Declarations of mutual tolerance by religious leaders are important and necessary, but they may have limited impact in quelling sectarian violence because its roots are political, not religious. Nor is it caused by “ancient hatreds.” In spite of doctrinal differences, peaceful coexistence between the Shi`i and Sunni communities of Iraq has been the norm. The present situation is the product of developments during the past half century, which were exacerbated by the American invasion and occupation.

The Shi`a (the singular is Shi`i or in its Anglicized form Shi`ite) are some ten to fifteen percent of all Muslims worldwide. They are the majority in Iran, Iraq, and Bahrain, the largest sect in Lebanon, and form important minorities in Saudi Arabia, Syria, and Yemen. Their forebears believed that, after the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the Muslim community and polity he founded should be led by a member of the Prophet’s family. Their candidate was Ali, the Prophet’s cousin and son-in-law and his closest male relation, but he was passed over in favor of others. Nevertheless, the Shi`a regarded Ali and his descendants as the true Imams or leaders, and followed their opinions in matters of faith. The majority of Muslims, eventually known as Sunni Muslims, accepted the leaders who actually wielded power. For a millennium and a half most Muslim rulers have upheld the Sunni version of the faith.

An exception to that pattern occurred in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, when much of the Mediterranean and eastern Islamic lands were ruled by dynasties adhering to rival Shi`i sects. In the sixteenth century, Iran’s rulers adopted Shi`ism as the religion of state. For most of the rest of Islamic history, the Sunni religious establishment could count on state patronage and in turn they upheld the legitimacy of the rulers. The Shi`a, usually lacking state support, invested great authority in their Imams. After the disappearance of the twelfth Imam in the late ninth century, the majority of the Shi`a invested this authority in the top Shi`i clergy. The modernizing reforms begun two centuries ago in the Ottoman Empire thus tended to reduce the influence of state-dependent Sunni clerics, providing an opening in the twentieth century for lay-led Islamist movements such as the Muslim Brotherhood. Less dependent on the state, even in majority Shi`i Iran, the Shi`i clergy have played a more prominent role as social and political leaders in modern Iran, Lebanon, and Iraq.

Although Iraq is home to a major Shi`i educational center in Najaf and important shrines in Najaf, Karbala, and elsewhere, its Shi`i majority emerged a little over two centuries ago as a result of nomadic tribesmen settling and taking up agriculture near the holy cities. Under Ottoman rule, however, the Shi`a remained politically marginal.

The British, too, ignored Iraq’s Shi`i majority in creating the modern state, installing a non-Iraqi and Sunni monarch who created a largely Sunni-dominated government. Successive military regimes since the overthrow of the monarchy in 1958 were also Sunni-dominated, but that did not stir Shi`i religious activism and opposition so much as the broader challenge of secularism, both as a process of change and an instrument of state policy. As urbanization advanced and education spread, Iraq’s Communist Party attracted younger Shi`a, Kurds, and others on the political margins. The rival, but equally secular, Ba`th Party also sought Shi`i recruits. In addition to these challenges, Shi`i clerical opposition was aroused by a new family law in 1959 that expanded women’s rights. The Da`wa Party, founded two years earlier by Muhammad Baqir al-Sadr, sought to develop a modernist version of Islam and to apply it in creating an Islamic state. Unlike Iran’s Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, who believed that the clerics themselves should rule, al-Sadr envisioned a parliamentary government guided by Islamic principles as articulated by the clergy.

The Ba`thist regime of Muhammad Hasan al-Bakr and Saddam Husayn that took power in 1968 destroyed the Communist Party. Though seeking to recruit individual Shi`a into party ranks, it looked upon the Shi`i religious leadership with suspicion, which became outright hostility with the Iranian revolution and the rise of Khomeini in 1979. Saddam became president later that year and invaded Iran soon afterward. As many as 200,000 Shi`a of supposed Iranian origin were deported. Al-Sadr and his sister Bint al-Huda, also a prominent scholar, were murdered by the regime in 1980. Da`wa party members were driven underground or into exile in Iran. Other exiles in Iran formed the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq (SCIRI), led by Muhammad Baqir al-Hakim, who adopted Khomeini’s views on clerical rule. A third Shi`i movement arose among rural migrants living in the poor neighborhoods of eastern Baghdad and elsewhere. Muhammad Sadiq al-Sadr, cousin of the martyred leader of al-Da`wa, organized this movement, asserting the Khomeinist view of the necessity of clerical rule. He and two of his sons were killed by the regime in 1999, leaving the youngest son Muqtada (Moktada) al-Sadr, who now heads the movement.

In addition to these activist leaders with their organizationally modern movements—all have militias—other religious Shi`a followed the Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani of Najaf, a cleric more in the traditional mold. The most influential of four scholars comprising the senior religious leadership or marja`iyya, he was pragmatically quietist during the Ba`thist repression, but emerged as an influential figure in post-invasion Iraq, offering guidance in social and political matters but opposing Iranian style clerical rule.

Pre-invasion Iraq was not Sunni dominated in the religious sense. The regime was secular and anti-Iranian, which put it at odds with the Da`wa Party and other Shi`i organizations. Yet Saddam ruled through an inner circle consisting mainly of trusted family and kinsmen, who were Sunni, and Ba`th Party cadres were largely Sunni as well. In 2003, Sunni political insecurities were aroused by the removal of this regime; the disbanding of the Iraqi army and “de-Ba`thification;” the appointment of a Shi`i and Kurdish dominated interim Iraq Governing Council; and the assertiveness of the Shi`i organizations.

The Sunni insurgent groups see themselves as fighting on two fronts: against the American occupation and against the enemy within, namely Shi`i domination. The insurgency is largely Sunni Arab and Iraqi, including the so-called al-Qaeda in Iraq, and during 2005 the several insurgent groups seem to have agreed upon a common nationalist and Islamist rhetoric, though they have yet to proclaim a political program. The most prominent voice claiming to speak for Sunni Arab interests is the Association of Muslim Scholars, led by Shaykh Harith al-Dhari, which is neither an insurgent group nor a party, but considers its role as guiding and representing the Sunni community like the marja`iyya does for the Shi`a. Its relationship with the insurgent groups is unclear. It has supported what it considers legitimate resistance to occupation while not condoning attacks on the Shi`a. It accuses the U.S. of fomenting sectarian strife, and in 2004 forged a temporary alliance with Muqtada al-Sadr during the U.S. attacks on Falluja. However, its inflexible attitude toward the occupation limited its ability to mobilize Sunnis to participate fully in the new political system. Sunni Arab political parties willing to participate in the political process have a foot in the door, but only barely: in the December 2005 elections the Shi`i parties won nearly half of the parliament’s seats, and together with the Kurdish parties they command a majority. A notable feature of that election was the virtual disappearance of parties not organized on a sectarian or ethnic basis.

At this writing in late November 2006, the sectarian divide was widening. In one day, Sunni insurgents besieged the Ministry of Health, controlled by al-Sadr’s supporters, for two hours, and later set off several bombs in the Shi`i neighborhood of al-Sadr City, killing more than 200. Shi`i militants responded by attacking Sunni mosques in Baghdad and other towns, and the government issued an arrest warrant for al-Dhari, alleging his ties with Sunni insurgents. If the Sunnis see themselves struggling to avoid marginalization by Shi`i organizations allied with Iran—and indeed, all of the latter receive Iranian support—the Shi`i organizations have contrasting political visions and are competing with one another, occasionally violently, for power. The civil war is a multifaceted struggle over who will have the upper hand in the new Iraq, and even whether there will be an Iraq, once the Americans depart. The sectarian violence is part of this process. Sunni and Shi`i militants alike appear to have resorted to “ethnic” cleansing to consolidate their control of territory.

The Grameen Bank has made internationally famous a phenomenon that has probably existed for ages—giving loans to the poor without any collateral. We know that Dean Swift, the Jonathan Swift who wrote Gulliver’s Travels, gave out such loans in Ireland; we also know of many other philanthropic individuals who have done the same over the centuries. What has been new and innovative in Bangladesh is the systematic way in which many individuals, such as Muhammad Yunus of Grameen and F. H. Abed of BRAC (a Bangladeshi NGO), have not only looked for ways to enable the poor to help themselves but also sought to organize, develop, and popularize institutions which will make the eradication of poverty a systematic process and not just an individual act of benevolence.

Bangladesh is a country the size of Illinois, but whereas Illinois has some 12 million people, Bangladesh already has 150 million and the population is expected to grow in the 21st century to 250 million. Even though Bangladesh, being the delta of the two largest rivers of the Indian subcontinent, has been blessed with very fertile agricultural soil, it takes little imagination to realize that poverty looms over the land. No doubt this challenge will have to be met by the people themselves, but the state also has the responsibility to take those actions which enable individuals to better themselves. Governments have the responsibility to provide law and order so that people can confidently invest for the future, and to build appropriate infrastructure, such as roads and telecommunications, so that the effectiveness of individual action is multiplied. Globalization means that the world market is open to anyone, but this is true only in principle.

