South Asia has the fourth largest concentration of refugees in the world. A majority of displaced persons who have crossed international borders in this region are not regarded as ‘refugees’ by the host governments. They are usually treated as ‘undesirable aliens’ or ‘illegal immigrants’. There are no national laws, which define or distinguish ‘refugees’ from others who cross the borders. The governments in this region have also not signed or ratified the 1951 UN Convention Concerning the Status of Refugees and its 1967 Protocol, the only available UN mechanism for the protection and rehabilitation of refugees.

However, we have to first consider, who is a refugee? Traditionally, any person who has been forced to flee his or her home for fear of life or lack of subsistence is regarded a refugee. However, in international law only those who are denied protection of their home states and as a result have crossed international borders to seek refuge in another country are accepted as refugees. Faced with the problem of a large number of displaced and uprooted persons after World War I, the western nations created international instruments for the protection, return as well as resettlement of these persons in other countries. The so-called Nansen Passport was created to provide these stateless persons with a temporary identity. Between 1922 and 1926 under the auspices of the League of Nations, several treaties created certain obligations on the contracting states, making it necessary to define the term ‘refugee’.

FEAR, MEMORY AND THE CONTEXT

There has been a tendency to focus on the communal and violent nature of partition and the mass exodus accompanying it. This has been more the case of the Punjab frontier where forced migration took place on a large scale. Along the Bengal border things were different. For some families it was a matter of conscious choice. For example, this was a choice for families whose members were in government service and who were given an option to take equivalent work on the other side. It is mentioned by some families, however that often one had to decide in a very short period of time, so that people who took the option also had to reach a hurried decision and later regretted it. For others, the decision to migrate was taken almost overnight, especially if the family was directly or indirectly hit by a communal carnage that succeeded the partition. But for most families the decision to migrate was deliberated slowly and in waves within the circles of the family a process that continues even today. This created a curious effect on the social makeup of the region resulting in a diaspora of families. Hindus, Muslims, Biharis, Chakmas, Garos, etc, separated and divided, living on either side of the lines chalked out by the Radcliffe Award, each part engrossed in its own struggle for survival or achievement and yet still connected to each other by ties, emotional, imaginary and real. […]

In war, all attention focuses on war news. The soldiers are the main concern of the media. This is natural. However, this one-sided coverage often ignores the plight of the civilian population who are affected by the war. Non-combatant civilians get killed, maimed and dispossessed. […] There is enough evidence to show that during war the border population gets pushed around by the very army, which is supposed to protect it. The media also tends to ignore or play down the plight of the war refugees, as these stories are perceived as less important.

It has been reported that the ongoing war in Kargil has created about 35,000 refugees. I was told by an official of the Jammu and Kashmir government that the heavy shelling by Pakistani forces in Akhnoor sector of Jammu has forced about 70,000 persons to leave their homes and take refuge in refugee camps set up in school buildings and tents. While the government claimed that all arrangements were made for proper relief of the refugees in Kargil and Jammu sectors, there were newspaper reports that the government had failed to provide even the basic necessities to the refugees. […] A few newspapers had reported that in the Kargil sector civilians were forced to work as porters for the army without any pay while others claimed that the people of the Kargil region were willingly carrying loads for the army.

Summary

In this chapter, I explore the effects that FDI can have on domestic investment in recipient developing countries. An attempt is made to determine the circumstances under which FDI may be expected to induce additional investment from national firms, which is labeled as “crowding in” (CI). Under other circumstances, FDI may well displace investments that would have been made by domestic firms in the absence of the foreign investor, i.e., “crowding out” (CO) those investments. A third possibility is that FDI may translate into real investment on a one-to-one basis, a situation I label as “neutral effect.” Recent findings suggest that FDI, over the period 1971 through 2000, has generally had neutral or CO effects on domestic investment. This means that a liberal policy toward FDI should be complemented with an effort to ensure that the recipient country attracts those investments that are more likely to maximize their investment rates.

Introduction

Foreign direct investment (FDI) is prized by developing countries for the bundle of assets that multinational enterprises (MNCs) deploy with their investments. Most of these assets are intangible and are particularly scarce in developing countries. They include technology, management skills, channels for marketing products internationally, product design, quality characteristics, brand names, etc. In evaluating the impact of FDI on development, however, a key question is whether MNCs crowd in (CI) domestic investment (as, for example, when their presence stimulates new downstream or upstream investment that would not have taken place in their absence) or whether they have the opposite crowding-out (CO) effect of displacing domestic G44 producers or pre-empting their investment opportunities.

