Youth and Empire
Trans-Colonial Childhoods in British and French Asia
David M. Pomfret


Chapter 1

Introduction: Childhood and the Reordering of Empire

In 1905 Helena May, the wife of a British colonial administrator, reflected upon the long journey back to England from Hong Kong with the words, “We had quite a nice voyage home, in spite of the 24 children!”1 As May’s comment suggests, empire set not only adults on the move but children too. Scholars interested in the movement of children and their families in empire have often discussed this in relation to zones of white settlement and metropolitan emigration schemes.2 Compared with those travelling to white settler colonies, the number of European children moving out to Hong Kong and other possessions in East and Southeast Asia remained few. Adults defined their presence in such places as, ideally, fleeting. This has led scholars to neglect such children in imperial and colonial history. But this study argues that the activities, mobilities and identities of children in parts of the world where white settlement was considered neither possible nor desirable were central to the fashioning of empire and global modernity. Youth, defined here as both a cultural category and a social group, constituted a principal point around which the relationship of empire was reconstructed in modern times.

Empires were sustained by a fundamental mobility of people, commodities, capital and information and by novel technologies of global communication.3 And as these technologies reduced travel times in the late nineteenth century, greater numbers of European women and children moved between metropoles and colonies. With this, the management of the domestic environment became entwined with new forms of social ordering. The presence of young people reshaped cultures of colonialism. Children’s mobility transformed the bases of colonial domination. Youth and Empire examines how childhood and youth were produced and lived in empire for what this can tell us about the reordering of colonial space, aesthetics of colonial modernity, practices of racial reproduction and fantasies of control in the imperial imagination. It does so by focusing upon the East and Southeast Asian centres of Europe’s two largest imperial powers, Britain and France, and the networks that connected them.

The scope of this book extends to colonial centres in Asia defined as ‘Tropical’ in order to show how childhood was crucial to definitions of race and thus European authority. Notions of age-related vulnerability drew childhood to the centre of a long-running battle over the viability and longevity of the European presence in these parts of the world. The period discussed is bracketed by important events: from the 1880s, when children and families moved out to East and Southeast Asian centres in larger numbers, to the onset of the Second World War, when Japanese military expansion curtailed European imperial power. During this period childhood emerged at the heart of claims for a new, morally informed governance built around the home. While the coercive technologies of gunboat and garrison were never entirely superseded, they were complemented by assertions of superiority in the field of culture focusing upon children, the family and new domestic norms.

Women and children had begun to move from metropolitan Britain to Asia in greater numbers after the East India Company lost the power to restrict immigration in 1833. Their presence grew much more rapidly after the Suez Canal opened in 1869, reducing travel times and increasing levels of safety and comfort on board oceangoing vessels. As passenger lists lengthened, European children formed an increasingly noticeable part of the societies developing in important East and Southeast Asian colonial centres. While children made up only a small proportion of the total populations of these centres (and the accuracy of these figures must remain in doubt), census data suggests they made up a substantial proportion of ‘European’ colonial communities. In Hong Kong, the number of children rose fivefold from 1893 to 1908. In Singapore some 499 of the 2,302 Europeans and Americans enumerated as ‘residents’ were under age fifteen by 1891.4 In 1883 the 230 children recorded as living in Saigon constituted 25 percent of the European population, while a census taken in February 1905 in Hanoi revealed that 470, or approximately 20 percent of the 2,665 French civilians were children.5 The young remained well represented as a proportion of the foreign societies in these centres up to the Second World War. In 1929, a census snapshot revealed 2,833 European children under age fifteen living in Saigon (with slightly more boys than girls), or 21 percent of the European population, compared with 1,744 in Hanoi (where girls predominated), or 38 percent.6 There were 2,160 women and 1,183 children in Singapore in 1931, and 2,557 women and 1,814 children in Hong Kong in the same year. Often children outnumbered civilian women in British and French Empire centres in Asia.7