The ordinary people of Bangladesh have shown an unbelievable capacity for hard work and for adapting to new circumstances. In 1947 the land that is now Bangladesh had about 47 million people; in 1971 when Bangladesh was founded, the population stood at some 70 million; today it has grown to 150 million, and yet, it is the conviction of my generation that the ordinary people today live and eat better than they did when I was a child. How can this have been achieved if it were not for the superhuman energy of the Bangladeshi people, coupled with the advice of well wishers, in addition to the transfer of new technology? This energy is perhaps most evident in the remarkable success of the garment industry of Bangladesh. In some 25 years it has grown from nothing to an industry earning about two billion dollars. Anyone who looks at labels while shopping for clothes will have seen “Made in Bangladesh” and they should know that they are seeing the fruits of Bangladeshi entrepreneurship.

What is different about a bank for the poor? To begin with, it caters to those who have no assets and hence cannot provide any collateral for the money they borrow—all they have to offer is their skills. It was the sight of highly skilled women who struggled for pennies a day that originally stimulated Yunus into forming the Grameen Bank. Yunus was convinced that if these women could only be given a start, they would be able to look after themselves. It was entirely possible that the loan would never be returned, but this was a risk Yunus was willing to take. So he gambled on the poor—and the rest is history.

The Grameen Bank gives very small loans to the poorest of the poor; it is a condition of eligibility that the borrower has no assets. The total number of borrowers at present is 6.61 million. Typically, the money is loaned to a group of five. While only the borrower is responsible to repay the loan, if the money is not paid in installments as due, no other member of the group is eligible for a loan. The bank did not start with a focus upon women, but it soon found that they were far more responsible than men. A striking economic fact is that under these unusual banking arrangements the repayment rate for the loans exceeds 97 percent. In poor countries, where the rich borrow millions and often have repayment rates below 50 percent, this is a remarkable phenomenon. There is a simple phrase—”the poverty of the poor is their undoing”—and the Grameen Bank works to reverse the usual course of things.

Critics say that the Grameen Bank depends upon donor aid, that the group responsibility system is an imposition upon individuals, that the system works only for small numbers, that the bank possesses cult-like features, and so on. Each of these points can be contested, but let us grant all of them. Suppose it really does cost some subsidy to get such a bank to work. No one denies that, as a result, individuals are brought out of the depths of poverty. So the bank does succeed in its primary mission. But one should not stop there. It is not just an economic change that takes place. People are poor for many reasons; many who are poor want some advice and help on how to get out of their unhappy situation. They need to respect themselves, take pride in their abilities and get some instruction on how to meet the discipline of the market. This is what the Grameen Bank provides.

The social impact of the Grameen Bank is best understood by looking at the “Sixteen Decisions” that all members have to agree to uphold. Consider just one of these decisions: the refusal to marry off underage daughters, and to neither take, nor give, dowry. Is it not worth some subsidy to achieve a society where such behavior becomes the norm? The criticisms that are made of the Grameen Bank, even if they are true (which is not at all clear), are misguided—the critics typically have no idea of the misery of the poor or of their alternatives.

Economists believe that economic growth arises from the efforts of wealth-seeking and knowledgeable individuals to better themselves. The implicit picture is that of someone who knows his or her own abilities, scours the market for profit opportunities, and calculates the value of each option before finally choosing the optimal alternative. It would help if economists stopped theorizing about the world and looked to see the lives of the poor directly. What if individuals are so close to starvation that they simply cannot afford the luxury of looking around, assessing chances and optimizing? Often the poor have no real choice but to accept whatever comes their way. Markets function well only when they are embedded in society; since economics has nothing to say about how to get people ready to meet the challenge of the market, micro-credit has stepped in to form a vital bridge between abject poverty and economic growth. Dr. Yunus, the Grameen Bank, and Bangladesh have provided a successful and replicable model of poverty alleviation.

Today, Bangladesh’s political system remains fragile. In its recently published 2007 democracy index, the Economist Intelligence Unit categorized Bangladesh as one of 54 “flawed democracies” worldwide on the basis of several indicators, including electoral politics, functioning of government, and civil liberties. But what is U.S. interest in this resource-scarce, small, and impoverished country? And why would the U.S. lend it approximately $60 million in aid annually? For one thing, Bangladesh’s dense population of over 140 million is about 90% Muslim. With its efforts to foster democracy in Iraq looking increasingly disastrous, the U.S. hopes to be able to point to Bangladesh, a “moderate Muslim democracy,” as a success. But as parliamentary elections scheduled for January 2007 approached, the fabric of Bangladesh’s democracy showed signs of fraying.

The phrase “free and fair elections” is synonymous with effective demonstration of just how far a country’s democracy has come. After all, a nation establishes the legitimacy of its democratic institutions through its electoral processes and accumulated track record of peaceful transfers of power from defeated incumbents to newly elected leaders. But in Bangladesh, elections tend to cause immense civil unrest. Leaders of the two main political parties, the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and the Awami League (AL), invoke countrywide hartals (general strikes), which paralyze Bangladesh’s already delicate economy for days or weeks at a time. Bangladesh’s elections are also violent. During the 2001 election cycle, nearly 400 people were reported killed and over 17,000 injured, mainly in street clashes between supporters of rival parties. In advance of the January 2007 polls, 44 election-related deaths and hundreds of injuries had already been recorded by early December 2006.

Indecision 2007: Bangladeshi Electoral Politics
The mechanics of holding free and fair elections in Bangladesh are based on the premise that impartial individuals will manage a “non-party” caretaker government and oversee polling during an interim period between elected regimes. The constitution requires dissolution of parliament at the end of its five-year term, with the prime minister handing over power to a Chief Adviser of the caretaker government. In addition to discharging normal government functions, the Chief Adviser, together with a council of advisers, must aid a Chief Election Commissioner (CEC) and Election Commission in their efforts to ensure free, fair and impartial elections within 90 days from the end of the previous elected government’s tenure. The Election Commission establishes a polling schedule and develops electoral rolls of eligible voters.

However impartial this unique system is by design, in practice Bangladeshi politics are heavily polarized between the Bangladesh Nationalist Party and the Awami League, making it extremely difficult to find election officials perceived as neutral by both sides. Khaleda Zia, leader of the BNP, completed her five-year term as prime minister on October 28, 2006. Immediately after she stepped down, the country found itself embroiled in controversy. The BNP-led four-party coalition and the AL-led opposition fourteen-party alliance could not agree on the neutrality of the proposed Chief Adviser, CEC, and several members of the Election Commission. President Iajuddin Ahmed fueled the crisis further by ignoring constitutional directives and naming himself Chief Adviser, an act unacceptable to the AL because he had been a political appointee of Khaleda Zia’s.

Another major point of contention has been the list of eligible voters. The AL alleged that the BNP-biased Election Commission loaded the voter list with duplicate and fictitious names to tip the balance in favor of the BNP coalition. The U.S.-based independent National Democratic Institute (NDI) reported finding 12.2 million excess or duplicate names in a pre-election study released in early December 2006. NDI also asserted that a list containing names of 93 million voters (about two-thirds of the entire population) “strains credibility.” Soon after the NDI announced its findings and little more than a month before the polls, the Election Commission initiated the tedious process of revising the voter list.

Unfortunately, the political wrangling associated with electoral politics is being played out in the streets. The AL has sponsored persistent demonstrations since October, and even threatened to boycott the elections. The threat of military intervention also looms. In December, Chief Adviser Ahmed deployed the army throughout Bangladesh to keep the peace. In a country that has witnessed three military coups and 19 failed coup attempts, fears of military adventurism are not unfounded. On a positive note, Bangladesh has experienced such crises before and come through with its democracy intact. For example, the AL boycotted general elections held in February 1996. The BNP won those uncontested polls, but during the ensuing political agitation the caretaker system was implemented. Elections were held again in June 1996, and were generally viewed as free and fair.

The Blood Feud of the Political Elites
The ideologies of the BNP and AL are arguably not very different. The BNP is generally more conservative, embraces Bangladesh’s Muslim identity more emphatically, and tilts its foreign policy orientation towards Pakistan. The AL is left-leaning, secularist, and perceived as aligned more closely with India. Yet, each side is sufficiently centrist to garner sizable portions of the electorate. Personal politics are what really set them apart. The animosity can be characterized as no less than a blood feud.

The genesis of that blood feud runs deep because AL leader Sheikh Hasina—like Khaleda Zia, a former prime minister—believes Zia’s late husband Ziaur Rahman was complicit in the assassination of her close relatives. In 1975, a group of army officers murdered Hasina’s father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, and several family members. Sheikh Mujib, called the Bangabandhu (friend of Bengal) had spearheaded Bangladesh’s liberation from Pakistan and subsequently became the country’s first president and prime minister. After his murder, Ziaur Rahman declared himself president in 1977 and took the controversial step of rehabilitating Mujib’s assassins. Ziaur Rahman was himself assassinated in 1981.
Perhaps due to the viciousness of this blood feud, Sheikh Hasina and Khaleda Zia seem all the more willing to adopt uncompromising stances and play a high-stakes game of political brinksmanship. Their actions betray a willingness to sacrifice the country’s economic health to gain political advantage.

