Figure 1. the manifestation of foot binding

Elizabeth LaCouture’s perspective highlights the central role of women in the domestic space in Republican China’s domestic space, positioning them as subjects of the state and family or ‘jia’.¹ Her opinion indicates that in late imperial and early Republican China, women primarily occupied a passive subject in the domestic space. Their significance within the family was often underscored by the public recognition conferred upon them. For example, women brought political recognition to the family when they were bestowed the honor of chaste widows or virtuous women by the imperial state.² Also, women usually took the responsibility of preparing and placing ritual offerings at the ancestral altar.³ LaCouture’s stance implies that women attained subjecthood within the household through an external acknowledgment or by publicly assuming significant roles in family-related affairs. It was the external forces that made women the subject of the household.

However, this blog seeks to scrutinize LaCouture’s viewpoint and introduce another prevalent practice during that era—foot binding. The blog argues that women actively and independently consolidated their centrality in the domestic space through foot binding. This is contrary to LaCouture’s view. Women are not passive actors in the domestic sphere. Referencing the book Cai Fei Lu, published in the 1930s and compiling contemporary interpretations of foot binding as a social practice, this blog aims to refute the claim that women were confined to the “jia” sphere solely due to external influences. Instead, it asserts that female autonomy played a significant role, challenging the notion that women were merely subject to external factors in shaping their roles within the household.

Cai Fei Lu, compiled by the Republican scholar Yao Lingxi, delves into the history and practical implications of foot binding in Republican China. Considering these two dimensions, it’s reasonable to argue that the widespread practice of foot binding was a result of women women’s autonomous choice.

The book repeatedly narrates a shared sense of the origin of foot binding that was created by an imperial concubine PanFei, “潘妃作俑於一時。”⁴ She practised foot binding to curry favour with the emperor. The practice of foot binding steadily gained popularity and grew to be regarded as a viable method for women to attract men, “良家婦女乃以為取媚男子之道在是。”⁵ Even though its historical origin cannot be substantiated, the prevailing social idea depicted in the book suggests that it was motivated by women’s pursuit of beauty, “婦女纏足。初意必以美觀而起。”⁶ This spontaneous desire requires women to engage in the physical practice of foot binding, seeking to attain the beauty they deemed desirable. Furthermore, foot binding did not only reshape the female feet, but also reconfigure their identity in the domestic realm, or ‘jia’. On the one hand, due to their desire for beauty, which was primarily for getting male attention, their distorted feet became a product of male preference, though they voluntarily bound their feet. They allowed their physical selves to be conceptually linked to male family members. Foot binding, although a female behaviour, was essentially impacted by male consciousness, or what women perceived as male preference. On the other hand, because of the foot binding, women confined themselves in the physical domestic space. Consequently, women’s mobility would significantly reduce, rendering them unable to walk for extended durations and impeding their ability to move freely between the physical domestic space and the external environment. That is, “行動艱苦。”⁷ Consequently, women assumed a prominent role within the domestic sphere due to their extended presence. The practice of foot binding, therefore, was a choice made by women, became an autonomous necessity, and reshaped their identities and positioning within the domestic realm.

Elizabeth LaCouture argues that women were at a disadvantage when it came to establishing their identity in the domestic space. In late imperial and Republican China, women could only assert their centrality in domestic space through public recognition. However, after analysing the Republican publication Cai Fei Lu, the blog offers an alternative perspective, arguing that women’s limitations in the domestic sphere were not entirely due to external forces. Women’s autonomy drove them to practice foot binding. This act physically constrained their mobility, psychologically tethered their physical form to the preferences of male family members, and consequently shaped women’s central identity within the domestic space.

