the North Vietnamese into accepting the minor changes required for a settlement.

Since the end of the Vietnam War, the Communist party-state has sponsored one project after another to commemorate that inspired and frenzied age. Memoirs, shrines, sculptures, paintings, fiction and film, each in its own way, lent awe to the revolution. By the mid-1980s – the high noon of market reforms – people from all walks of life began to lay claim to that past, ushering in something of a “commemorative fever.” This chapter examines how Vietnamese letters and the arts met the call to re-examine the Vietnam War, what forms they took, and how the many highroads to history, official and private, cut across one another.

When India became independent, the main livelihoods in this region, as in the rest of the country, were based on land. But unlike most other regions of India, a significant and relatively more prominent part of the economy (half or more of the domestic product) was urban and non-agricultural. Non-agricultural did not mean industrial. True, the processing of some commercial products involved non-mechanised factories. Alappuzha (Alleppey) had emerged as a hub of coir production and Quilon (Kollam) of cashew. Some isolated large, mechanised factories employed hundreds of people in one place in chemicals, rayon, paper and a few other lines. Thus, Aluva (Alwaye) had textiles, fertilisers, aluminium, glass and rayon industries, and Ernakulam oil and soap industries. There were also tea estates in the hills. A concentration of plantation businesses in rubber and spices occurred to the east of Kottayam. But collectively, these formed a smaller group than trade and the financing of marketing, which dominated the landscape of non-agricultural employment. All major towns lived mainly on trade and informal banking. Trichur and Kottayam were mostly service-based towns, with a concentration of banks, colleges and rich churches.

Over one-third of the workforce was in industry, trade, commerce and finance. In most large states of India, the percentage was 20–35. The exceptions were the industrialised states of West Bengal and Maharashtra, where factory-based large-scale industrial firms concentrated. Again, a contrast emerged with the rest of India. Most local businesses were small-scale, semi-rural and household enterprises, whereas non-agricultural enterprises in the rest of India were mainly urban.

Further, industrialisation almost everywhere else signified a sharp inequality between the countryside and the city. The former was trapped in low-yield farmland producing grains for subsistence or local markets, and the latter experienced growth of high-wage jobs. In the state, that distance was narrower. The presence of tree crops and their industrial processing made for a narrower gap between the rural and the urban. Many of the landholders were also owners of estates growing tree crops. Agriculture was not necessarily low yield nor subsistence oriented. In this way, agriculture and non-agriculture, rural and urban came much closer here compared with India.

The present study examines three aspects of the political and military behavior of the general public, and more specifically that of the Ḥanābila, between 311/923 to 323/935. During those twelve years the Abbasid caliphs lost control of large parts of their empire, and their capital, Baghdad, witnessed increasing chaos. The first aspect that is examined is how the inhabitants of Iraq reacted to the Qarāmiṭa attacks. The second focuses on the Ḥanābila’s behavior during that period and the distinct mark they left on Baghdadi politics. The third looks at the way in which the ruling elite confronted the Ḥanābila. These three perspectives tell part of the story of the unravelling of the socio-political commitments in Baghdad, and the role played by the general populace, and in particular, by the Ḥanābila, in the undoing of its social cohesion.

Contrary to the claims of Vietnamese historiography, Chinese settlers had arrived in the water world well before the Viet. Their presence owed much to Cambodia’s focus on maritime trade, its encouragement of multiethnic trading communities, and conflict with Siam over the crucial Gulf of Siam passageway. Chinese from Fujian and Guangdong became the largest demographic group in the kingdom, overseeing foreign trade and forming their own mercenary armies. Their numbers and influence grew further as a result of the dynastic transition from Ming to Qing, competition among armed mercantile organizations for control over the East Asian sea-lanes, and the scramble between Cochinchina and Siam for influence over Cambodia. The enterprising Mo Jiu embodied and exploited these trends in forging his own polity at The Port.