The Specter of Islamist Extremism
Bangladesh’s governance problems and venomous politics have created an increasing amount of space for Islamic fundamentalism. Fundamentalism’s growing appeal is influential enough that the BNP found it politically expedient to include two Islamist parties in its four-party coalition for the 2001 elections. The support for those parties was not statistically insignificant: together they won 20 of the 300 seats in parliament. Both have platforms expressly calling for the eventual dissolution of the country’s democracy in favor of a government based on sharia (Islamic law).
But of greater concern are the activities of Islamist extremists. Evidence of militancy has existed for some time; a Bangladeshi was one of five signatories to Osama bin Laden’s famous fatwa (edict) in 1998 declaring jihad on America and its allies. More recently within Bangladesh, a spate of attacks against secularist politicians (including an assassination attempt on Sheikh Hasina), journalists, and institutions promoting progressive democratic institutions has occurred. On August 17, 2005, over 450 bombs exploded nearly simultaneously in 63 of Bangladesh’s 64 governing districts. Leaflets were found in many of the bombing sites calling for the abrogation of Bangladesh’s constitution and installation of a sharia-based government. Although the bombings resulted in only a few fatalities, the groups that claimed responsibility—Jamaat ul-Mujahideen Bangladesh (JMB) and Jagrata Muslim Janata Bangladesh (JMJB)—quickly graduated to suicide attacks. As part of an ensuing nationwide manhunt, authorities apprehended masterminds Shaikh Abdur Rahman and Siddiqul Islam, alias Bangla Bhai (brother of Bangladesh) in March 2006. Together with four other leaders of the JMB and JMJB, they were convicted and sentenced to death for involvement in a November 2005 suicide bomb attack that killed two judges. With these leaders and other JMB and JMJB operatives incarcerated, the extremist tide seems to have stemmed noticeably. But few believe the threat has dissipated entirely.

A variety of forces are therefore competing to define the country’s identity. On a grand scale, Bengali ethnicity converges and conflicts with the desire to participate in a greater Muslim ummah (brotherhood). In practical terms, these cultural negotiations tie directly to Bangladesh’s political identity. The country that emerged from Pakistan’s yoke initially emphasized secularism as a foundational concept of its democracy, in order to distance itself from the Islamic factor that aligned it with Pakistan in the 1947 partition of India. Before long, a reactionary tendency emerged that stressed Bangladesh’s Muslim identity, manifested, for example, with direct substitution in the constitution of language embracing Islam as the state religion as opposed to secularism as a state principle. Not surprisingly, the political parties tend to draw on these competing discourses in defining themselves and appealing to their respective constituencies.

Prospects for Democracy’s Survival
It bears noting that the January 2007 elections represent the growing pains of a young democracy, not a referendum on democracy itself. Despite the many problems enumerated here, Bangladesh is not simply an unqualified failure. It has a strong, established free press. The country has been experiencing annual economic growth (in GDP) of 5% or higher. The 2006 Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to Bangladesh’s Muhammad Yunus for his innovative microcredit programs to help the poor establish small business ventures. Initiatives like Yunus’s Grameen Bank have enabled the country to outperform other developing countries in poverty reduction and make progress on the UN’s Millennium Development Goals. These should be considered auspicious indicators of a favorable prognosis for a healthy future civil society. But it is clear that in order to ensure the continuation of democracy in Bangladesh, electoral reforms are needed. Whether the BNP and AL have the political will and long-term vision to achieve the needed compromises, implement reforms, and observe them faithfully in order to render them legitimate is not so clear. Nonetheless, they stand to lose much more than some seats in parliament by not finding the common ground necessary to strengthen Bangladesh’s democratic institutions.

No doubt the new Asia is part of the “crazy vitality of capitalism.” There’s little difference, not surprisingly, between the business pages of East and West—the same rollercoaster of stock ratings, celebration of management gurus and CEOs, only now some names are different. Business media in South Korea, Thailand, China, or India display the same Dionysian celebration of accumulation and consumerism. Surely there are multiple “Asias,” yet looking at the business pages there’s only one, engrossed in market worship. The news and editorial pages strike different and more mixed tones.

Is rising Asia being annexed to the world of interlinked golf courses with manicured lawns, country clubs, luxury estates, air conditioned airports, and a low profile, invisible proletariat? In China, this is the “Shanghai model.” In India, “golf cities” are emerging in Delhi, Jaipur, Lucknow, Kolkata, Hyderabad, and Goa, combining golf courses with residential complexes. Srinagar’s golf course has sand imported from Australia because the local gravel isn’t up to par.

India boosterism is as prominent inside India as outside. A speech by Microsoft CEO Steve Ballmer in New Delhi is reported under the headline “Next Bill Gates Could be an Indian.” “Harvard Here We Come,” cheers another headline. Asia is now “the most optimistic place in the world” notes another report, part of the nonstop hype. What is the relationship between the India of Tom Friedman (The World is Flat) and P. Sainath (Everybody Loves a Good Drought), between celebrating growth and deepening poverty, between Gurgaon’s Millennium City of Malls and abject poverty kilometers away, between dynamic “Cyberabad” as Hyderabad, the capital of Andhra Pradesh, is often referred to, and rising farmer suicides nearby in the same state?
What is the place of inequality in this script? Is inequality a process glitch, a quirk en route to “superpower” status? Is inequality “over the horizon,” out there in the boondocks, unrelated to fast track success? Or, rather, is inequality one of “The Seven Habits of Effective Nations”? Is inequality a condition of accumulation, particularly of fast track growth, and would wealth not happen or shrivel without land appropriations, dispossession, and uprooting of the poor?

I devoted my fall 2006 sabbatical to a trip through six Asian countries posing the general question, “What are the social realities behind ‘Asia rising’?”. Secondly, while the world is talking about Asia, especially about China and India, I wanted to interrogate what Asia is talking about, what the local debates are.

In South Korea, questions of social justice—which have sharpened since the neoliberal turn of 1998—tend to be overshadowed by geopolitical concerns. Trade unions protest the free trade agreement that is under negotiation with the U.S., but public discourse is preoccupied with North Korea and, to be on the safe side, stays close to American security approaches—even as the sunshine policy of economic cooperation and political dialogue with North Korea continues. In this part of the world, says a colleague, the cold war isn’t over.

In Japan, social inequality has increased sharply during the Koizumi years, privatization is in motion, and the public sector looks bad or is made to look bad (inefficient, costly). Protests occur but remain local, shut out from the media and, in the general climate, a recent book observes, zombie politics prevails.

In Thailand, the talk of the day is the military coup of 19 September. Everyone agrees that Thaksin monopolized power and was preparing a total takeover, so arguably this was a coup to prevent a coup. The democratic process, even with the 1997 People’s Constitution was no match for an organized populist power grab like Thaksin’s—Asia’s Berlusconi, complete with big money and savvy media campaigns. One of the coup leaders is a business rival of Thaksin, so the intervention is also an intra-elite rivalry. Besides, a coup to prevent a coup is still a coup, and the ways part between those who want no part in this and those, including colleagues, who agree to take part in a government advisory committee “so the voice of the people can be heard.” Here, too, the Free Trade Agreement that is under negotiation with the U.S. is a major bone of contention.

Bangkok’s new super trendy malls—spacious sophisticated steel and glass designs, such as Paragon, with up-market stores well beyond the Asian bazaar with its mishmash of little shops under a roof—are striking. Ermenegildo Zegna, Versace, and Gucci stores display a luxury that would stand out in many western capitals. Hotels and department stores tower over Bangkok, overshadowing temples and palaces. Bangkok makes a bid to be Southeast Asia’s leading shopping center. The smooth monorail Sky Train connects shopping areas but doesn’t reach the poor on the city outskirts.

The Thaksin government violently repressed militancy in the Muslim south. It is as if rampant capitalism the world over goes together with a punitive attitude to marginal minorities. I spent a weekend in Pattani in the south in a meeting with radical Muslim intellectuals. They hold Ph.D. degrees from universities in Saudi Arabia, lecture at colleges that receive Saudi funding, maintain links with Aceh in Indonesia, and compare their educational and job opportunities with their fellow Muslims in majority Muslim Malaysia next door. This transnational horizon is part of their militancy. So is the memory of the Kingdom of Pattani as an ancient trading power. Repression will not change this. According to Thailand’s human rights commissioner, the new government seeks to develop a more conciliatory approach grounded in regional development policies.

Two globalization stories
About cutting edge globalization there are two big stories to tell. One is the rise of Asia and the accompanying growth of East-South trade, energy, and security relations. Some of this story is being covered in the general media. The other story, which is being covered only in a patchy way, is that these developments combine with major social crises in agriculture and urban poverty. In China, this is widely recognized and being addressed; in India, public awareness is split between middle class hype and recognition of social problems, but there are no major policies in place to address the main problems.