*Cai Fei Lu: https://taiwanebook.ncl.edu.tw/zh-tw/book/NTUL-9900013372/reader

1. Elizabeth LaCouture, Dwelling in the World: Family, House, and Home in Tianjin, China, 1860-1960 (New York, 2021), p. 102. [↩]
2. LaCouture, Dwelling in the World, p. 19. [↩]
3. Ibid., p. 102. [↩]
4. Yao Lingxi 姚靈犀, Caifeilu 采菲錄 (Tianjin: Tianjin shidai gongsi, 1936), p. 4. [↩]
5. Yao Lingxi, Caifeilu, p. 49. [↩]
6. Ibid., p. 134. [↩]
7. bid., p. 151. [↩]

In 1909, Russian botanist Vladimir Mitrofanovich Arnoldi visited the Buitenzorg Botanical Gardens. Though he was primarily concerned with the contributions of the gardens to botanical knowledge and rarely commented directly on politics, we can see in his account the footprint of the Dutch colonial project.¹ In his praise of the Dutch garden Director, Melchor Trueb, his dealings with the Indonesian staff, and his awe at the aesthetic force of gardens layout, we can observe how Dutch colonial oppression was articulated within the space of the Buitenzorg Botanical Gardens.

Apparent in Arnoldi’s notes is his occupation as a scientist and his resultant veneration of the garden’s organisation which privileged scientific knowledge. As he describes it, the gardens are run by “European chiefs”, that is Dutch botanists, whose orders are followed by “a large staff of small Malay employees”.²  During the early decades of the twentieth century, colonial officials began to pivot the justification of Dutch colonialism in the direction of scientific merit. By creating a space in the Buitenzorg Botanical Gardens which was dominated by scientists pursuing pure science, unpolluted by economic motives, the Dutch colonial project could be seen to have merit and value for the wider world.³ However, the subordination of native people to the whims of the Dutch showcased here holds vestiges of the earlier “civilizing mission”, which intended to Europeanise, and thus modernise, native Asian cultures. Arnoldi himself echoes this kind of sentiment, hoping that in a decade “yesterday’s cannibals and savages [will pass] into a semi-cultural state”.⁴ Here, the enforcement of Dutch control over native people for the research and cultivation of their own native flora is epitome of the “civilizing mission”. Though Arnoldi sees this as the idyllic prioritisation of scientific knowledge, it is in reality the prioritisation of European knowledge.

This oppression is further revealed by Arnoldi’s comments on staff salaries. According to his notes, most ordinary native workers receive between eight and ten guilders a month, while even the most experienced of them, “a very intelligent person who knows not only native, but also the Latin names of plants” , earned sixty guilders a month. In comparison, the lowest wages for European workers is quoted as two hundred guilders monthly.⁵ Though this is presented with some indignation by Arnoldi, he falls victim to minimising the contribution of native people himself, as he marvels at the transformative impact Professor Treub oversaw during his directorship, stating that the improvement of the gardens into one of the finest Botanical centres of the world was wholly due to “the work of his hands, his energy”.⁶ Evidently the work of native people in the running and improvement of the gardens was not recognised in any meaningful way by Arnoldi or the management. As a result they are subordinated in a fashion consistent across the Dutch East Indies, such as in the countless rubber plantations spawned from the gardens at Buitenzorg⁷, or in the cities of colonial Indonesia with their strict racial zoning.⁸

Of the garden itself, Arnoldi notes its structured, monumentality. He describes an alley of Canarium trees,  noting how their “large spreading crowns closely adjoin each other with their branches, forming an almost closed canopy”.⁹ It is a striking visual image and a feat of landscape design, allowing us to see the control the Dutch exerted over nature. This reflects the role of nature in the expression of Dutch power in town  planning, as noted by  Colombijn and Cote, who emphasise the importance of ordered nature as a means to engender order in native populations.¹⁰ Savitsky also notes the resemblance of the trees’ description to the description of the governor general’s palace, which was adjoined to the gardens. It is described by Arnoldi as “an elegant white building with a slender colonnade”.¹¹  Thus colonial, neo-classical style architecture can be seen to have been forced upon Indonesian nature, echoing and amplifying the prestige of the colonial government. The proximity of the palace to the gardens, essentially being intertwined,  only strengthens this connection. In this way, the physical design of the garden rearticulated the supremacy of the Dutch Empire.

The snapshot of the Buitenzorg Botanical Gardens in 1909 provided by Professor Arnoldi is a useful one in examining how colonial power was expressed within the bounds of the gardens. Evidently, the Dutch “civilizing mission” was built into the very fabric of the gardens, from its physical layout to its employment and organisational structures. The Buitenzorg Botanical Gardens can therefore be seen to be a physical representation of the the Dutch subjugation of native peoples, their cultures, and natural resources.