The largest Provisional Irish Republican Army bomb so far on the English mainland exploded in Manchester on 15 June 1996. It destroyed most of the main shopping mall in the city centre. There was a forty-minute warning, but the area was not fully cleared and many people were injured. This time nobody was killed, unlike the Canary Wharf bombing in London earlier in the year that signalled the end of the recent ceasefire. Manchester has a large Irish community, and that day there was an Irish festival in nearby Bolton. The Irish came over last century to build the infrastructure for England's industrial success, with labourers working on the waterways which run from Liverpool through to the Manchester Ship canal. In some senses, then, Manchester was an obvious economic target, with the Provisionals taking back what Ireland had built with a demand that the six counties in the North of their country be returned, united in one thirty-two county republic.

English identity is bound up with Ireland, and the complex cultural processes that reconstitute this identity with each attempt and failure to make reparation are ripe for psychoanalytic study. But as well as needing to fix on appropriate psychoanalytic frameworks to make sense of this mess, we also need to locate those frameworks themselves in the culture that spawned them, in the mess itself.

Japanese culture is often invoked as an exemplary case by those concerned with the anthropology of the emotions, for we can observe in that culture one striking instance of the different forms that feelings take in different language systems and how certain feelings are brought to life when they are named as such. The argument is that people in places that are so distant and different from ‘us’ display and experience a range of emotions that will seem to Westerners very strange, far from what we assume to be normal. Far from pathologising another culture, though, an attention to the particularity of these feelings may also serve as a moral lesson to us about the limits of our own language.

Psychoanalysis itself would then have to take on a quite different character as a ‘talking cure’ if the talking is about feelings that presuppose a quite different relationship between child and parent and then, by implication, between patient and analyst. The Japanese word ‘amae’, for example, names a kind of emotion that the English term ‘dependence’ only imperfectly captures, for it cannot be pinned down so neatly by us in our language. Many studies of amae evoke aspects of a comforting nestling in the care of others in early life and the way a degree of indulgent helplessness would be anticipated, enjoyed and resisted later on when someone may go into analysis.

In conversation as in filmmaking, Allan Dwan (1886–1981) is a master storyteller. He savors details, builds suspense, sketches characters broadly yet deftly, and never allows the pace to flag. A genuine affection for people–tempered by a mischievous sense of humor–illuminates every yarn. In a career spanning five decades starting in 1911, Dwan's attitude toward morally ambiguous characters remained sympathetic. Gamblers, loose women, outlaws and outcasts are presented with understanding. We're encouraged to enjoy the extravagant nastiness of the villains and to view simple folk without condescension. Although Dwan retained the pictorialism and the melodramatic plot devices of the silent screen, his generous stance defies time. He continued to grow during the sound era, enjoying a large measure of creative freedom making color westerns, adventures, and melodramas for producer Benedict Bogeaus. Even the slightest of the series (Pearl of the South Pacific and Escape to Burma [both 1955]) are graced by ravishing images and smoothly flowing narratives. Cattle Queen of Montana (1954) has almost nonstop action against magnificent locations. Even better is Passion (1954), a moving story of romance and revenge. Silver Lode (1954), Tennessee's Partner (1955) and Slightly Scarlet (1956) are masterpieces; human stories handled with total formal control.

Refugee Watch came into the world in 1998 – exactly a decade ago – for the task of documenting the flows of forced migration in South Asia. It was probably the first such initiative in this region followed by an imaginative publication from Dhaka, and then other publications and initiatives. Refugee Watch while being a proud member of the human rights community of the region, which is aware of its responsibility towards victims of forced migration, continues to be a unique publication. From its inception, the initiative marked its regional coverage in its structure, authorship, news and style. It gradually brought before the readers the news of other regions, the relevant analyses, informed comments, and commentaries on campaigns and events relating to forced migration. It also aimed to be distinct, and readers will realize that this remains the case till now, on two counts. First, it did not want to be a scholastic publication. It brought out creative writings, narratives, critical legal opinions, experiences of the refugees themselves along with commentaries on partition refugees in a comparative light, and above all fresh perspectives infused with a sense of history. In this sense it aimed at not only being inter-disciplinary, but also at crossing the divide of academic publication and commitment bound writings and presentations. Second, in Refugee Watch the refugee appeared not only as a particular category of the displaced, but also as a figure of all kinds of displacement and forced migration.