In China, there is a clear sense of a new direction. The party’s harmonious society policy is a serious response to social crisis and the spate of protests, particularly in the countryside. The problems of rural and urban poverty are staggering. They require difficult balancing acts between growth and social cohesion and local government capacity is limited to address them. If you reckon that 70 percent of China’s workforce, about 800 million people, has only a primary education, the “China threat” seems remote and overblown. The political commitment to achieve a new balance is apparent, for instance, in the ouster of the party’s Shanghai leader on corruption charges, which signals a break with the “Shanghai model” that prevailed under Jiang Zemin.

The Shanghai way meant rubbing shoulders with the powerful and following American economic examples; now inner circles debate China’s dollar reserves of $1 trillion, obviously a delicate matter. With 70 to 80 percent of its foreign reserves in U.S. dollars, China deviates markedly from the world average of dollar reserves which approached 60 percent in 2006. There are growing environmental concerns as well. The “new left” questions whether the planet can bear another billion keen consumers.

The “Beijing Consensus” has emerged as a Chinese alternative to the “Washington Consensus.” An emerging policy debate, not nearly as well developed as the harmonious society, concerns the harmonious world, or the idea that China’s rise should not come at the expense of other developing countries and the world’s poor. This is new on the agenda and is yet to take shape and find a balance with China’s other priorities. The November summit with 48 African countries was about resource relations and weaning African countries from relations with Taiwan but also concerned development cooperation.

India: Laxmi all the way
Such an urgent sense of seeking a new balance between growth and social cohesion is absent in India. That India lags way behind China is widely acknowledged—infrastructure is miserable, manufacturing is limited, and agriculture is in deep crisis. The IT sector, real estate, and retail are booming but are limited to the urban English speaking middle class.

Not only is there no comprehensive policy to target rural and urban poverty, but policies that are in place aggravate them, such as letting multinational corporations into agriculture (for aren’t market forces more efficient?) and vast land appropriations for info tech campuses, dams and Special Economic Zones. Public discussion is dominated by the electoral labyrinth of caste and communal politics—expanding reservations for higher education and government jobs to Other Backward Castes and possibly to underprivileged Muslims. The Hindu-right BJP (Bharatiya Janta Party) government fell because “Shining India” didn’t shine on the poor masses. The current Congress government is headed in the same direction—fast growth policies geared to attract foreign investment (the China model) at the expense of rural majorities and the urban poor. Between 1993 and 2003, according to official figures, 100,248 farmers committed suicide. Add to this a rising security threat. Armed Maoist struggles have spread to 170 rural districts, affecting 16 states and 43 percent of the country’s territory.1 With current policies, this unrest may double in size and scope.

Rapid growth in India is more recent than in East Asia and China, so quality growth comes later on the agenda. India’s multiparty democracy and the bureaucracy’s middle class leanings are other considerations. But more fundamental is caste politics. Most political debate and electoral juggling in India concerns caste and religion. Though advertised as “the world’s largest democracy,” India can also be described as “a confederacy of castes and tribes.”

Consider a mundane point. India is among the few Asian countries with hardly any public garbage cans and public toilets, even in New Delhi’s prime shopping areas. Is this because, in Brahmin culture, private purity prevails over public hygiene and sharing public facilities runs against caste segregation? Pakistan and Bangladesh and some Southeast Asian countries, not Hindu, also make do without public toilets, while public hygiene in Kerala and Tamil Nadu is much better than in the rest of India, so the issue is not quite as straightforward as it might seem. This example does indicate that in most of India the public sphere is undeveloped. This reflects a deep culture of inequality. Sunil Khilnani describes conditions in late colonial India thus: “The lower and poorer orders were ghostly presences—they came in at dawn, did their jobs, and melted away into the obscurity of their shacks beyond the middle-class colonies.” Sixty years on, the situation is not all that different. Unlike China, India has not experienced a social revolution. At this juncture, when India is experiencing economic success, the entrenched culture of caste and inequality may well be the biggest hurdle on its path.

American security and cultural influence in Asia are waning, and yet, as if it is still the 1990s, many government and business circles regard American capitalism as the most dynamic variety. Under the headings of “innovation” and “dynamism,” this attitude yields a conservative international business conformism. The successes are widely advertised (Microsoft, Wal-Mart etc.) but awareness of the growing failures of that model is dim (Enron, Katrina, near bankruptcy of GM and Ford, rising productivity and profits yet stagnant wages in the United States). Keen neoliberals influencing policy from Northeast to South Asia offer the odd spectacle of Asians underrating their own experience, their own developmental capitalism and alternative modernity, in particular the East Asian and Chinese experience.

If the new Asia contributes to social polarization and deepening ecological crisis, then what is new? The geography and history are different, but the script is familiar. The location changes and now, say the new elites under their breath, it’s our turn to screw up the world. This is not emancipation but annexation. It is the prestige merely of joining the club, not changing the club.

1 The figures are from a special issue on “Two Indias One Future” of Tehelka, The People’s Paper, 25 November 2006, pp. 14 and 9.

Bachelet represents a compromise in more ways than just in terms of globalization. The daughter of an Air Force Brigadier General who opposed the military government, was jailed, tortured and died in prison, her efforts at forgiveness and reconciliation attempt to suture the large chasm that has ruled Chilean politics since the Pinochet years [1973-1990]. A socialist, agnostic, and separated mother of three [divorce was illegal until last year in Chile], she challenges traditional notions of gender even as her platform pursues gendered policies. In fact, she has set about appointing ministers with gender parity. In sum, she is trying to balance economic and social issues within the new global order. As such, she is certainly a figure to watch in a country that has a history of providing creative ways to manage the global situation.

In March, immediately after Bachelet assumed the presidency, I conducted “person on the street” interviews to tap into the public opinion pulse about President Bachelet. I asked three questions. First, do you think the new president can balance, as she claimed during her campaign, the social needs of the country while honoring its commitment in a range of global agreements? Second, do you think her gender will make a difference in her presidency? Third, do you support the new president? A fourth optional question was, do you care to share your political preferences? Interviews were carried out with a broad range of participants in Santiago, Valparaíso, Viña del Mar, and Reñaca. Gender, age, class, education, and occupation varied as well. People were chosen randomly including, for example, museum docents, shopkeepers, restaurant workers, and municipal bureaucrats.

Preliminary analysis followed by early transcription of the digitally taped interviews suggest that most of those interviewed, regardless of class or education, were very well informed about global agreements to which Chile was a signatory. Most spoke of a tension between agency and structure—that is, they favored attention to social services and believed President Bachelet did as well, but they were not sure if Chile had any wiggle room to pursue these policies. Women did not necessarily support Bachelet nor did men automatically oppose her (Ríos Tobar, 2006). For instance, a husband and wife had opposing views: the husband was very supportive of President Bachelet while the wife, a stay-at-home mother, was firmly against a woman as president. Also, political leanings [and most were quite happy to share theirs with me] were not a useful predictor of support. For example, a staunch and long-standing right wing, upper middle class female supporter—in fact a Pinochetist—was won over by Bachelet’s policy that “Third Age” [senior] citizens were to receive free medical care. Yet another highly educated architect was favorable of the new President but considered global structures to be too insurmountable. In sum, respondents largely concurred with Munck (2006) that “Latin American political leaders confront huge pressures to address urgent social demands, yet have few reasons to believe that solutions to these demands will be found.” (p. 13).

Resources:
Munck, Gerardo (2006). Latin America: Old Problems, New Agenda. Democracy at Large. 2:3, 10-13.
Pieterse, Jan Neverdeen. (2004). Globalization & Culture: Global Mélange. New York: Rowman & Littlefield.
Ríos Tobar, Marcela (2006). !Más Político que Cultural! O ¿Como Llegó una Mujer a la Presidencia? Forum. 37:2, 31-33.

Tropical forests are now among the earth’s most threatened ecosystems. While estimates vary, two of the most reliable sources, the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), and the International Tropical Timber Organization (ITTO), have reported alarming deforestation rates of 25,000 hectares a day. Annually, about 12 million hectares of tropical forests are converted to agriculture, pasture, and other non-forest uses. Moreover, large forest areas continue to be degraded by indiscriminate, and often illegal, logging. According to the ITTO, less than 5 percent of the world’s tropical forests surveyed are being managed sustainably, which means “maintaining a forest without degrading its value, while allowing society to benefit from its resources.” The findings of the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MEA) project, a UN commissioned study involving 1,400 experts from 95 countries, underscores these concerns:

• Approximately 60 percent of the ecosystem services that support life on earth are being degraded or used unsustainably.


• More land was converted to cropland in the 30 years after 1950 than in the 150 years between 1700 and 1850.


• 35 percent of mangrove area has been lost in the last several decades.


• 10–30 percent of mammal, bird, and amphibian species are currently threatened with extinction.


• 60 percent of the increase in the atmospheric concentration of CO2 since 1750 has taken place after 1959.