Indeed, ‘European’ children often constituted a larger proportion of their ethnic-racial grouping than did those defined as indigenous to Asia. This was especially noticeable in societies with ‘frontier’ characteristics, such as Singapore and Hong Kong, where for much of the period male migrant labour predominated and women were relatively few. In Singapore, for example, children formed a larger proportion of the European population (at 22%) in 1891 than they did among the Chinese (10%) and ‘Tamils and other Indians’ (13%), and they were only slightly smaller as a proportion of ‘Malays and other natives of the archipelago’ (26%).8 In Hong Kong approximately 23 percent of the ‘British Resident Civil Population’ of 3,761 were under age fifteen in 1911, but only around 15 percent of the Chinese population were in the same range. In British colonies children remained well represented as a proportion of the European population well into the interwar era.9 While native children often made up much larger proportions of those living in Vietnamese-dominated centres under French rule, such as Saigon and Hanoi, young people also constituted around 30 percent of the total European population of the colony Cochinchina (present-day southern Vietnam) and the protectorate of Tonkin (now northern Vietnam) from 1922 to 1937.10

The significance of young people in empire extended far beyond the mere sociological fact of their presence. The arrival of greater numbers of children in Asia triggered a reordering of empire that made childhood a focal point of projections of imperial authority. Across empires foreign communities debated not only whether children should be accommodated in the tropics, but how they might help to define the boundaries of elite identity. At points of intense interethnic contact dominated by fast-paced commercial activity, childhood and youth served claims for a moral shift, and for ‘progress,’ as this was contested and redefined. The arrival of children in larger numbers sparked engagements with middle-class norms of childrearing and the need for their wider dissemination. And these in turn sustained essentialist ideals of childhood and race in places where racial-national identity was constantly threatened with effacement.

Across empires ideals of childhood held out the tantalising promise of tying together societies composed of ‘settlers’ and ‘expatriates’ proclaiming diverse ethnic affiliations. Recent histories have begun to revise older views of French and British ‘communities’ in East and Southeast Asia as mere accomplices of imperial expansion, revealing these groupings of settlers, businessmen, officials and religious workers instead as fractured and fissiparous. Robert Bickers, Christian Henriot, Eric Jennings, J. P. Daughton and others have revealed that they were rarely committed to any overarching programme or imperial aim.11 In the face of such diversity, those determined to assert the nation on the ‘frontier’ rallied behind more aloof genres of colonialism. As they built claims for racial difference upon evidence of the impossibility of white settlement, childhood became a key resource through which racial difference could be defined. Consequently, the question of how to raise children in nonsettlement colonies linked the ‘low pragmatism’ of colonialism, as Bickers and Henriot have termed it, with high politics.12

This helps to explain why contemporaries were so fascinated by children on the move, as the quote above suggests. Helena May adopted a mock-exasperated tone to document the presence of children at sea, but she and women like her emerged as celebrants-in-chief of children in nonsettlement colonies as they embodied new elite norms. In places such as Hong Kong and Singapore, which lacked the grandeur of the imperial cities of the British Raj, childhood and youth became especially important—in different guises—as referents of cultural authority and markers of ‘civilisation.’ And as Japanese military expansion became a menacing norm during the interwar years, debates over rival ‘civilisations’ pushed children, and the ability to protect them under the British and French flags, powerfully to the fore.

In colonial contexts childhood functioned as a central interpretive device, a measure of the highest societal and national values. And it could serve by extension as an index not only of ‘civility’ but also of ‘incivility.’ For the British, the example of the massacre of women and in particular children during the Siege of Cawnpore (modern Kanpur) in 1857 served to monumentalise Indian barbarity and immaturity and to summon a sense of white racial solidarity, and maturity. For the French, too, children and childhood would prove to be central to the iconography of empire, to imperial rhetoric and to the cultural disparagement that supported claims to rule. To be sure, British and French engagements with the question of youth and empire diverged along the fault lines of quite different intellectual traditions, views of nature and imperial ideals, but across empires childhood and youth became surrogates for culture, and central themes in the justificatory rhetoric of the so-called civilising mission.

As childrearing became more closely tied up with European claims for cultural and political authority, the bodies of children, circulating between metropoles and colonies, defined colonial rhythms of social mobility and made abstractions such as imperialism and empire real. The significance of childhood and youth extended from domestic interiors to the highest levels of the colonial state where they sustained European efforts to segregate space, make populations legible, symbolise empires and define practices such as hygiene. Childhood and youth served as ‘screens’ onto which cultural authority, prestige and ideas about the future of imperialisms could be projected into the wider realms of colonial culture, well beyond the ‘intimate’ domain of the home.