1. E. E. Savitsky, “Botanical Gardens as Colonial Institutions”, Novaya i Novejshaya Istoriya 63:6 (2019), p. 55. [↩]
2. Ibid, p. 56. [↩]
3. Andrew Goss, “Decent Colonialism? Pure Science and Colonial Ideology in the Netherlands East Indies”, Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 40:1 (2009). [↩]
4. E. E. Savitsky, “Botanical Gardens as Colonial Institutions”, Novaya i Novejshaya Istoriya 63:6 (2019), p. 50. [↩]
5. Ibid, p. 53. [↩]
6. Ibid, p. 55. [↩]
7. P. T. Bauer, The Rubber Industry (London, 1948) [↩]
8. E. E. Savitsky, “Botanical Gardens as Colonial Institutions”, Novaya i Novejshaya Istoriya 63:6 (2019), p. 56. [↩]
9. Ibid, p. 57. [↩]
10. Freek Colombijn and Joost Cote, ‘Modernization of the Indonesian City, 1920-1960’ in Cars, Conduits, and Kampongs, eds. Freek Colombijn and Joost Cote (Boston, 2015), p. 3. [↩]
11. E. E. Savitsky, “Botanical Gardens as Colonial Institutions”, Novaya i Novejshaya Istoriya 63:6 (2019), p. 57. [↩]

Hong Kong’s housing today is known for its unaffordability and sky-high rents due to limited space. Hong Kong has a population greater than Scotland but its total available land area is less than half of Greater London which explains why housing remains a constant problem in one of the world’s most densely populated metropolises.¹ In spite of this, Hong Kong actually has a rather unique history of housing, especially the public housing realm that has permeated throughout society as a result of British policy measures to combat poverty and discontent as the bulk of the Hong Kong population initially saw them as Chinese and Hong Kong to them was a temporary place to do business before returning to their homeland, thus breeding the phrase coined by Richard Hughes, “Borrowed place, borrowed time.”. (Richard Hughes, Hong Kong: Borrowed Place, Borrowed Time, 1966)

In order to cope with the increasing population, demand for housing and the realisation that Mao Zedong’s Communist Party’s hold on China will be permanent, the British colonial government decided that housing the population and housing reform would need to be undertaken. Contrary to popular belief that the 1967 riots marked the start of public housing provision in Hong Kong, it was actually the 1953 Shek Kip Mei fire that made the government start building flats to accommodate people as it was poor conditions of squattered areas consisting of wooden houses and corrugated iron sheets.². Interestingly enough, my maternal grandmother and grandfather, both of whom were poor immigrants from neighbouring Guangdong province arrived in Hong Kong during the 1950s and initially settled in a poor, squattered housing, but was then resettled in a public housing complex under the Hong Kong government’s colonial scheme. In order to pay my tribute to them, I will focus this article on analysing how Hong Kong’s public housing estates contributed to a new sense of identity and gave individuals hope to abandon the sojourner mentality as described by Hughes above. For this, I will focus on a newspaper report from Wah Kiu Yat Po from December 1963, when Choi Hung Estate, where my mother and her brothers and sisters grew up was completed.

Figure 1: A typical squattered area or slum in Hong Kong during the 1950s – 60s, Source: South China Morning Post

Figure 2: View of Choi Hung Estate from Kwun Tong Road (1963) Source: flickr

The news report, published on December 19th 1963 presented the inauguration of Choi Hung Estate by then British governor Robert Black as an important ceremony for the city as the newspaper quoted in the headlines stating it is the ‘largest project of the city’ and the contents mentioning officials from the housing department, civilian affairs attending it.³ The public housing scheme was seen as a watershed moment for the city for both the British and local Chinese residents. That is because for the British, the Hong Kong housing plan is the most vigorous and dynamic project ever undertaken that was not seen in other places in the world besides Singapore and that housing a large population with limited resources is certainly no easy feat. As for the local residents, it built a sense of community spirit amongst residents that started to envision that Hong Kong is their home and that they will be there to stay, thus planting the seeds of a unique ‘Hong Konger’ identity, which was seen in the next decade under the governorship of Murray Maclehose.⁴ Although I did not personally grow up in a public housing estate myself, but I had to say that this undoubtedly changed Hong Kong permanently and affected who I am today as my parents, who were sons and daughters of poor individuals from China who benefitted from the resettlement scheme was able to enjoy better living conditions and more access to secondary and tertiary education opportunities, hence showcasing how housing plays a key role in raising population approval in terms of governance and that increasing opportunities can change societal fabrics. As a result, it is evident that housing policy can directly alter the course of history on a certain place’s development.