Why are tropical forests important?
The many names used for tropical forests—“the last frontier,” “the cradle of diversity,” “the lungs of the planet”—indicate their many functions. These functions include: (1) acting as a repository of biological diversity providing refuge and habitats to more than half of the earth’s plant and animal species; (2) serving as important sinks for carbon; and (3) providing critical sources of livelihood to more than 1.5 billion people, 60 million of whom come from indigenous groups. The Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR) has estimated that “more than 10 million different species of animals, plants, fungi and micro-organisms inhabit the Earth,...[and] more than half of these plant and animal species are found in the tropical forests. Humans use at least 40,000 species of plants and animals on a daily basis for food, shelter, clothing and medicinal needs.” The “total” value of biodiversity and the overall ecological services they provide is still largely unknown; only a fraction of known species has been studied and examined for potential medicinal, agricultural, or industrial value. We are only just beginning to gain some understanding about how this rich plant and animal biodiversity helps communities and societies around the world to satisfy economic, dietary, health, and cultural needs.

Trees and forests also play an important role in moderating the carbon cycle by removing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, and storing it as carbon in plant material and soil. It has been reported that half a tree’s total biomass is carbon; hence, large amounts of carbon are stored in forests. Again, estimates vary, but the total stored in all of the forests on Earth is believed to be 1,150 billion tonnes. The World Resources Institute has estimated that over the past 150 years, deforestation has contributed an estimated 30 percent of the atmospheric build-up of CO2.

Rescuing the tropical forests?
Increased awareness about tropical forests’ vital functions and services has propelled them to the forefront of debate and public discourse about balancing environmental, economic and industrial development. Recognizing the role forests play as a source of livelihood for poor marginalized peoples, along with the myriad environmental benefits tropical forests provide, has united the international community to devise strategies aimed at protecting (or, at the very least, sustainably managing) them. International, government, non-government, and local agencies have become unified, perhaps more than ever, to try to deal with the vanishing tropical forests. In fact, donor agencies such as the World Bank have reexamined their policies, the way they allocate their resources, and have given high priority to the sustainable management of the tropical forests.

Recognizing the efficacy of tropical forests in addressing climate change, the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) and the Kyoto Protocol stated: “All parties … shall promote sustainable management … of sinks and reservoirs of greenhouse gases… including biomass forest.” The Protocol further called for the maintenance of forests by afforestation, reforestation, and controlled deforestation. The Clean Development Mechanism (CDM), which sprang out of the Kyoto Protocol, makes it possible, and cheaper, for industrialized countries to meet the greenhouse gas (GHG) emission reduction targets agreed upon under the Protocol. Along with meeting reduction in emission targets, CDM is also mandated to “assist developing countries in achieving sustainable development.” Hence, consistent with incentive and market-based principles, an industrialized country with a CDM target can invest in a project (e.g. reforestation projects) in a developing country without a target, and make a claim for the emissions offsets. Conversely, developing nations may also establish forests, natural or in plantations, and earn carbon “credits” (estimated on the amount of carbon stored or sequestered by the forest or plantation) that can then be exchanged in a carbon trading market. Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines are three countries that have initiated efforts to take advantage of this mechanism. CIFOR has estimated that 46 million hectares in Indonesia are eligible for the afforestation and reforestation projects under the Protocol’s activities.

To protect forests from destructive logging practices, and more importantly, to bring them into sustainable management, a global initiative in forest certification was launched over a decade ago. The concept is quite simple: increasing consumer demand for certified products creates a powerful incentive for producers and forest managers to adopt ecologically sound practices, and to move away from destructive logging techniques such as clear-cutting and toward reduced impact logging techniques. To implement forest certification, an independent nonprofit international organization, the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) was organized. More than 500 environmental groups, progressive companies, forestry professionals, social scientists and groups representing labor, church and indigenous peoples’ interests comprise the FSC. Since its formation in 1993, the FSC has established a set of international forest management standards (the Principles and Criteria for forest Stewardship), which set forth strict environmental and social standards for forest management. These standards became the basis on which FSC certifies public and private forests, and accredits and monitors other certification organizations like the UN Forum for Forests (UNFF). UNFF serves as the main intergovernmental platform to foster dialogue, promote, and forge common understanding of the principles of sustainable forest management. Forest certification has been widely adopted in many tropical forests. Malaysia and Indonesia are perhaps two countries that have advanced the most in the implementation of forest certification initiatives. Both countries have nationally accredited “certifier” organizations, and a recognized set of national standards for certification.

“Debt-for-nature-swap” is another significant instrument aimed towards improving management of tropical forests. “Swaps” are agreements between a developed nation, like the United States, and a developing country. In exchange for the developing country’s promise to use the proceeds of the transaction to preserve critical environmental areas such as a protected tropical forest, the developed nation forgives some of the country’s debt. Many developing nations are severely limited by huge debts they have accrued. Typically, in a debt-for-nature-swap, deals are brokered by international nonprofit organizations like The Nature Conservancy, which often contribute additional funds derived from the swap to local organizations participating in the project. Creditors agree to forgive debts in return for the promise of environmental protection. A dozen debt-for-nature swaps have been reported, which amount to forgiving $135 million worth of loans for tropical forest conservation projects in Guatemala, Botswana, Bangladesh, Belize, Colombia, El Salvador, Jamaica, Panama, Paraguay, the Philippines, and Peru.

Governance of tropical forests has also changed over the last decade, in part because government institutions failed to institute and implement sound forest management techniques. Across the tropics, particularly in Southeast Asia, new institutions are emerging that have the capacity to manage forests across jurisdictions like subnational or national ones. In Southeast Asia, national devolution polices have essentially decentralized power and transferred control and responsibility for managing forests from the national government to a variety of local organizations. Hence, at the local level, where community-based organizations now predominantly manage forests, institutional innovations have led to local government and community empowerment. These institutional reforms, now practiced widely in other regions outside Southeast Asia, create more livelihood opportunities for forest-dependent people, empower local people, and ensure equity and broad-based participation in the management of tropical forests. They have democratized access to public forests, without causing the “tragedy of the commons.”

Waxing nostalgic, I long to see the lush and green mountains that surrounded the valley where I grew up. Whether this will ever come to pass, or stay a mere dream, remains to be seen. One thing is certain, however: initiatives are beginning to be put in place to increase the possibility that the majestic beauty of the once lush forests may yet be seen in my lifetime.

Ezekiel Kalipeni and Leo Zulu of the Department of Geography at the University of Illinois have mapped the disease’s yearly progression from its manifestation in the mid-1980s to the present. These maps appear to confirm assertions that the disease is likely to have started somewhere in Western Equatorial Africa and then spread to East Africa, southern Africa, and West Africa, in that order. The question is: why has the disease found fertile ground in eastern and southern Africa? Why is it so intense and ferocious in southern African countries?

Complex and intricately interlinked factors have contributed to AIDS’s rapid spread in eastern and southern Africa. Once the disease left its box in the jungles of Western Equatorial Africa sometime in the early 1970s, it found fertile ground in eastern and southern Africa. There, many factors put the peoples of these two regions in vulnerable positions. The most critical include the consequences of colonial labor migration patterns; widespread gender inequality; specific cultural contexts; chronic poverty and underdevelopment; frequent political instability; a heavy disease burden; the disease’s stigma; the initial mediocre political responses; a continuing lack of government commitment; and lack of international support.

In South Africa, HIV/AIDS appeared in the early 1990s, introduced by labor migrants from surrounding countries. Here, the culture of international labor migration began during the early days of colonial rule to provide labor for the gold and diamond mining industries. Today, the migrant workers include those from rural areas, foreign workers, truck drivers, young women, and mine workers. Because few job opportunities and very low incomes prevail in rural areas and the surrounding countries, many heads of households, mainly young men, migrate to urban and mining areas to find work. Prolonged separation from their wives encourages miners to have sexual relationships with other women and, for that matter, other men, putting the women or themselves at risk of infection. When they return to their rural homes, those infected with HIV then infect their rural partners. This circular migration typifies the movement patterns of young men and women throughout eastern and southern Africa.

Women’s inferior status in many African countries significantly contributes to the spread of HIV/AIDS as well, because the violence they face and the economic powerlessness they endure are all barriers to HIV prevention. Indeed, the preponderance of HIV positive victims in many African countries are women. It is estimated that 59 percent of women aged 15+ years are HIV positive in comparison to 41 percent of men in sub-Saharan Africa. Other factors that have been blamed for the rapid spread of this epidemic is the presence of diseases such as malaria, trypanosomiasis, onchocerciasis, tuberculosis, sexually transmitted diseases, and poor nutrition, which all compromise the immune system. Clearly, a whole range of macro-level social, political, economic, and cultural factors, not just individual sexual behavior, puts the peoples of Africa in a vulnerable and compromised position in facing the challenges engendered by HIV/AIDS.