Histories of Children as Histories of Empire

Whilst travelling in Asia in the early 1920s the press baron Lord Northcliffe remarked upon the sight of “little English children, wearing great pith helmets, in the care of Chinese amahs (nurses), playing under the trees.”13 For all that groups of adults sought to segregate their own children, the empire centres studied here were places where indigenous, immigrant and foreign cultures mixed. European children’s tendency to forge contacts across lines of ethnicity and to engage in hybrid relations, not only with domestic servants but also with indigenous children, was a consequence of growing up in places where national culture and its institutions were often weak. While for some, children remained emblems of disassociation and dichotomy—the key to ensuring interaction did not check inequality—for others, precisely because children’s social agency (their will to act in the world) was considered distinct from that of adults it could embody possibilities for new and ‘hybrid’ interactions between diasporic communities. Colonial cultures of childhood were often profoundly mixed and disruptive of claims for racial homogeneity. Turning our attention to categories of age and how they were produced and lived in empire allows us to disrupt the conventional picture of ‘stable’ groups in colonial societies, and to highlight dynamism and mobility instead. Far from signalling a ‘closing up’ of European society—as scholars have often suggested—this book argues that the growing presence of children opened European communities up to new and unsettling influences.14

Since the 1960s a copious literature has exposed the shifting constructedness of ‘childhood’ and ‘youth.’15 An important starting point for such discussions was Philippe Ariès’s seminal work, Centuries of Childhood, and much subsequent scholarship picked up on his general argument that youth was culturally constructed and performed. Studies traced shifting interpretations of childhood from the Enlightenment period in Europe. As older, Augustinian assumptions of childhood as constituting a site of ‘original sin’ began to be hemmed back, so too were Calvinist injunctions for the use of corporal punishment to discipline children. The Swiss-born naturalised French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, whose work was fashionable in elite circles in the second half of the eighteenth century, promoted childhood as a site of ‘innocence.’ During the nineteenth century European elites reimagined childhood as predegenerate and degenerate, malleable and essential, while challenging children’s economic value.16 Family size declined across the century as Europe industrialised. The extension of public secular education and the reduction of child labour gradually made children a charge upon, rather than benefit to, household economies. The protection of vulnerable children, through labour reform, education reform and the abolition of slavery, emerged as a cause upon which key liberal victories were won. Consequently, the category of ‘the child’ came to define modernness and, as Ann Pellegrini has observed, it underwrote many of European modernity’s pivotal moral claims.17

This study follows such work in that it does not rely upon an a priori, sociological definition of ‘youth’ or ‘childhood’ or a legalistic/biological one affixing a determined age. Instead what counts as childhood or youth here is what contemporary actors understood these categories to mean. In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries distinctions between childhood, adolescence and youth as discrete phases became clearer. However, slippage also often occurred. Commentators often drew children within a larger category of ‘youth,’ or referred to those who were almost adults as ‘children.’ The youth of the title is therefore drawn in quite deliberately broad terms to include younger and older children (the latter sometimes referred to as ‘adolescents’).

As recent scholarship has emphasised, age categories were always enmeshed with other variables—gender, class, ethnicity, sexuality and race—in the reproduction of hierarchies of power.18 However, while acknowledging that age always acts in concert with other variables in structuring power relations and that age categories are unstable, scholars have argued that youthful subjectivities do share certain cross-cultural continuities. As anthropologists have pointed out, notwithstanding considerable cultural variance the differences understood to mark children and childhood out from adults and adulthood in Europe can also be found in other cultures. Such differences include, for example, a close association of childhood with societal reproduction, links to time, becoming and ephemerality.19 Children’s experiences of childhood in empire were qualitatively different from those of adults on account of their age. A critical question addressed here is how categories of age could sometimes become so important that they might at times obscure other social differences—such as those of race, class, and gender—while never existing entirely independently of them. As this book shows, age categories could function as a focal point of trans-ethnic connections as well as dislocations. They delimited difference but could also sometimes function to disavow it.