This chapter explores the religious influences on Nigeria, the spread and development of these religions, and their incorporation or imposition in various precolonial and colonial institutions. The topics explored throughout the chapter will lay the foundation for modern-day Nigeria’s religious make-up and sectarian conflict. There are two primary phenomena detailed in the chapter. The first is the efforts of colonial forces to implement a system of indirect rule, an essential component of which was the incorporation of pre-existing religious institutions into the colonial fold. The second was the desire of colonial and missionary forces to spread Christianity and Western culture to the various peoples of Nigeria. Both processes would promote Islam and Christianity at the expense of African traditional religions. However, Indigenous practices would vigorously resist, often infusing their beliefs into colonial institutions and various sects of Christianity.

When, how, and why did the Vietnam War begin? Although its end is dated with great precision to April 30, 1975, there is no agreement as to when it began. The Vietnam War was an enormously complex conflict and even though any comprehensive reckoning of its causes must include the role of the United States, it did not begin as an “American War.” This volume presents the scholarship that has flourished since the 1990s to situate the war and its origins within longer chronologies and wider interpretative perspectives. The Vietnam War was a war for national liberation and an episode of major importance in the Global Cold War. Yet it was also a civil war, and civil warfare was a defining feature of the conflict from the outset. Understanding the Vietnamese and Indochinese origins of the Vietnam War is a critical first step toward reckoning with the history of this violent, costly, and multilayered war.

Since the Greeks, our world has been understood in terms of one of two root metaphors – the world as an organism (“organicism”) and the world as a machine (“mechanism”). With the coming of evolutionary ideas in the eighteenth century, we see that there are interpretations in terms of both metaphors.

In the early nineteenth century, the region was ruled by three main political entities: the British Indian district of Malabar belonging to the Madras Presidency, Cochin state, and Travancore state. This was what the southwestern coast's political map looked like for 150 years before the three units were merged to form Kerala (1956). Despite this difference in political form, the three units experienced rather similar forces of change since the nineteenth century, such as the commercialisation of farming and plantations that expanded into new land frontiers, the influx and mobility of capital, labour migration, social movements targeting harsh inequalities and the decline of landholder power.

This chapter will describe the change and its legacies in the mid-twentieth century. It is helpful to start with the eighteenth century, when the political balance faced new challenges before settling down.

Trade and Politics in the Eighteenth Century

A serious European engagement with the southwestern coast of India began with Portuguese explorations in the late fifteenth century. From much before, Malabar traded with West Asia and Africa. ‘Nowhere in India,’ wrote D. M. Dhanagare, ‘have foreign trading and commercial and religious interests interacted within the indigenous socio-economic and political institutions more intimately than they have in Malabar.’

The chief exports of Malabar in early modern trade were spices and timber. Teak was abundantly available. A large shipbuilding industry developed, dependent on the custom of local ship-owning merchants. Beypur was the principal port in Malabar, where much of the commercial and shipbuilding activity was concentrated. In 1498, the Portuguese mariner Vasco da Gama landed in Malabar. A subsequent Portuguese attempt to impose a licensing system on coastal trade produced intermittent conflicts with the ruler of Calicut (Kozhihode), his allies inland, and a resistance force created by the Muslim merchants operating in the seaboard. The Portuguese attempt failed in the end, and the centre of Portuguese settlement shifted further north.

The cosmopolitanism of Malabar strengthened further in the second half of the eighteenth century under two forces, one maritime and another inland. In the seventeenth century, Dutch and English traders arrived to take a share of the lucrative spice trade.

This chapter discusses Western education in the landscape of colonial and even postcolonial Nigeria. Building upon ideas established in previous chapters, this chapter focuses on the uneven and complex adaptation of Western education and the emergence of a new middle class of low-level government and mercantile administrators. It will also touch upon traditional forms of education, explaining how colonial officials stunted or even undermined them. Of particular importance, this chapter explores the use of education as a tool of the political elite to construct systems of power and guide the development of societies. For colonial Nigeria, Britain sought to construct a system easily exploited for its natural resources, extracted by a vast underclass of cheap labor. This system would be managed by the small middle class of native elites under the authority of white British officials. This chapter will contextualize the aforementioned educational processes to explain the strategies colonial officials used to achieve their central objectives.