Several specific cases drawn from the hundreds of men and women we interviewed in Malawi put a human face on the factors that make people vulnerable to HIV/AIDS. For instance, a young woman (age 17) who had migrated from a rural area to the city of Lilongwe related the following story:

“I was in grade six when my father died in 2002. He used to grow tobacco to pay my school fees. Without him around, and coming from a family of six children, four boys and two girls, I was forced to drop out of school due to lack of school fees. I then migrated to Lilongwe to seek employment. But there is no employment here for an uneducated girl like me. So during the day we go to Lilongwe Market to sell second hand goods, but there is a lot of competition there. At night we try to do all we can do to get a little income. Sometimes we stand by the roadside to see if we can be picked, at other times we go to Lilongwe Hotel, Lingadzi Inn and other such places when there is a conference. If we are lucky in a night we might come back home with about K200 (US$1.50). Some men just use us without paying us and we are too afraid of being beaten to ask for the pay. Life is tough here in the city, but it is even tougher in the village where I came from. From time to time I am able to send a little money to my mother but I don’t reveal how and where I get it.”

It is easy to see that poverty and women’s low status have contributed to this girl’s precarious situation. In further interviews with her, she revealed that she was scared that she might get infected with HIV. She indicated that some men use condoms and others don’t, and she has to oblige in both instances since she needs the money badly. The HIV infection rate among commercial sex workers in Malawi is very high, estimated at 70 percent, since many of the clients are HIV infected and pass the virus on to the girls, and they in turn pass it on to other clients.

A married woman we interviewed clearly articulated her position in the marriage, particularly the factors that make it difficult for women to protect themselves against HIV/AIDS:

“My husband died six months ago. He got so thin, began coughing, developed a rash, much like the rash that affects people with this disease they call AIDS. I know he died of AIDS because I too am losing weight and beginning to cough. I know I have it and I am soon going to die. I have three kids and I am worried as to who will take care of them once I am gone! It is very worrisome. I knew that my husband was moving around with these girls of low morals but I was afraid to ask him to take precautions. I wish I had left him immediately. I knew he was a cheater, but I am powerless, as I come from a poor family. The cattle he paid for the bride-price have all been slaughtered or sold by my parents.”

This woman comes from the northern part of Malawi, where the patrilineal groups such as the Tumbuka ethnic group are predominant. They follow the patrilineal system in which bride-price or lobola is paid for women before marriage. Once a woman is married, divorce is almost impossible to effect, as the bride-price would have to be repaid to the man’s relatives. This custom essentially puts women in bondage to men. Thus, married women, even if they are faithful to their husbands, are at risk of infection from unfaithful husbands.

The Bosphorus strait is the boundary between Europe and Asia, making Istanbul the only city in the world situated on two continents. The citizens of Turkey rarely lose sight of this, and despite busy traffic, the tennis match was not the first or last non-vehicular activity on the bridge. It provides a setting for other high profile events, like the Europe-Asia Marathon every October, because it is also a metaphor resonating strongly in the public mind.

That Turkey itself resembles a bridge is a frequently voiced idea, debated now more stridently since Turkey’s plea for accession to the European Union. It comes up in a variety of contexts. German-Turkish director Fatih Akin and bassist Alexander Hacke’s recent film on Istanbul’s musical diversity, for example, carries the title Crossing the Bridge; a foreshortened, underside view of the Bosphorus Bridge serves as icon on its posters. Before the construction of two bridges over the strait, people used to point out that the country’s shape on the map itself evokes a bridge linking West Asia to southeastern Europe, as if with the delicate touch of two fingers.

Originally, this idea of Turkey as a bridge was Europe’s, not Turkey’s. The trope makes sense from the perspective of the foreign traveler, the explorer of an exotic land who does the crossing. The bridge is an image of stasis, whereas Turkey’s self-image was one of movement. That the bridge simile has been imported into Turkey and grown large in the public imagination is extraordinary; a summary of the global forces that are refiguring the Middle East and the North Atlantic, and Turkey’s position with respect to them. Some local critics suggest that the new Turkish sense of standing “in-between” bespeaks the exhaustion of the old certainties of national identity, which generated social cohesion and legitimacy. But “westernization” remains constitutive and critical for understanding this recent evolution in Turkish self-definition, as well as current Turkish dispositions toward the European Union—although whether these dispositions have any pertinence for the future is now doubtful.

Turkey’s radical conceptual and institutional break with the past started in the 1920s and continued—after a slowdown in the 1950s—into the 1960s. Despite 19th century antecedents and 20th century emulators, the break appears exceptional because of its multifarious nature and institutional longevity. The key notion underlying this revolution was articulated under the twin words “Europeanization” and “westernization.” The great bound starts with the establishment of a republic in 1923 and the abolition of the Caliphate and religious courts. Then come sartorial and personal grooming regulations, and the adoption of the Gregorian calendar. Immediately, a series of stunning legal

These initiatives were taken by a narrow patrimonial elite and carried out with coercion. They could be seen as alien to popular conviction and worldview, but that would be inaccurate. The policies may have inspired indifference or opposition, but the premises that motivated them were widely shared. Furthermore, a tremendous expansion of education accompanied the reforms which, in the span of two decades, created a new intelligentsia of plebeian origins, committed to republican ideals. It spawned, in turn, a whole new stratum of intellectuals, writers, artists, scientists, and politicians, broadening the boundaries of the governing elite and altering the game of political participation.

The idea of westernization underlying these changes deserves closer examination. It would be a mistake to assimilate it into an omnibus category of “modernization” and dismiss it as a great illusion or the velvet glove over steely-fisted rule. It was that too, but at the same time much more.

The Turkish idea of “westernization” is grounded in the premise of self-propelled and self-guided choice of civilization. Our resolute preference for gradualism makes this trust in the idea that even the existential parameters of collective life are a matter of choice incomprehensible; we find it difficult to empathize with people who celebrate a great cultural discontinuity as national achievement. The roots of this radicalism lie in the 19th century Ottoman reform movements, which were anything but radical. As widely recognized, Ottoman voluntarism was stimulated by the spectacle of technical progress or, more specifically, the perceived need to overtake European military advances. These origins stamped the entire phylogeny of Turkish reform-revolution. In this context the perception of “Europe” or the “West” was expressly instrumental and non-religious, and did not imply moral dilemmas.

Once a historical course is engaged, however, its peculiar logic can take over and subvert the initial intentions. Eventually, Turkish leaders recognized the need for a more comprehensive adoption of science, and education became the hallmark of successive stages of renovation. This led to the discovery of “mentality” as impediment to change. By the end of the 19th century the positivist-impious-nationalist mindset came to prevail. The shapers of the republic were products of this historical process. It is also relevant that the transition from reforming empire to revolutionary republic was not interrupted by colonial domination and anti-colonial struggle. The same elite—only shaken down by the WW I debacle and reduced by internal strife—continued to hold the reins of power and enjoy legitimacy, even in the face of unpopular moves.

The focus on the elites who did the decision-making, however, obscures other circumstances. The substance of the “West or doom” dichotomy that informed republican leaders reverberated with the wider public. The possibility of self-directed change presumes a stable self that remains intact even after the most tumultuous transformation. The view is fundamentally Constructionist beyond comparison. “Civilization,” according to it, is not a matter of heritage but of will and choice. Generations of Turkish intellectuals fell perplexed before foreign observers who thought the divergences between their ideals and the facts of Turkish life a sign of different ontology or cultural essence rather than personal failing or shallow education.

Ernest Gellner suggested that behind the comprehensiveness of Turkish westernization lay a magic sense of mimetic effectiveness. Maybe so. With all that, the desire to overcome superficial emulation through self-education, to attain the bedrock of “mentality,” reached very deep. The nature of some initiatives bears witness to this desire to move beyond emulation. In the 1940s, the Turkish Ministry of Education started a massive translation program of world classics. In less than a decade, it brought out more than five hundred volumes, mostly, but not exclusively, of European literature. The momentum is not exhausted; when a new regime slowed down the project, private bodies took it over. Well-funded publishing outfits continue the effort to this day, with the same scope.

Such voluntarism brings with it personal responsibility and blame. Some account now for the entire charade of westernization by an interiorized inferiority feeling, postcolonial in nature. But the same logic could explain the reaction to westernization. The unreflexive, everyday speech habits of average Turks offers a helpful way out of this circularity. In myriad bits of conversation “European” as a qualifier connotes positive value in Turkey, and almost never a semantic shadow of “Christianity.” What’s even more interesting, in implicit paired contrast to it, one occasionally hears the qualifier “Turk.” In this context this latter adjective is of course not the flag of proud nationalism that it has become, but harks back to the meaning of an older, narrower ethnic signifier. It expresses the desirability and possibility of cultural leap, with no cogitation, hesitation, or tortured complexes of the soul. Parallels under different climes are common, but, then, the wish to become other than one’s self is not rare.