‘Colonial childhoods’ were coproductions between adults and children. Within specific spaces of empire the categories of childhood and youth were abstracted and materialised, and built around normative concepts, social institutions and subjective identities; but individual children negotiated and contributed to this process. The experience of mobility, of living and travelling across empires, defined colonial childhoods. As children moved within the networks connecting the major centres that developed under British and French governance in Asia, they gave expression to new cultures of movement. They forged interethnic connections on sea lanes and liners, wrote back home and participated in a variety of other fluid, trans-colonial practices. They contextualised experiences in relation to different European and Asian settings and accessed new knowledge and social interactions, which sometimes connected them to discrete national identities but which also led them to explore new subjectivities beyond national affiliations. In doing so, children found ways to speak back to assumptions of their own vulnerability, upon which segregation, difference and ultimately colonial authority were coming to depend. Consequently, as we shall see, in colonial homes and in public spaces young people never merely maintained empires’ social and racial hierarchies; they also destabilised them.

This book focuses upon imperial projects as global processes with which young people engaged on their own terms. To foreground such engagements it examines young people in empire in their own right instead of addressing them as embedded within or appendictory to larger social units such as the family. In this book, being young is not simply emphasised as a preparatory stage to being adult and nor are youthful desires interpreted as necessarily being coterminous with those of adults.20 Instead young people are identified as agents in the construction of colonial societies who developed their own ways of understanding and engaging with one another. Youth is therefore seen less as a straightforward trajectory—a becoming adult—and more as a distinct practice and a way of imagining community capable of linking distant but connected spaces.21 The young have left few traces in the historical record. However, as Nara Milanic has argued, the question of how empire was constitutive of a sense of their own youthful subjectivities deserves attention.22 An in-depth analysis of children’s personal experiences of growing up under colonialism falls beyond the focus of this study. However, I have attempted throughout to nuance adults’ debates and representations of childhood by using materials offering insights into children’s lives, such as diaries, personal letters and memoirs. Sensitivity to the dialogic nature of this relationship and to children’s voices can help us to shed light upon the difference that children made to histories of empire.

Another key argument made in this book is that European children’s presence within and across empires, often in didactic modes, drew different, racialised models of childhood into contrastive relation. The more intensively state and nonstate actors projected protective, civilising claims onto European children ‘out East,’ the more they highlighted the supposed inadequacies of Asian children and childrearing practices. However, because colonial governance was couched in terms of a ‘civilising mission,’ the resulting disparities left authorities vulnerable. In the twentieth century international agencies and Asian reformers exploited the gulf between ideal and real childhoods to critique colonialisms as neglectful or insufficiently benevolent. Across the period European and Asian elites grew increasingly concerned with the implications of understanding childhood as a state of difference. As an idea and a set of cultural practices, childhood became a key battleground in Asian reformers’ struggles to become modern. Modernisers exposed crosscutting strands of moral incommensurability and moral universalism running through representations of children in colonial contexts; and between protective ideals and social realities. Meanwhile youthful adherents of anticolonial nationalist movements contested imperial governments’ tutelary claims over children as a source of legitimacy. These struggles exposed the peril of building justifications of liberal governmentalities around appeals to the unstable subjectivities of youth.

A new typology of ‘other’ children, dangerous and endangered, threw the limits of European responsibility for child subjects into question. The plight of Vietnamese, Chinese and other children trafficked into ‘slavery’ in British- and French-governed centres became a global cause célèbre and a test case for empire. The clamour around ‘native education’ from the turn of the century drove French and British officials to address the question of how to manage the problematic figure of the socially mobile young scholar. The problem of the abandoned ‘Eurasian’ child also demanded urgent attention, especially as indigenous anticolonial nationalism took shape against the backdrop of the looming Japanese threat. The essentially comparative debates carried on in relation to such children provoked initially reluctant colonial governments into surprisingly far-reaching commitments because European claims to civility and the future of empire itself were at stake. Examining the histories of these engagements, this book argues that children and youth, far from being a marginal and ephemeral presence in colonial places, were key constituents in the modern history of empire.

