This paper is a reflection on a number of theatre performances held in Singapore, each of which probed problematic or traumatic historical events occurring either in Singapore itself or in other parts of Southeast Asia. These avant-garde performances were inspired by or built around actual testimonies of individuals in ways which, for this author, suggest a striking fluidity in the boundaries between testimony and performance, one that raises difficult questions about performance ethics and the processes by which collective memories are shaped. The plays also made use of visual media: one had been recorded on video while others incorporated photographic and video materials into the actual performance. At the time I witnessed these plays, I had already become interested in the way that, over the course of the twentieth century, documentary films had come to play an increasingly important role in the recording of testimony concerning traumatic events. Testimony on film, I have argued, functions simultaneously as evidential trace, and as performative event. Films of testimony develop their own trajectories as they enter into the realms of public remembering. They preserve and extend the record of personal experiences, thereby adding them to the pool of collective memory about an event. Theatrical performances, too, develop their own trajectories through repetition, as Marvin Carlson's statement (cited above) suggests. But what exactly might be different when testimony is performed as drama before a live audience? What are the purposes of such performances, and what might be their possible effects upon both participants and audiences? Is the trace left by a live theatre performance inevitably more ephemeral than those captured on film, or might it be in some respects even more powerful? These are some of the questions I raise – without necessarily being able to present definitive answers – in what follows. I conclude by arguing that in the Singapore context, because censorship laws place very specific constraints on the making of documentary films with openly political content, in recent years theatre has been able to offer a slightly greater space than film as a medium for critical reflection. How theatre directors and actors have tried to use this space is a subject correspondingly deserving of our close attention.

The geo-political and cultural-historical context, more than any other single factor, has shaped the notion of Mranma Pran in pre-colonial times. It is derived from a longstanding reality embodied in the term anya (‘upstream’), representing Upper Burma (hence, the term anyatha, ‘offspring of Upper Burma’). Although Lower Burma also has an equivalent in the term akriy (‘downstream’), it was Upper Burma more than any other region in the country that initially exemplified the term Mranma Pran, the ‘heartland’ of the country's culture and society for over a millennium. The meaning of the term Mranma Pran (or its colonial term, ‘Burma’), therefore, depends on the context in which and by whom it is viewed.

Shrimp farming in Southeast Asia is often touted as a globalisation success story. The region emerged as a key area for farmed shrimp production in the 1990s, and it remains a leading producer of shrimp for export to international markets to this day. This achievement has not, however, been without cost. Small-scale shrimp farmers in Southeast Asia have suffered persistent social, economic and environmental dislocations stemming from price pressures imposed by globalisation and neoliberal economic policies in the seafood sector. Community supported fisheries (CSF) represent an alternative marketing model which could potentially support small-scale producers in Southeast Asia whose viability is threatened by the intensification of shrimp production by large corporate interests. This article investigates opportunities for CSF in the region, encourages research that builds social capital in aquaculture communities, and identifies opportunities to link small-scale shrimp farming operations with local markets that seek high quality seafood produced in an environmentally sustainable and socially responsible manner.

An examination of Japanese efforts to gain the cooperation of the intrinsically hostile, but economically vital Overseas Chinese community in Thailand, this article also focuses on the impact of the Japanese wartime presence on the troubled relationship between the Chinese and the Thai authorities, and the success of Chinese entrepreneurs in turning adversity to advantage.

There was a stone fort at Malacca from 1512 to 1807. Only twice during the three centuries of its existence did this fort change hands, and it was taken by storm only once. Yet it was many times besieged, and nations which did not possess it regarded it with disfavour as a threat to the security of their communications and a hindrance, if not a barrier, to the freedom of their trade. In relation to the Malay Peninsula the fort at Malacca was of small account, for it was never used as a base for the furthering of territorial ambitions in the interior. Its importance lay rather in its. position on the flank of the main sea route between India and China. Beneath its guns fleets could be assembled and lie at anchor in security, and these fleets could be, and were, employed to attack the shipping of rival powers passing through Malacca Straits.

During the 130 years since Chinese settlers first began coming to Sarawak, the pattern of leadership and power within the Chinese community has changed in a number of important respects. The purpose of this essay is to examine the nature of the changes manifested within the Chinese elite, and to analyze the ways in which the criteria for the selection of leaders and the exercise of power have changed from the establishment of Chinese settlement in the 1830's to the contemporary situation as part of the Malaysian Federation. The emphasis is on leadership and power within the Chinese community itself. At the same time the history of the Chinese elite is treated as a problem in local history.