All of this is to explain that imagining Turkey as a heterogeneous mix of essences, an Islamic self reaching out to the European Other—a “bridge”—does indeed represent a tectonic shift in the country. However, the former inclinations have not evaporated overnight. The vocal religious and cultural traditionalists can no longer be simply opposed to westernizers. During the European Union debates and negotiations, Turkish public life underwent a striking change that was difficult to anticipate. According to some knowledgeable observers, groups that were the former stalwarts of westernization include now a sector that staunchly opposes entry into the European Union, for fear of losing entrenched privileges or even corporate cohesion. In counterpart, political Islamists are split; a good half of them, with noticeable speakers, place their hope in EU membership or ties, as a pledge of hard won liberties, including religious concessions and an unencumbered market. These complexities make little sense except within the context of the historical heritage of Turkish westernization: on the one hand, an understanding of Europe that is instrumental and secular at its core; on the other, class agendas that made this perceived image desirable and attainable.

The Japanese are keenly aware of the fragility of their achievements. Sixty years ago, the country lay in ruins, the casualty of its own disastrous policies and behavior. There were many

The ability of Japanese leaders and the Japanese people to quickly come to an accommodation with their American conqueror and occupier was the most important reason for Japan’s resurrection. Watching Iraq tear itself apart today under U.S. occupation, Japan’s singleness of purpose and the alacrity of its response are all the more impressive. Virtually overnight, the Japanese people transformed themselves from “100 million balls of fire” (as Japanese wartime propaganda put it) to “100 million penitents.” They dedicated themselves to recovery and reintegration into the world system. There was dissent, of course, but since 1960 there has been no serious challenge to the national consensus.

The new constitution, written in English by Occupation personnel and translated into Japanese, which Japan adopted in 1947, was also of overarching importance. The extremely idealistic document, which among other things stipulated equal rights for women and famously declared in Article 9 that Japan would eternally foreswear the maintenance of armed forces and the use of war as an instrument of national policy, also shaped postwar Japan.

The Cold War solidified the bond between Japan and the U.S. In 1949, the Chinese Communist Party took control of China, and in 1950 the Korean War began. The United States needed Japan as a “bulwark against Communism” in the Far East, and Japan benefited from the stimulation to its economy provided by U.S. bases in Japan and by its economic relationship with the United States. The U.S. encouraged Japan’s economic recovery, transferring technology at bargain-basement prices; and the Japanese dedicated themselves to developing their industrial base and accepted what the historian John Dower has called a relationship of “subordinate independence” with the United States. By the 1960s, Japan was enjoying sustained double-digit growth and was well on its way to becoming an economic superpower.

The problems Japan faces today are in large measure the consequence of adjustments to this postwar arrangement. By the 1980s, Japan was no longer an economic protégé of the U.S. but was regarded with suspicion by many Americans as a predatory competitor. And with the end of the Cold War, Japan was no longer essential as an anti-communist ally, and criticism of Japan’s cleavage to Article 9 and its unwillingness “to pull its own weight” in defense matters mounted. These criticisms reached a crescendo during the first Gulf War of 1990-91, when Japan argued that its constitution barred it from participating in the anti-Saddam alliance. The U.S. charged that Japan was content to sit on the sidelines, reaping profits while American blood was being spilt to protect Japan’s vital Middle East oil supply. Stung by this criticism, the Japanese government ultimately contributed an estimated $13 billion to defray the cost of the war. But feelings of humiliation were not easily dissipated and reinforced longstanding calls by conservatives to revise the constitution to allow Japan to contribute to its own defense and regional security in a way commensurate with its economic power.

Despite the prohibitions of Article 9, Japan has one of the strongest militaries in the world, with 240,000 personnel under arms. Its military expenditures for 2006 were $43.7 billion, fifth largest in the world after the U.S., Britain, France, and China. As of January 2007, the Japan Defense Agency was upgraded to a cabinet-level Ministry of Defense.

Japan justifies its possession of a military on the basis of the inalienable right to self-defense and has historically refused to become involved in international conflicts. Since the Gulf War debacle, however, the government has implemented laws that make it possible for Japan to participate in non-combat and support roles. This enabled Japan to send 600 troops to Iraq in a non-combat capacity in 2004 (they withdrew in 2006). Japan also contributes one-fifth of the U.N.’s budget for peacekeeping operations.

Japan faces real threats. North Korea possesses nuclear weapons and has successfully tested missiles that are capable of hitting Japan. China is steadily arming itself and becoming more assertive. Middle East instability threatens Japan’s oil supply. Despite these challenges, the Japanese people strongly oppose revision of their “peace constitution,” recently forcing a conference on constitutional revision planned for this April to be postponed until 2010 at the earliest.

The source of Japan’s power is its economy, but the Japanese economy is being sorely tested. Japan emerged only recently from a prolonged period of economic stagnation, recession, and deflation that lasted more than a decade. The aftermath of the “bubble economy” of the 1980s, which collapsed in 1989-90, continues to be felt; and competition from China, Korea, Taiwan, and most recently India have exacerbated the situation.

The most serious threat to Japan’s economy, though, is domestic. With a birthrate of only 1.23 births per woman of childbearing age in 2006 (est.), far below the replacement rate of 2.1, the Japanese population will decline in coming years. The United Nations Population Division has predicted that, at current birth rates, the Japanese population will fall from a current high of more than 127 million to close to 100 million by 2050. With an average life expectancy of 81.25 years, the longest in the world, Japan is a rapidly aging society that will soon become a land of retirees supported precariously by a narrowing base of taxpaying workers.

Immigration is one possible solution to this problem. The United Nations estimates that Japan could maintain its labor force at current levels if it allowed 600,000 new immigrants into Japan each year. For comparison, the United Kingdom, another island nation, admitted just 147,700 immigrants in 2004. Japan has little history of large-scale immigration and prides itself on the homogeneity of its population, so this is an unthinkable figure. Admitting any significant number of immigrants, many Japanese fear, would alter Japanese culture beyond recognition. Moreover, they regard present-day European and American struggles to assimilate large immigrant populations as a warning to avoid this path.

Another obvious solution to the population crisis is for Japanese women to have more babies. The government and conservative moralists avidly promote this idea. But Japan also needs women to work. Twenty-seven million Japanese women have jobs, constituting nearly half the Japanese labor force. An increasing number of women are opting to postpone marriage—or not marry at all—and continue working. The average age for a Japanese woman to marry was 27.8 in 2004, and on average she had her first baby at 28.9. By contrast, American women marry two and a half years earlier and have their first baby at 25.2. There were 5.7 marriages per thousand people in Japan in 2004, compared to 7.5 in the U.S.

Despite their importance in the workforce, however, women’s talents are not fully utilized. Japan ranks forty-second, just above Macedonia, on the scale of “gender empowerment” of the United Nations Development Program. Japanese women occupy only 10.1 percent of managerial positions compared to 42.5 percent for women in the U.S.

Japan’s conservative Liberal Democratic Party, which has governed Japan virtually without interruption for more than 60 years, wants to meet these challenges by adjusting and reinforcing Japan’s postwar system. It is seeking to reinforce the resolve of the Japanese people through the systematic inculcation of patriotism in the schools, which since 1999 have been required by law to fly the national flag and sing the national anthem, both of which are controversial because of wartime associations. New textbooks have been approved that seek to instill pride by minimizing Japan’s wartime aggression and emphasizing heroic self-sacrifice for the nation. Viewed as a glorification of Japanese imperialism, this has caused outrage among Japan’s Asian neighbors, creating a major foreign policy headache for Japan.

The Japanese believe that a strong system of international institutions insulates them from the caprices of power politics and allows them to exercise their influence in the international arena. Japan is the world’s second largest donor to the United Nations, contributing more than 19 percent of the U.N.’s budget; and with U.S. support Japan continues to lobby for a permanent seat on the Security Council.

Japan has also become more assertive bilaterally and multilaterally. In August, Prime Minister Abe made an official visit to India, seeking to strengthen ties with the South Asian nation as a counterweight to China; and Japan is actively involved in Middle East diplomacy and efforts to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

Despite significant challenges, both foreign and domestic, Japan, with its highly educated and hardworking population and its strong relationship with the U.S., will remain a stable and estimable force in the world for the foreseeable future.

Most famous mathematicians were educated at renowned centers of learning and were taught by inspiring teachers, if not by distinguished research mathematicians. The one exception to this rule is Ramanujan, born on December 22, 1887 in Erode in the southern Indian State of Tamil Nadu. He lived most of his life in Kumbakonam, located to the east of Erode and about 250 kilometers south-southwest of Madras (Chennai). At an early age, he won prizes for his mathematical prowess—not mathematics books as one might surmise, but books of English poetry, reflecting British colonial rule at that time. At the age of about 15, he borrowed a copy of G. S. Carr’s Synopsis of Pure and Applied Mathematics, which was the most influential book in his development. Carr was a tutor and compiled this compendium of approximately 4,000-5,000 results (with very few proofs) to facilitate his tutoring at Cambridge and London. One or two years later, Ramanujan entered the Government College of Kumbakonam, often called “the Cambridge of South India,” because of its excellent academic standards. By this time, Ramanujan was consumed by mathematics and would not seriously study any other subject. Consequently, he failed his examinations at the end of the first year and lost his scholarship. Because his family was poor, Ramanujan was forced to terminate his formal education.
At about the time Ramanujan entered college, he began to record his mathematical discoveries in notebooks. Living in poverty with no means of financial support, suffering at times from serious illnesses (including two long bouts of dysentery), and working in isolation, Ramanujan devoted all of his efforts in the next five years to mathematics, while continuing to record his discoveries without proofs in notebooks.