Furthermore, this example ties to the wider theme in the compulsory reading. That is because as seen in the Tianjin reading, during the time when multiple foreign powers had their own zones, each attempted to use their own styles of housing to instill in the minds of the Chinese people on what it means to be ‘modern’.⁵ Additionally, the Meiji government in Japan attempted to construct Western methods of sanitations and dwellings in order to turn the Japanese into a ‘civilised’ race.⁶ Therefore, it is evident that there is a continuum that demonstrates the effective and central role housing plays in governance and constructing modernity.

1. Tim Summers, China’s Hong Kong, Politics of a Global City, 2019, pp. 127-135 [↩]
2. Steve Tsang, A Modern History of Hong Kong, 2003, p. 204 [↩]
3. Wah Kiu Yat Po, December 19th 1963: https://mmis.hkpl.gov.hk/coverpage/-/coverpage/view?_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_hsf=%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8&_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_actual_q=%28%20verbatim_dc.collection%3A%28%22Old%5C%20HK%5C%20Newspapers%22%29%20%29%20AND+%28%20%28%20allTermsMandatory%3A%28true%29%20OR+all_dc.title%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20OR+all_dc.creator%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20OR+all_dc.contributor%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20OR+all_dc.subject%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20OR+fulltext%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20OR+all_dc.description%3A%28%E5%BD%A9%E8%99%B9%E9%82%A8%29%20%29%20%29&_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_sort_field=score&p_r_p_-1078056564_c=QF757YsWv5%2FH7zGe%2FKF%2BFApeJWgOkWwE&_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_o=2&_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_sort_order=desc&_coverpage_WAR_mmisportalportlet_filter=dc.publicationdate_dt%3A%5B1960-01-01T00%3A00%3A00Z+TO+1969-12-31T15%3A59%3A59Z%5D) By putting resources into public housing, it implies that the British colonial government is trying to introduce measures that aims to solve the most pressing problem in Hong Kong at the time, which is affordable housing and having a roof.  As mentioned in the article, each apartment does not have its own bathroom or kitchen and each apartment has an average space of 300 sq ft.  It can be seen as a massive milestone for the colony, as prior to the beginning of the scheme, the government constantly faced budget constraints and lack of policy direction in order to implement this plan, but within the timespan of a decade, the government managed to co-ordinate and build over seven public housing estate, each being able to house over a total of 100,000 residents of a population of nearly 3.4 million. (( Steve Tsang, A Modern History of Hong Kong, 2003, pp. 204-205 [↩]
4. Steve Tsang, A Modern History of Hong Kong, 2003, pp. 204-205 [↩]
5. Elizabeth LaCouture, Dwelling in the House, Family, House and Home in Tianjin, China, 1860 – 1960, 2021 [↩]
6. Jordan Sand, House and Home in Modern Japan: Reforming Everyday Life 1880 – 1930, 2005 [↩]

[Hill Stations] are areas where French can live, work and firmly establish our race. Indigenous peoples are currently sparse enough to avoid having to evict anyone. Should all these high-altitude regions be populated by settlers, farmers, planters, and French breeders- as is possible and as it must be- and civilization in Indochina, the sovereignty of France in this part of the Far East will be establish indestructibly.¹

This passage in Paul Doumer’s Situation de I’Indo-Chine articulates the prevailing view held by French colonisers during the conquest of Indochina. When the French arrived in Indochina, they were confronted with a climate that starkly contrasted with their homeland in Europe. The tropical climate was characterised by its high temperature, oppressive humidity, and a range of diseases that were largely unfamiliar to settlers. Although French adventures, settlers and soldiers, were captivated by Indochina’s beauty, many of them struggled to love in the region comfortably. The French and prominent Dr. Le Dantec stated that ‘the negative influence exerted over time by tropical climates on the health of Europeans… has been and remains the most serious obstacle to our colonisation efforts. This quote underscores the gravity of the situation where health quickly became the foremost concern of French colonisers.