Malaysia consists of Peninsular Malaysia and the two East Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak. Development planning in Peninsular Malaysia began as early as 1950, while the first plan for the whole of the Malaysian federation founded in 1963 was published in 1966. Have the two East Malaysian states been integrated properly into the various Malaysian plans? Or have they, with their somewhat different economic, political and social backgrounds, been treated as a nuisance element and appeared in the plans only as an afterthought? In any case, is the planning experience of Peninsular Malaysia relevant for solving the problems of the much less developed East Malaysian states?

An educational system reflects the norms and needs of the society it serves. In the Federated Malay States, a plural society, there were four separate school systems, each with its own distinctive characteristics. This paper discusses the British role in their development. The period studied extends from around 1900 to the outbreak of World War Two.

Reading the Bible is the principal religious practice of many Javanese Protestants. It is here compared to Javanese interpretive approaches to other texts, such as the Qur'an, magical formulae, and schoolbooks. While many aspects of the format of the village Bible study group constitute a break with conventional Javanese interpretive practices, the interpretive discourse of a Bible study meeting is still constrained by long-standing status and gender distinctions. Nevertheless, the innovative format of Bible study opens some room for interpretations that undercut more authoritative and conservative readings.

In the final three decades of the nineteenth century, the world price of silver fell dramatically. On the London silver market, the price dropped almost without check, from an average of 60d. per ounce in 1870 to 28d. per ounce in 1900. For those countries on the silver standard (and at the beginning of the period this included all the states of Southeast Asia), the result was a substantial, continuous depreciation of their currencies against gold-based currencies, most notably sterling. In turn this threatened to disturb severely the foreign trade and capital inflows of those states at a time when they were becoming more closely integrated into the international economy. For example, frequent changes in the exchange rate introduced an element of speculation into trade with gold-standard countries, with the result that merchants' calculations of profit margins were frequently thrown into confusion by sudden fluctuations in the exchange. Moreover, with the exchange value of their currency falling, these states found themselves paying increasingly more in terms of the local currency to secure the same sterling value of imports. This was a particularly important consideration for those countries dependent upon imports of capital goods, for example, mining machinery or railway equipment, as these were obtained almost solely from the gold-standard states of western Europe.

Cosmology and ecology are two factors anthropologists have found valuable in investigating the social organization of historic and contemporary Southeast Asian societies. Although neither factor is explicitly prominent in the text examined here, I hope to show in my concluding remarks that both provide important contexts in which the text can be read. However, my initial task is to look at the “Judgments of King Mangrai” to see what clues it contains about early northern Thai social organization.

The history of the Malay world in the eighteenth century is characterised by a constantly shifting balance of power, extreme flexibility in the political patterns, and an ongoing search for strong friends and advantageous allies. Malay and European sources relating to the period contain an often overwhelming amount of information concerning seemingly endless conspiracies, broken treaties, negotiations, and re-alignments. Yet from this maze of detail distinct themes emerge, one of which concerns the activities of various Malay anak raja (sons of kings and pirates) and anak baik (sons of nobles). Existing material allows for the compilation of a number of interesting biographies. We can, for instance, follow the career of Perak's Raja 'Alim, who might have successfully unseated his cousin and become ruler himself had it not been for Dutch intervention. The wandering life led by a Siak prince, Raja Ismail, and his unceasing efforts to rally support for a triumphant return to his homeland are similarly described in both Malay chronicles and the missives of Dutch governors. Such accounts make for absorbing reading and undoubtedly have their own intrinsic historical value. On the other hand, it is perhaps more fruitful to regard anak raja like Raja 'Alim and Raja Ismail not so much as individuals as representatives of a distinct social category within what has been called the “ruling class.” If viewed in this light, the activities of many anak raja mentioned in the records take on a new dimension, and comments concerning their role in Malay history assume a wider application.

Visual arts maintain a colourful presence at Buddhist funerals in Northern Thailand. These arts are not made for mere decoration but serve an active and essential role in the ceremonies that take place after death. They echo funerary themes of the impermanent nature of life and the importance of a life filled with merit. This article examines cremation structures and funeral banners of Northern Thailand and argues that these arts not only hold significance for the living and the dead, but that in giving form to abstract concepts they have the power to guide observers in their beliefs regarding the dynamics of life and death.