In 1909, Ramanujan married S. Janaki, who was only nine years old. More pressure was therefore put upon him to find a job, and so in 1910 he arranged a meeting with V. Ramaswami Ayyar, who had founded the Indian Mathematical Society three years earlier and who was working as a deputy collector. After Ramanujan showed V. R. Ayyar his notebooks, the latter contacted R. Ramachandra Rao, collector in the town of Nellore, north of Madras, who agreed to provide Ramanujan with a monthly stipend so that he could continue to work unabatedly on mathematics and not worry about having a job.

In 1910, with the financial support of Rao, Ramanujan moved to Madras. For reasons that are unclear, after 15 months, Ramanujan declined further support and subsequently became a clerk in the Madras Port Trust Office, where he was encouraged, especially, by Sir Francis Spring and S. Narayana Aiyar, chairman and chief accountant, respectively. They persuaded Ramanujan to write English mathematicians about his mathematical discoveries. One of them, G. H. Hardy, professor of mathematics at Cambridge University and one of the foremost analysts and number theorists in the 20th century, responded encouragingly and invited Ramanujan to come to Cambridge to develop his mathematical gifts. Ramanujan’s family was Aiyangar, a conservative orthodox branch in the Brahmin tradition, and his mother especially was adamantly opposed to her son’s “crossing the seas” and thereby becoming “unclean.” After overcoming family reluctance, Ramanujan boarded a passenger ship for England on March 17, 1914.

At about this time, Ramanujan evidently stopped recording his theorems in notebooks. That Ramanujan no longer concentrated on logging entries in his notebooks is evident from two letters that he wrote friends in Madras during his first year in England. In a letter of November 13, 1914 to his friend R. Krishna Rao, Ramanujan confided, “I have changed my plan of publishing my results. I am not going to publish any of the old results in my notebooks till the war is over.” And in a letter dated January 7, 1915 to S. M. Subramanian, Ramanujan admitted, “I am doing my work very slowly. My notebook is sleeping in a corner for these four or five months. I am publishing only my present researches as I have not yet proved the results in my notebooks rigorously.’’

On March 24, 1915, near the end of his first winter in Cambridge, Ramanujan wrote his friend E. Vinayaka Row in Madras, “I was not well till the beginning of this term owing to the weather and consequently I couldn’t publish anything for about five months.’’ By the end of his third year in England, Ramanujan was critically ill, and, for the next two years, he was confined to nursing homes. After World War I ended, Ramanujan returned home in March 1919, but his health continued to deteriorate, and on April 26, 1920 Ramanujan died at the age of 32.

In both England and India, Ramanujan was treated for tuberculosis, but his symptoms did not match those of the disease. More recently, an English physician, D. A. B. Young, carefully examined all extant records and symptoms of Ramanujan’s illness and convincingly concluded that Ramanujan suffered from hepatic amoebiasis, a parasitic infection of the liver. Amoebiasis is a protozoal infection of the large intestine that gives rise to dysentery. Relapses occur when the host-parasite relationship is disturbed, which likely happened when Ramanujan entered a colder climate. The illness is very difficult to diagnose, but once diagnosed, it can be cured.

Despite being confined to nursing homes for two of his five years in England, Ramanujan made enormously important contributions to mathematics, several in collaboration with Hardy, which, although they won him immediate and lasting fame, are probably recognized and appreciated more so today than they were at that time. Most of Ramanujan’s discoveries lie in the areas of (primarily) number theory, analysis, and combinatorics, (the arrangement of or operation on discrete mathematical elements belonging to finite sets or making up geometric configurations, Source: Merriam-Webster), but they influence many modern branches of both mathematics and physics. After Ramanujan died, Hardy strongly urged that Ramanujan’s notebooks be edited and published. By “editing,’’ Hardy meant that each claim made by Ramanujan in his notebooks should be examined and proved, if a proof did not already exist. Of the three notebooks that Ramanujan left us, the second is the most extensive. The notebooks contain about 3,200–3,300 entries, almost all of them without proofs and most of them not rediscoveries, despite working without contact with other mathematicians before leaving for Cambridge.

At the University of Madras, various papers and handwritten copies of all three notebooks were sent to Hardy in 1923 with the intent of bringing together all of Ramanujan’s work for publication. Ramanujan’s Collected Papers were published in 1927, but his notebooks and other manuscripts were not published.

Sometime in the late 1920s, two English mathematicians, G. N. Watson and B. M. Wilson, undertook the task of editing Ramanujan’s notebooks. Wilson died prematurely in 1935, and although Watson worked for 10-15 years on the task and wrote over 30 papers inspired by Ramanujan’s mathematics, the work was never completed.

It was not until 1957 that the notebooks were made available to the public when the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research in Bombay published a photocopy edition, but no editing was undertaken.

While residing for a year at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, on a cold winter day in early February 1974, I was reading two papers by Emil Grosswald, in which some formulas from the notebooks were proved. I observed that I could prove these formulas by using a theorem I had proved two years earlier and so was naturally curious to determine if there were other formulas in the notebooks that I could prove employing my theorem. Fortunately, the library at Princeton University had a copy of the Tata Institute’s edition, and, indeed, I found a few more formulas of the same sort that I could prove. In the next three years, I divided my time between Ramanujan’s notebooks and other ongoing research.

All of the aforementioned entries can be found in Chapter 14 of Ramanujan’s second notebook. After the spring semester at the University of Illinois ended in May 1977, I decided to attempt to find proofs for all 87 formulas in Chapter 14. After I worked on this project for nearly a year, George Andrews from Pennsylvania State University visited the University of Illinois and informed me that on a visit to Trinity College Library at Cambridge two years earlier, he learned that Watson and Wilson’s efforts in editing the notebooks were preserved there. The librarian kindly sent me a copy of the notes, and so with their help on certain chapters, I began to devote all of my research time toward proving the theorems stated by Ramanujan in his three notebooks. With the assistance of several mathematicians, I completed the task in five volumes over a period of 21 years.

When Andrews visited Trinity College Library in 1976, he also discovered Ramanujan’s “lost notebook,’’ which was undoubtedly sent to Hardy in the aforementioned shipment of papers in 1923. Hardy likely kept it in his possession until possibly the late 1930s or early 1940s when he passed it to Watson, who, by that time, had lost his passion for Ramanujan’s work. The “lost notebook’’ was found among Watson’s papers after his death in 1965 and was sent by Rankin to Trinity College Library on December 26, 1968, where it resided until it was rediscovered by Andrews less than eight years later. The lost notebook, actually a sheaf of 138 disparate pages, contains the statements of approximately 650 theorems, all without proofs, and clearly emanates from the last year of Ramanujan’s life. The excitement among mathematicians caused by Andrews’s discovery can be compared to that which would arise in the music world from the finding of Beethoven’s tenth symphony. Along with other manuscripts and letters by Ramanujan found in the libraries at both Cambridge and Oxford, the lost notebook was finally published in 1988. In the mid-90s, I began to work with Andrews on the task of providing proofs for all the entries in this volume. Our second book on this project will be submitted to Springer in the late summer or early fall of 2007. Two or three further volumes remain to be written.

Why did Ramanujan not record any of his proofs in the three earlier notebooks and lost notebook? There are perhaps several reasons. First, Ramanujan was perhaps influenced by the style of Carr’s book in which one theorem after another is stated without proof. Second, like most Indian students in his time, Ramanujan worked primarily on a slate. Paper was expensive. Thus, after rubbing out his proofs with his sleeve, Ramanujan recorded only the final results in his notebooks. Third, Ramanujan never intended that his notebooks be made available to the mathematical public. They were his own personal compilation of what he had discovered. If someone had asked him how to prove a particular result in the notebooks, undoubtedly Ramanujan felt he could remember his proof.

Speculations about Ramanujan’s methods are plentiful. Many have suggested that he discovered his results by “intuition,” or by making deductions from numerous calculations, or by inspiration from Goddess Namagiri. Although any or all of these considerations may have some merit, none offer much insight. Moreover, assessments focusing on Eastern mysticism are worthless. As Ramanujan himself admitted, some of his proofs may not have been rigorous by contemporary standards. Nonetheless, despite the lack of rigor at times, Ramanujan undoubtedly thought and devised proofs like any other mathematician, but with insights that surpass all but a few of the greatest mathematicians.

Andrews, the author, and others have been struggling to devise proofs of Ramanujan’s discoveries for over three decades now. But even if we are successful in finding proofs, considerable efforts still remain, as we try to uncover the veil of mist enveloping Ramanujan’s ideas, insights, and methods.