Historians, anthropologists and sociologists influenced by gender studies have contributed to a recent ‘turn’ in the historiography of empire highlighting the significance of the home, family and childrearing and the significance attributed by contemporaries to categories of age.23 Recent analyses of the colonial ‘intimate’—particularly domestic practices, childrearing and sexuality—have flagged the importance of childhood to the fashioning of subjectivities and the racial membership of colonial communities.24 Ann Stoler’s insightful works on the French and Dutch empires, for example, have highlighted the significance of sentiment and sexuality, the family and domesticity to the fashioning of racial identity. As she puts it, “how children acquired thoughts and feelings was a key to colonial strategies that looked more to consent than coercive control.”25

Elizabeth Buettner has focused upon Britons in the Indian subcontinent, addressing the question of how race and age connected with imperial identity. She asserts the importance of networks connecting British children with ‘home’ to their acquisition of an imperial identity. She also examines the significance of family practices, including childrearing, to the reproduction of imperial rule by discussing medical and climatic anxieties surrounding children and adolescents, concerns about British children’s contacts with Indian servants, and education.26 By taking the focus to the level of children, such work is suggestive of how we can shed new light upon hegemonic practices while unsettling the claims for comprehensiveness of older histories focusing upon state-level political and economic change.

This book seeks to build upon the insights that these works have provided into the fluidity and instability of class, gender and racial formation projects, and the significance of intimacy to the working out of “colonial regimes of truth.”27 It acknowledges the key argument of Stoler and others about the importance of sexuality to colonial governance.28 However, this book also proceeds from the viewpoint that governance was not always about sex, or gender. Colonial ‘frictions’ were shot through with other important, subjective trajectories, notably those of age. Indeed, the feminist-inspired turn in the historiography of empire has provided a tantalising glimpse of the significance of age to empire. But precisely because these works primarily focused upon gender, the dimension of age has yet to be as fully explored. There have been many analyses of European women in colonial contexts, but very few of children and childhood.29 Earlier studies have, then, highlighted the potential for further work linking the presence of young people in empire with continental and global projects of empire building.30

Britain and France, which possessed the two largest empires in the period under discussion, offer a valuable focus for discussion. In both metropoles, across the nineteenth century, modern ideals and experiences of youth developed in direct or indirect relation to nation and empire. Though sociocultural categories of age emerged in dialogic fashion and were broadly comparable across cultures, ideals of childhood varied from one national culture to the next, and within the cities and neighbourhoods of an urbanising Europe.31 Empire building was central to Britain’s earlier and more intensive and extensive experience of industrial urbanism, but it also directly informed thinking about youth. Britain had reached the point of urban-rural equipoise in 1850. France would take another century to do the same. As European society secularised, the British middle classes invested childhood with new, romantic, class-coded moral meanings. As John Gillis and others have shown, childhood was recast in domestic mode, as a noneconomic, ‘sacralised’ stage of life, and a time of innocence before the ‘fall.’32 While the ideally happy middle-class British child was recast within this domestic frame, elites reread working-class children as racially ‘other’ using terminology imported from empire.33 From midcentury Social Darwinist ideas of progress or regression as the outcome of competition between nations or races gained ground in educated circles. This drew into sharper focus the threat posed by working-class youth to the nation. The term ‘degeneracy’ functioned as a shorthand to refer to a variety of pathologies acting upon urban populations. Understood both as environmentally induced and inheritable, this condition helped to make the living conditions of working-class youth a critical issue in the eyes of those with aspirations to revive imperial Britain.

By the late nineteenth century the British Empire, an assemblage of territories acquired through conquest, treaty and exchange, had passed its zenith and appeared to be heading toward eclipse. Britain had recovered from the loss of the American colonies, the Indian Rebellion of 1857 and the Jamaican Uprising of 1865 to fashion the largest empire in the world, but in the face of the challenges posed by the United States, Japan, a renascent France and a dynamic Germany, late-century British imperialism displayed a broadly conservative dynamic. New territorial acquisitions in this phase of hegemonic maturity came mainly to protect existing trade routes or prize possessions such as India. In the period of ‘new imperialism’ a stark contrast opened up between styles of governance in settlement colonies pursuing trajectories toward self-government and those considered part of the empire of ‘possessions.’