The need to combat the adverse effects of the tropical climate spurred architectural and spatial transformations. The French introduced a new concept of territory and environment – the hill stations. The most notable example is Dalat, which aimed to recreate an approximation of their home environment and climate, and provide a respite from the harsh tropical lowlands. Hill stations had no equivalent in Indochina; their creation was ex nihilo² Everything had to be decided, designed and built. This developed a new conception of the way that territories could be inhabited, more significantly where the French could ‘firmly establish [their] race.’ This phrase is crucial echoing Social Darwinism and its notions of racial inequality and racial competition, and the ideological motivations behind the creation of this space. Furthermore, the creation of such a space was not just a response to the tropical climate as it represented a deliberate effort to create a space where the French could exert their power. by demonstrating their ability to conquer the tropical environment, the French clearly believed that they could justify their presence in Indochina.

In general, these elevated retreats challenge conventional understanding of ‘tropicality.’ The well-renowned geographer and anthropologist Pierre Gourou emphasised the need to recognise diversity and move beyond simplified definitions of tropicality. The space of hill stations such as Dalat challenge the conventional notions of tropicality, forcing a reconsideration of the region’s climate as more than uniformly hot and humid. Hill stations introduce the idea of microclimates within tropical regions, where altitude could mitigate the intensity of the heat. Furthermore, in this particular context of the development of Dalat, it provides a useful lens through which spatial history can be explored. The work of Eric Jenning’s is the foundational premise of this discussion, for Jennings’s work was the first to uncover the importance of Dalat.

Dalat lies in the heart of Vietnam’s central highlands and has an unique history. Dalat was designed to be a sanctuary from the tropical rigours of Indochina. Its cooler climate, nestled amid pine forests and rolling hills, provided not only a physical respite but also a mental escape from the conventional definitions of tropicality.³ The bacteriologist Alexandre Yesin, protégé of the renowned French chemist Louis Pasteir, peitioned the French governor-general, Paul Doumer, to create a resort centre in the highlands. By 1907, Da Lat had been selected as the location for such a town so started urban planning under the leadership pf Ernst Hebrard. A French journalist described the result:

[In Dalat] French determination has created an elegant and harmonious town, developed in such a way that it has become a veritable little paradise, in a setting of flowered gardens and pine trees… In designing the town, we avoided pretentious and unattractive buildings. Everywhere, delectable villas hide behind lovely gardens, gardens full of flowers from Europe. Roads are wide, asphalted, and offering breathing room. On the vast artificial lake’s limpid waters, majestic swans swim by. Tennis courts and a perfectly conceived gold course add a sporting note to the resort.⁴.

Through the use of extensive hyperbole one is able to detect the cultural superiority that the French wished to emit in their mission to create a utopia.  A ‘little paradise’ that would be entirely French in its vegetation, aesthetics and its amenities. But as Eric Jenning’s insists Dalat is a ‘singular, unexpected, almost incoherent place,’ as on the one hand it was an articulation of power but on the other it is a place that showcases colonial anxiety and the limitations of the french in adapting to the tropicality.⁵ This helps to provide a wealth of knowledge that advances and challenges pre-existing notions.

Firstly, in the European perceptions of tropical climates, there often emerged vivid descriptions of disease-ridden discomfort and extreme weather conditions. While there’s a measure of truth in these descriptions, it is particularly intriguing to examine the construction of the Xuan Huong Lake in Dalat. In its construction the lake was intended to serve as an oasis of comfort, designed to offer a stark contrast to the challenging tropical conditions and provide an idyllic setting for relaxation and recreation. Ironically, this man-made lake at the centre of the town, together with increased migration from surrounding areas with endemic malaria, resulted in bringing mosquitoes and humans together.⁶ Malaria was a grave menace to the French rule in Indochina. This unintended consequences underscores the limited understanding of the complexities of the tropical environment by the French authorities. Their focus on creating comfortable and European-style spaces in the midst of tropical challenges led to unforeseen health risks.