Messrs. Chandler, Ebihara, Haines, and Whitmore have written thoughtful and stimulating essays. But they have not been overwhelmingly concerned with exposing any great differences between medieval Vietnam and its nearest Theravada Buddhist neighbour, Cambodia. No doubt unintentionally, the two societies have been made to seem rather similar to each other. After all, Vietnamese literati, like the authors of Cambodia's normative poems, also consecrated what David Chandler has called “the propriety of hierarchies, rote-learning, and tradition”. Vietnamese social theory, like that of the chbap, stressed “the teacher-pupil relationship”. May Ebihara's argument that Cambodian social strata were permeable, and were characterized by “fluidity of membership” rather than resembling “rigidly structured Indian castes”, could also be applied to Vietnam, as could, obviously, her theme of Cambodia's oscillation between periods of centralized and decentralized political power. Even the social categories the two societies used have similarities: the Vietnamese equivalent of the Khmer term neak chea (“good people”, meaning relatively free men) was also “good people” (lương dân) and referred to citizens like farmers, with morally valuable occupations, as opposed to people like actors who were thought to be “mean”. One is left with the impression that the countries of sixteenth-century Southeast Asia embraced much less social and economic diversity than the countries of sixteenth-century Europe, with all their sharp contrasts between Venetian patricians and Antwerp merchants, Italian rice fanners and Dutch market gardeners, conservative English craft guilds and revolutionary Flemish ones. Can any faith still be placed in Harry Benda's old suggestion that the “constant” clashes between Vietnamese and Khmers be “analyzed in terms of a basic polarization between different…social and political systems?”

This paper deals with the consequences of the increasing commercialisation of the rice industry in west Indramayu from the mid-1880s to the late 1930s. Instead of prosperity as a result of growing rice for sale in a free market, local peasants found their survival being threatened by traders who had them bound to a vicious cycle of debts and who acquired much of the rice they produced. The rice growers in west Indramayu were impoverished far more than the peasants growing cash crops such as sugar elsewhere in Java.

In July 1922 a small private school called Nationale Onderwijs Instituut Taman Siswa was born quietly at a traditional town Yogyakarta in Central Java. Taman Siswa means literally “Garden for Pupils”. Nobody expected then that this pupils' garden would become a tough ground of resistance to the Dutch colonial Government later in the 1930's. The political climate in Indonesia around 1922 was showing a remarkable uprising of nationalism centering around the labor union movement guided by the Partai Komunis Indonesia (PKI, Indonesian Communist Party) and Sarekat Islam (Islam Union).

This article proposes to study nineteenth-century Cam sources as valuable materials for the history of the disappearance of the kingdom of Campā — or more precisely its last independent principality of Pāṇḍuraṅga — and its integration into the Vietnamese realm during the first half of the nineteenth century. The end of Campā is recorded mainly in metrical works known as ‘ariya’. These sources offer unique and detailed accounts of the incorporation of Campā as a Vietnamese province and the new administrative, economic, religious and cultural policies implemented by the Vietnamese. They also highlight the sufferings of the Campā population witnessing the imposition of a new and foreign order.

Urbanization and bureaucratization are usually connected with a high rate of social mobility in western industrialized societies. In Thailand, however, mobility has declined at least between certain strata of Thai society following the consolidation of a bureaucratic elite in the expanding urban centre of Bangkok. The growing size, the monopolization of certain status symbols, the development of a distinct subculture and the concentration of economic and political power are indications that the bureaucratic elite is developing into a social class. It is therefore concluded that urbanization and bureaucratization in formerly loosely structured societies may lead to the formation of a class system and to a temporary decline of social mobility.

S.M. Kartosuwiryo, famed leader of the long and bloody Darul Islam rebellion which began in West Java in 1948, was a strong supporter of the Indonesian independence struggle and a champion of the Indonesian Republic proclaimed in 1945. This article seeks to understand how it was that Kartosuwiryo came to oppose that very Republic with such violence in 1948–49. Many scholars have sought to explain the origins of the Darul Islam movement in terms of Kartosuwiryo's fanatic Islamist ambition. However, a detailed examination of the circumstances of the revolt's gestation and outbreak indicates that it was a consequence of a complex interplay of historically contingent circumstances rather than any ideological fixity.