This paper is a part of a much larger study in comparative historical sociology addressing the question of the emergence and initial development of the related phenomena that may be subsumed under the umbrella term “nationalism”: national identity, national consciousness, and political collectivities based on such an identity and consciousness—nations. This larger project focuses on the five societies that were among the very first to define themselves as nations—England, the United States of America, France, Germany, and Russia—and examines the social bases of national identity, its embodiment in and perpetuation through institutional arrangements and patterns of culture, and its transformation in the process of diffusion from one culture to another.

Despite the enormous diversity of research within the anthropological tradition, a common unifying theme has been the “reach into otherness” (Burridge 1973:6), the venture of discovering humanity through the exploration of other cultures. From the inception of anthropology as a distinct domain of knowledge, this ethnographic curiosity has been staged within a comparative frame of reference (Hymes 1974). Early inquiries into different customs and social forms were based on the writings of European travelers, whose observations about people in distant lands provided the narrative material for constructing a plausible vision of their own world. Initially, insights into the workings of society remained implicit, hidden beneath the projected images of “otherness.” By the second half of the eighteenth century, these encounters with the unfamiliar through travel and commerce had begun to generate a conscious desire for societal self-knowledge among Europeans. The haphazard collection of ethnographic information was gradually transformed into a reflective methodology.

In the mid-nineteenth century, a gentleman in Xiaolan having the Mai surname wrote in his memoir:

Age eighteen, the forty-seventh year of Qianlong's reign [1782], there was a chrysanthemum festival. Each major surname group put on floral displays, and six platforms were set up throughout the town. There were scores of theatrical troupes whose performance brought together kinsmen and friends. The tradition of the festival started that year.

In recent years historians of Europe and North America have discovered the importance of the spoken word in past times and have explored the ways in which language reflects particular social contexts. Retrieving fragments of popular speech from police reports, court records, and other sources, these scholars have sketched colorful vignettes which reenact such mundane activities of daily life as a game of cards or an argument over a stray calf. Their work has shown that seemingly trivial face-to-face encounters offer valuable clues for understanding social hierarchies and community values of a given time and place. Abstract relationships of class, gender, and social rank take concrete form in the routine conversations of men and women in streets, taverns, and markets, as “ordinary” people tell us about the societies in which they lived—sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly, but always in their own words. The historian of popular speech moreover recognizes that the social order, far from being static, remains subject to continuous modification not only by the powerful but also by those in subordinate positions, whose words and gestures may either reinforce or undermine accepted standards of behavior and social precedence.

Since Fiji's independence in 1970, a chiefly establishment drawn largely from the eastern regions of the island group has dominated the government there and, through the Alliance Party, has managed, in one way or another, to retain power in successive electoral contests until its outright defeat in the general elections of April 1987. The new government comprised a coalition of the National Federation Party (NFP), supported largely by the Fiji Indian community, and the Fiji Labour Party, which was essentially multiracial. Before the elections, Dr. Timoci Bavadra, the Labour leader, had been chosen to head the coalition. An indigenous Fijian “commoner” from the western region of Fiji, Bavadra's victory in April 1987 represented a break in a long history of eastern chiefly political predominance established and consolidated under colonial rule, and carried forward into the modern context of post-independence politics.

Since the Second Vatican Council opened in 1962, several changes have occurred in the Society of Jesus. The Jesuits have suffered a drop in manpower: Membership in the international order peaked at over 36,000 men in 1965 and had fallen by 1988 to below 25,000. Another change has been ideological: The Jesuits seem to have shifted from a conservative or disengaged posture toward a progressive and occasionally radical stance on social and political matters, and they have struggled to implement this orientation by abandoning some of their routine commitments and taking on new ventures in “faith and justice.” Finally, the Society of Jesus has deregimented its procedures in the areas of training and governance. It would appear that the liberalization that took place in mainline Protestant denominations over several decades was recapitulated by the Jesuits in a shorter period.

British rule in the former Crown Colony of Fiji was a paradoxical affair in several ways. The first Governor, Sir Arthur Gordon, had been shocked by the dispossession of the New Zealand Maori and was determined to subordinate settler interests in Fiji to those of the indigenous population. From the time of cession by a group of paramount chiefs in 1874, administrative policies and structures aimed to defend, protect, and institutionalize the traditional Fijian communal system. For example, what were thought to be traditional chiefly privileges, such as rights to produce, were legally enshrined and articulated with an indirect rule system of appointed village, district, and provincial chiefs. Land was made the inalienable property of clan groups of certain types (which Fijians were obliged to create where they did not already exist).

In the second half of the Kamakura age (1190–1333), Japan's elite warrior society began to undergo a gradual but radical structural transformation. The outline of this change was the shift from a divided to a unitary inheritance practice, with a progressive consolidation of family property and authority into one “chief” (sōryō), to the exclusion of his brothers and sisters. Kinship relations changed accordingly. As in the twelfth-century Mâcon described by Georges Duby, there was a progressive emphasis on lineal solidarity, along with a trend toward multiplication of independent branch lines. Through this shift, each warrior family sought territorial and organizational cohesion—a requirement for survival in an atmosphere of intensified social unrest and competition.

In the shadow of the Historikerstreit over the meaning of the Nazi era, West German historians are conducting a less highly publicized but similarly politicized debate about the role of ethnography in social history. The following analysis of local club life, based on ethnographic and archival research in Boppard on the Rhine, is offered as a contribution to and comment on this debate from the viewpoint of interpretive cultural anthropology. I contend that “local knowledge”—to employ the phrase by Clifford Geertz—is indispensable to broader historical syntheses, though for different reasons than have been suggested by either critics or advocates of cultural anthropology among West German historians.

To ask how the “third world writes its own history” appears, at first glance, to be exceedingly naive. At best, it reaffirms the East–West and Orient–Occident oppositions that have shaped historical writings and seems to be a simple-minded gesture of solidarity. Furthermore, in apparently privileging the writings of historians with third-world origins, this formulation renders such scholars into “native informants” whose discourse is opened up for further disquisitions on how “they” think of “their” history. In short, the notion of the third world writing its own history seems to reek of essentialism. Seen in another way, this formulation can be construed as positing that the third world has a fixed space of its own from which it can speak in a sovereign voice. For many, this notion of a separate terrain is rendered problematic by the increasing rapidity and the voracious appetite with which the postmodern culture imperializes and devours spaces.