Second is the tension between the preservation of identity, and cultural hybridity. Notions of tropicality stress colonial exclusivity, but Dalat became witness to the proliferation of Vietnamese interactions which significantly altered its spatial history. Despite their best efforts to create a French Dalat utopia where ‘delectable villas hid behind lovley gardens, gardens full of flowers from Europe,’ the very act of colonisation ensured that the local culture and people would play a significant role in shaping the city. Vietnamese labourers, both on plantations and in the construction of railways, were essential for making the French vision reality, and their labour left an indelible mark on Dalat’s cultural landscape. Moreover, the presence of Vietnamese elites and the middle class for vacationing and leisure further eroded the French colonial vision of exclusivity. Not only did these interactions influence the city’s demographics, but they also created a unique cultural hybridity. This can be observed in the monuments and temples constructed in Dalat, including the Thein Vuong Co Sat Pragoda and the Truc Lam Buddhist temple. ⁷ The attempts to create utopia that would preserve French identity, also contributed to a place that showcased cultural hybridity, transcending the boundaries of a purely French enclave.

The very act of attempting to ‘establish their’ race in Dalat led to a situtaion where the city became a contradiction to preserved notions of tropicality, Instead of a purely European, exotic, and unchanging landscape, Dalate became a dynamic and culturally diverse place that challenged the colonial agenda. Indeed, by studying a particular place in time, one is able to gained a much comprehensive understanding of the concept of tropicality in all its complexities.

1. Paul Doumer, Situation de I’Indo-Chine. 1897-1901, cited in Aline Demay, Tourism and Colonisation in Indochina 1898,1939, p.49 [↩]
2. Aline Demay, Tourism and Colonisation in Indochina 1898,1939, p. 47. [↩]
3. Eric T.  Jennings, Dalat and the making and undoing of French Indochina, p. 1 [↩]
4. ‘A French Journalist for L’Asie nouvelle,’ in Eric T.  Jennings ‘Urban Planning, Architecture, and Zoning At Dalat, Indochina, 1900-1944, Historical Reflections, 33:2 (2007), p327 [↩]
5. Eric T. Jennings,  Dalat and the making and undoing of French Indochina, p.4 [↩]
6. Michitake Aso, ‘Patriotic hygiene:Tracing new places of knowledge production about malaria in Vietnam, 1919-75,’ Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 44:4 (2013), p.433. [↩]
7. Eric T. Jennings,  Dalat and the making and undoing of French Indochina, p.  171- 172. [↩]

Figure 1. The excerpts of newspaper

The study of the tropics was prevalent throughout the previous century when imperial colonisation was still dominant around the globe. Against this backdrop, an article from a local Singaporean newspaper The Straits Echo, titled “Health in the Tropics”, published on 6 February 1914, became the focus of this blog. Focused on the well-being of Europeans residing in the tropics, the article claims that “while the white man individually can exist in the tropics, racially he cannot persist Acclimatisation is not possible.”¹ This perspective inherently suggested that the white race and the tropics were mutually exclusive, proposing an inability for integration. Drawing from the insights of the article, the blog contends that the broad study of the tropics of the time was inherently a study of racial distinctions. Given this context, the emergence of the study of tropics served as a vehicle for manifesting and solidifying racial differentiations within these landscapes.

The opening statement of the newspaper article posits that, “Man is the creature of his environment; he is what he is by virtue of his surroundings.”² It shows the author’s firm belief in the intimate correlation between the environment and the creation, formation, and perpetuation of the human race. The author proceeded to highlight what the Europeans perceived as the most substantial detriment inflicted upon the white race by the tropics – the direct impact on “the function of the nervous system.”³ The author gave many examples to clarify the concrete harm. For example, in India, “The Duke of Wellington never met a good-tempered Englishman.”³ In addition, “it has been written in India that there the European struggles during the first, dwindles and degenerates during the second, and becomes extinct as such, during the third or fourth generation.”⁴ Such a description of the offspring of the white race bred in the tropics made the incompatibility between the white race and the tropics more tangible. It indicated that particular regions breed distinct racial identities, suggesting that Europeans acclimated to such settings would inevitably succumb to a deteriorating state, transforming into an ailing race. The author’s narrative starkly presented these two entities as entirely mutually exclusive. The prolonged residence of whites in the tropics would result in the erosion of their inherent racial characteristics. The tropical environment, as per the author’s depiction, emerged as a significant threat perilously jeopardizing the continuity of the white race.