The idea of contagion, i.e., the transfer of disease from one who is afflicted to one who is not, though seemingly obvious to most contemporary readers, has had a complicated and chequered history within the medical traditions of the world. In the premodern era, as in the modern era—and some have suggested even in postmodern contexts—the idea of contagion has been a powerful and polysemic idea. The only extant studies of the idea in South Asia, however, pertain to premodern societies. The discussion of the idea in the history of medicine in colonial India remains merely incidental to concerns about epidemic diseases. This has led to a rather simplistic understanding of the concept with regard to its usage by colonial Indian doctors. In stark contrast to this, studies based in other colonial contexts, such as Australia, have suggested that the relationship between contagion and colonial modernity was anything but simple and straightforward. Alison Bashford and Claire Hooker have suggested that the ‘geographies, policies and identities’ that emerged under colonial modernity through the entanglement of ‘metaphor and public policy … intertwin[ing] personal conduct with the management of populations, nations and economies’ within the idea of contagion, were rich, polyvalent and had even an almost fantastic dreamlike character to them.

The study of the history of contagion amongst Indian doctors in the late nineteenth century raises some interesting methodological as well as conceptual problems.

THE BEGINNING

In the space of a few months during the partition of India in 1947, 20 million people were displaced, 1 million died, 75,000 women were said to have been abducted, raped and families were divided, properties lost, homes destroyed and countries (India and Pakistan) exchanged.1 Excluding the internally displaced, today South Asia has the fourth largest concentration of refugees in the world. Going back to the 1940s, partition's refugees/migrants during the last five decades have had a long and complex history in the course of reaching respective homelands, some of them more than once (in the 1940s–1960s and then from the 1970s onwards) and some of them found themselves disowned by it in 1971 when Bangladesh came into being. […]

By December 1951, 6,597,000 refugees had moved from India to West Pakistan, and 7,94,127 refugees moved to what was then East Pakistan. Of the Indian Muslims headed for Pakistan during 1947–8, 95.9 per cent of the migrants from Assam, West Bengal and Bihar moved to East Pakistan and 3.2 per cent to Karachi. According to the 1951 census, 66.69 per cent of the migrants in East Pakistan came from West Bengal, 14.50 per cent from Bihar, 11.84 per cent from Assam and 6.97 per cent from other places in India. A passport and visa scheme was introduced only on 15 October 1952. But travel documents were not even required until 1953–4, several years after India and Pakistan became two separate countries.

Since the early 1980s nations in Latin America have been implementing a cluster of deep reforms to their economies. Referred to in the United States as the Washington Consensus and in Latin America as “neoliberalism,” the reforms include a package of economic policies intended to promote economic development by opening national economies to global market forces. Over the last twenty-five years, governments throughout Latin America have reduced tariffs and other protectionist measures, eliminated barriers to foreign investment, restored “fiscal discipline” by reducing government spending and promoted the export sector of the economy (Williamson 1990).

Now, after 25 years of free-market reforms, many citizens in the hemisphere—and some governments—are questioning the wisdom of the Washington Consensus. Indeed, between October 2005 and December 2006, sixteen Latin American nations held either presidential or congressional elections. Nearly all of these contests have been referred to as referendum on the reforms. In many of the region's most significant economies—Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Uruguay, and Venezuela, candidates critical of the Washington Consensus prevailed. In other nations the outcome of the vote was so close that right-leaning governments at the very least have no mandate to deepen existing reforms.

This sea change in Latin American democracy has been portrayed in the Western press as an irrational resurgence by protectionists. However, a closer look at the record of the Washington Consensus shows that the concerns of citizens and governments can be justified.

In Latin America, there is disappointment with the current democratization project because of its limited definition, and the appropriation of the concept of citizenship by dominant sectors. Democracy is understood to be a partial and very specific form of government that functions under the most basic concept of representation based on one person, one vote. This approach focusses almost exclusively on political parties alternating in office and leaving aside questions of real participation and ways to reduce social inequalities.1 The democratization project has been reduced, therefore, to ‘formal democracy’ that guarantees electoral processes in particular fair and competitive elections to renew political representatives at each election. This democracy project has enormously benefited the political elite, especially political parties, which have monopolized the political process and have resisted changing the status quo.