This final chapter argues that the emergence of a mass popular anticolonial movement in India can be located to the point at which mercy was rejected and subjects of empire began to demand punishment without reduced sentences or pardons. In doing so, the chapter focuses on the Noncooperation Movement (NCM) (1920–1922) and, in particular, the role played by Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. The NCM was the largest political movement for swaraj or self-rule that India had ever seen. As the leader of this movement, Gandhi would demand that noncooperators refuse mercy, and if necessary, sacrifice their lives in pursuit of political freedom. For Gandhi, it was only by reclaiming the right to die a political death that the satyagrahi could finally escape the label of the criminal and the category of rebellion.

While advances in mass health and schooling made Kerala quite distinct from other states in India in the 1950s, this was not a pathway to economic and social mobility, let alone economic growth. The quality of education, especially higher education, was poor. The persistence of gender norms kept many women out of the labour force, and high unemployment forced most skilled people out of the state. Outside the state, Malayalis found work, but in jobs that did not provide a dramatic change in conditions compared with similar jobs back home.

The Persian Gulf migration broke the stagnation, not just by offering more gainful opportunities but in indirect, if powerful, ways. In the long run, the job market in the Gulf demanded progressively greater skills from the migrants. Two periodic reports – India Migration Reports and Kerala Migration Surveys – reveal a trend towards rising skill levels on average, consistent with the diversification of the Gulf economies from oil-based occupations towards financial and business services. Consequently, more jobs opened up in offices in clerical, accounting, sales and supervisory roles. The migration offered those who stayed back in Kerala the scope to invest in human capital. It stimulated growth by increasing construction activity and the consumption of services. It also possibly encouraged business investment, but this link remains under-researched (Chapter 4). A third factor that deserves mention is women's changing roles and economic conditions, both those who stayed back and those who moved out. In both cases, the nature of the migration and mobility link was different from men’s.

The recent globalisation, or re-integration with the world economy, is, in these ways, a story of labour – and not primarily trade, foreign capital inflow, or investments abroad. It would still be a mistake to overstress international migration or even, more narrowly, emigration to the Persian Gulf. The recent history of labour is also a history of occupational diversification, professionalisation, skill accumulation, shifting gender roles, consumption and saving, and demographic transition.

The present chapter tells that story.

In 1968–73, the Soviet Union and the Peoples Republic of China played crucial military and political roles in the Vietnam War, particularly against the background of larger developments in world politics. The Sino-Soviet split, Sino-American rapprochement, and Soviet-American détente all influenced the North Vietnamese conduct of war. The split made coordination of socialist aid in the second half of the 1960s difficult, but also resulted in a Sino-Soviet competition of aid that enabled North Vietnam to launch the Tet Offensive in early 1968 in the first place. Rapprochement convinced the DRV to launch the Easter Offensive – a second Tet Offensive – in the spring of 1972. Détente eventually forced North Vietnam to rethink its strategy of trying to win a victory against the United States on the battlefield in Indochina and humiliate the superpower at the global level in the process. Despite Moscow and Beijing’s sustained loyalty throughout the conflict in the late 1960s and early 1970s, neither supported Hanoi’s overall strategy during the last years of the war. The Soviet Union preferred a negotiated solution to the conflict, while China jettisoned its world revolutionary positions in the 1970–72 period and instead counselled North Vietnam to settle for a negotiated agreement.

As represented by the title, this chapter unpacks how the British colonial administration left indelible legacies on the Nigerian state and how those legacies killed the sociopolitical fabric of the region before the institution of colonial rule. Through the concept of regionalism, which the chapter understands as “the systemic division of governmental control where a central or federal government holds clearly defined authority and power,” the colonial administration hamstrung Nigeria’s political and economic growth by creating ethnic mistrust and conflict, the marginalization of minorities and agitation among ethnicities after the development of ethnic nationalism. Self-serving interests of colonialists aimed to partition the country along arbitrary lines, disregarding the complex web of pre-existing linguistic and ethnic communities for ease of administration. The effects of these colonialist policies fueled the ethnopolitical and social conflict (and other marginalization of minority groups only possible after the creation of a state) within Nigeria, thus stymieing the development of Nigeria’s internal and independent sociopolitical structures.