This exploration of the incompatibility of the white race with the tropics essentially embodies the European expression of racial distinction. This expression was not limited in Singapore. Similar expressions surfaced in other colonial territories like the French colony of Hanoi in Vietnam and the Dutch colony of Jakarta in Indonesia. In Singapore, Europeans emphasised the eternal damage to the white nervous system caused by the environment of the tropics. In Hanoi, the French colonial government of the time published the French guides on hygiene, which “attempted to systematize and rationalize architecture through the lens of science … (to) reduce the discomfort of living in tropical climates.”⁵ In Jakarta, “European residents repeatedly tried to escape the ziektenhaard (breeding ground for disease) by continually moving southwards away from the northern old city,”⁶ and “racialized the previous class based divisions between urban spaces and urban populations,”⁷ which led directly to the Jakarta’s fragmented modern water supply system. These instances collectively illustrate the European perception of the incongruity between the tropics and the white race. The Europeans intended in their colonies to separate the local populations from the Western settlers, establishing communities that mirrored societal conditions from their home countries. In Singapore, the studies of tropic disease cautioned the white race against prolonged stays in the tropics for a long time. In Hanoi, the white race was required to ensure its safety and purity while differentiating itself from the local race by following the guidelines published by the Europeans. In Jakarta, white people prioritised their water supply needs and built modern water supply systems for their ethnicity.

These examples demonstrate the European’s effort to delineate racial distinctions. The endeavor was driven by the singular aim of safeguarding European own race and ensuring its sustained existence in tropical territories. Whether manifested through a newspaper article with a study highlighting potential harm for Europeans in tropical climates, the publication of French hygiene guidelines in Hanoi, or the establishment of a new water supply system in Jakarta, the primary objective essentially centred on differentiating races of that era. These initiatives were primarily geared toward securing the continuation of European livelihoods rather than conducting comprehensive, inclusive studies encompassing the broader spectrum of racial experiences within these contexts.

1. ‘Health in the Tropics’, The Straits Echo, Singapore, 2 February 1914, p. 141 https://eresources.nlb.gov.sg/newspapers/digitised/article/straitsechomail19140206-1.2.27?qt=tropic,%20hygiene&q=tropic%20hygiene [accessed 29 October 2023]. [↩]
2. ‘Health in the Tropics’, p. 141. [↩]
3. Ibid. [↩] [↩]
4. Ibid. [↩]
5. Laura Victoir and Victor Zatsepine, Harbin to Hanoi: The Colonial Built Environment in Asia, 1840 to 1940 (Hongkong, 2013), p. 234. [↩]
6. Freek Colombijn and Joost Coté, Cars, Conduits, and Kampongs: The Modernization of the Indonesian City, 1920-1960 (2014), p.66. [↩]
7. Colombijn and Coté, Cars, Conduits, and Kampongs, p.68. [↩]

When discussing the ideology of Orientalism, one would naturally refer to Edward Said’s explanation of Orientalism proposed in 1978, that is, “the East as its (the West’s) inferior and essentialized ‘other’.”¹ Felix Driver similarly claims that in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, the Europeans considered the oriental world a chaotic place. They should make it an orderly place in the name of enlightenment.² [2] Both arguments highlight the European perceptions of the inherent inferiority of the oriental world. Nevertheless, this blog will offer an alternative perspective prevalent in the early 19^th century and argue that, instead of casting the oriental world into an inferior position, the Europeans viewed it as an undiscovered place – a big cabinet of curiosities that was neutrally observed. Specifically, the Europeans’ perceptions were inconsistent, lacking a unified idea towards the Orient and its inhabitants. The Europeans maintained a neutral attitude towards the oriental world. This big cabinet of curiosities stimulated a sense of novelty and diversity contrary to Driver’s description – a sense of salvation. The blog draws upon excerpts from An Account of the Kingdom of Cabul as examples to illustrate these assertions.