In the 1980s and 1990s, the so-called ‘third wave of democratization’ brought to the region a new citizenship regime which emphasized individual liberties and universal suffrage. Hence, democratic regimes have extended political and civil rights while social and economic rights have been under attack (or dismissed) as governments prioritize fiscal balance over social policy.

Consequently in Latin America, there have been some institutional reforms and more ‘transparency’ in its public affairs. However, the fundamental structures of inequality and the vertical controls over society remain untouched, making a viable democracy unlikely for ordinary people. Moreover, there is a disconnection between voting and the conditions of peoples’ lives.

Part of the reason that Bengali vernacular forms of ‘western’ medicine-more appropriately called daktari medicine—have largely remained absent from the historian's account of nineteenth century South Asian medical history is because the daktars for whom it had meaning as a distinct form of medical practice have themselves remained out of sight. Histories mainly reliant upon English language archives—both governmental and nongovernmental—have mostly tended to see this numerous group of physicians as anonymous statistics, sometimes as half-trained quacks exploiting the lacunae of medical legislation and occasionally—it must be admitted—as prominent representatives of ‘native’ opinion, such as Dr Madhusudhan Gupta, Dr G. C. Roy, Sir Nil Ratan Sircar or even the Congress leader Dr B. C. Roy. Little detailed account, however, has been available of the actual lives and of the numerous and varied Bengalis who came to practice ‘western’ medicine at various levels of the colonial establishment, ranging from the lowly hospital assistants to the grand Edinburgh- or London-trained MDs. It is through their agency and through contact with their lifeworlds that daktari acquired its unique identity. Any history of daktari medicine will therefore remain incomplete without an account of the histories of these daktars.

The study of individual lifeworlds, i.e., lives in context, has been popularized since the 1970s by the increasing intellectual prominence of microhistory. As one of its pioneers, Carlo Ginzburg, has clarified, for a long time microhistory was only a vague quest for a more intimate view of the past in smaller scale.

Introduction

The world is witnessing a scenario of rapidly changing demographic conditions, predominantly in developing countries. The resulting slowdown in the growth of the number of children per couple along with the steady increase in the number of elderly persons has a direct bearing on both intergenerational and intragenerational equity and solidarity, which constitute the basic foundations of human society. Population ageing results mainly from reduction of fertility, a phenomenon that has become virtually universal. Since 1950, the proportion of old persons in the total population has been rising steadily, from 8 per cent in 1950 to 11 per cent in 2007, and it is estimated to reach 22 per cent in 2050 (United Nations (UN), 2007). Ageing will also have an impact on economic growth, via savings, investment, consumption, labour market behaviour, pensions, taxation and intergenerational transfers. In the social sphere, this phenomenon influences family composition and living arrangements, demand for housing and migration, and the need for health care services. On the political front, population ageing may shape voting patterns and political representation (UN, 2007). The recent emphasis on studies on elderly persons in the developing world is attributed to their increasing numbers and deteriorating living conditions in the later years of life. While increasing numbers are attributed to demographic transition, deteriorating social and economic conditions are a result of the fast eroding traditional family system in the wake of rapid modernization, internal and international migration and urbanization.

The term daktar used as a designation to particularly and solely describe practitioners of a separate system of medicine had not caught on in printed Bengali texts till the second half of the nineteenth century. Yet, there is no doubt that a significant number of Bengalis had come into contact with ‘western’ medicine well before that. The eighteenth-century ‘Black Doctors’ and ‘Compounders’, and later, in the nineteenth century, the many physicians employed temporarily during the cholera epidemic of the 1820s, all had a chance to practice some form of ‘western’ medicine or other. The lack of detailed archival evidence, however, makes it, as yet, difficult to reconstruct what sort of medicine these early pioneers practised or how significant their role was within the extant economy of healing.

A relatively more detailed picture of the actual practice of early Bengali practice of ‘western’ medicine emerges from the 1840s. This picture presents a highly diverse and heterogeneous world. The men involved came from a wide range of backgrounds and had a wide variety of skills. They also occupied very different positions within the world of daktari medicine. The historiographic recovery of this plurality, however, is often confounded by an uneven archival record and the codes through which texts preserve biographical information.