Published in 1815, An Account of the Kingdom of Cabul was finished by Mountstuart Elphinstone, a Scottish diplomat and colonial administrator.³ The book chronicled his journey into the oriental land, which has many of the cultural and topographical hallmarks of “the Orient.”⁴ His narratives on one of the book’s chapters – Book II, Chapter I: General Account of The Inhabitants of Afghaunistaun highlighted the oriental world’s diverse and multifaceted nature in the early 19^th century, rather than perceiving the oriental land as homogenous. The author’s observation of the diversity of the orient world led to a neutral attitude, avoiding the denigrating view often associated with Europeans of that era.

Elphinstone’s portrayal of the oriental world in his book resembled a vast cabinet of curiosities teeming with novelties distinct from Europe. According to David Arnold, Elphinstone introduced the elements such as camels, oases, mirages, date palms, the “Jewish” countenance of girls, which invoked many typical oriental images that established for later writers a rich repertoire of Oriental scenes and emblems.⁵ Furthermore, he offered unique geographical views on the oriental land. He noted, “he would be amazed at the wide and unfrequented deserts, and the mountains, covered with perennial snow.”⁶ These novelties had established the foundation of the cabinet of curiosities because they were numerous and surprising. What stands out remarkably was the lack of homogeneity within the oriental realm itself. Elphinstone’s comparative analysis between different parts of the Afghaun land and between the Afghaun land and India were great presentations. In the Afghaun land, he found “it difficult to select those great features, which all possess in common, and which give a marked national character to the whole of the Afghauns.”⁷ Moveover, in India, he highlighted “every movement originates in the government or its agents, and where the people absolutely go for nothing,” while in the Afghaun, “the control of the government is scarcely felt, and where every man appears to pursue his own inclinations, undirected and unrestrained.”⁸ Apparently, even within the oriental landscape, a unified set of characteristics remained elusive.

The rich tapestry of novelties and diverse elements within the oriental world contributed significantly to the construction of the cabinet, shaping Elphinstone’s impartial understanding of this intriguing sphere. When discussing the characteristics of the Afghaun, he adeptly balanced admiration for their strengths with an honest acknowledgment of their weaknesses. Positively, he noted, “he would scarce fail to admire their martial and lofty spirit, their hospitality”,⁹ and “he would admire their strong and active forms, their independence and energy of their character.”¹⁰ Negatively, he mentioned, “he would find it difficult to comprehend how a nation could subsist in such disorder; and would pity whose minds were trained by their unhappy situation to fraud and violence, to rapine, deceit, and revenge.”⁹ Instead of adopting a one-sided stance of praise or denigration, Elphinstone viewed their characteristics through a nuanced lens, offering a balanced narrative. This neutral discourse blended with emotional empathy and rational assessment, created an organic cabinet of curiosities.

Overall, the blog intends to present a view different from the contemporary interpretations of the European understanding of the oriental world. Instead of considering the Orient as the weak, the early 19^th-century traveller Mountstuart Elphinstone constructed a big oriental cabinet of curiosities. He showcased the distinguishable landscapes of the oriental land, highlighted the internal variations of this land, and expressed the neutral discourse instead of forming a stereotype of degrading the Orient. The big oriental cabinet of curiosities was therefore established by the land’s novelty and diversity, and the rational assessment of Elphinstone.

1. David Arnold, The Tropics and Travelling Gaze (2006), p. 119. [↩]
2. Felix Driver, “Imagining the Tropics: Views and Visions of the Tropical World,” Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography, 25: no. 1 (2004), p. 14. [↩]
3. Arnold, The Tropics and Travelling Gaze, p. 122. [↩]
4. Ibid., p. 123. [↩]
5. Ibid. [↩]
6. Mountstuart Elphinstone, Account of the Kingdom of Cabul (1815), p. 149. [↩]
7. Elphinstone, Account of the Kingdom of Cabul, p. 148. [↩]
8. Elphinstone, Account of the Kingdom of Cabul, p. 150. [↩]
9. Ibid., p. 149. [↩] [↩]
10. Ibid., p. 150. [↩]