In the early twentieth century the rise of anticolonial nationalism added a new edge to predictions of impending crisis. Nevertheless, an overall philosophy of empire remained lacking. Instead British imperialists often continued to justify their cause with reference to notions of evolution as a clash or conflict between incommensurable entities. Amid anxieties over fragmentation, middle-class reformers learned to interpret metropole and empire as different fronts in the same ‘civilising’ battle. At home the fate of the nation appeared to rest upon reaching and reforming working-class youth—a sizeable part of the human matériel available to the nation. In the early twentieth century the poor performance of the British armies in the Boer War and the abject condition of youthful recruits offered alarming evidence of the interlinked fates of youth and empire. Reformers identified the exposure of children to modernising political and social rationalities as crucial to warding off imperial decline. They meanwhile recast colonies as metaphorical ‘laboratories’ where new methods, or those introduced to reform young metropolitans, could be tested upon young indigènes.

In France the reconstruction of empire also coincided with state-led efforts to prepare young nationals for citizenship and modern living. The need to protect the young in order that they could in turn protect the nation became an important topic in public debate earlier here than Britain owing to the more immediate sense of threat to the nation’s borders. From the fashioning of a public primary school system in 1833 to liberal-inspired legislation of 1841 creating an eight-hour working day for children aged eight to twelve (twelve hours for those aged twelve to sixteen) the history of state-level engagement with children proceeded against this backdrop of continental rivalry. After the defeat against Prussia in 1870–71 and the loss of Alsace and Lorraine the new republican government made children the cornerstone of efforts to reconstruct the nation. The governance of children came to be closely linked to the legitimacy of the state. A republican labour law of 1874 reinforced the noneconomic status of some children. Jules Ferry’s education reforms of 1881–82 created a free, compulsory, secular education for children aged six to thirteen and enhanced legal curbs upon abusive labour conditions. Republicans sought to consolidate power by using schools as vehicles to inculcate their political ideals and secular values in children. Education reforms aimed to free the young from clerical influence, upon which the defeat against Prussia was blamed. In political iconography the revolution had often been embodied as a vigorous though vulnerable infant, exposed like the nation to threats from within and without. Republicans revived such imagery, depicting children as representatives of the new ‘civilisation’ that they hoped might awaken France from religious backwardness. A more active ideal of the child as citizen than seen in Britain emerged, though it was also a more contested one. The multitude of threats facing the nation, inside and out, including evidence of demographic weakness, ensured that childhood came to be seen more as a time to be survived than celebrated in France, and as a period of transition to adult duties (or beliefs) rather than an extended phase of idealised innocence.34

Crucially, this French republican concept of civilisation was intended for export. From the 1880s the diverse colonial lobby overcame ambivalence toward empire by casting imperial expansion in moral, civilising terms as a ‘duty’ of spreading universal liberation abroad. For Ferry and others, imperial reconstruction was certainly important to reasserting national status and prestige. Devastating defeats in the eighteenth century and in the Napoleonic Wars had reduced the French Empire to a few Caribbean holdings, Indian comptoirs, and the prison colony of Guyana. In 1871 the new French Republic took charge of the ‘old colonies’ of the first empire and those of the second: Algeria, Senegal and West Africa, Tahiti and New Caledonia, Cochinchina and Cambodia. But when the French parliament voted to reconstruct the French Empire in the 1880s, the motive force for this fragile consensus was a fusion of republican and colonial visions of empire as a collective project imbued with humanitarian and liberatory values. In this view, colonial subjects would become ‘childlike’ wards of a tutelary metropole ushering them toward a theoretically egalitarian end point. On this basis the French government had by 1914 assembled the second largest empire in the world.35

In Britain and France, empire, like youth, often served as a biological metaphor—the renewal of a living organism or the virile (national) body. Fears of imperial eclipse and evidence that Europe was ‘ageing’—especially when read against the ‘youthful’ vigour of Asian populations—haunted both colonial cultures. Critics touted empire as a solution to the damaging effects of low birth rates and other degenerative ‘pathologies.’ Desires to read empire in such terms were stronger in France, where low birth rates and other degenerative ‘pathologies’ pushed the spectre of national decline onto the public agenda somewhat earlier than in Britain. But the concept of childhood lurked within the justificatory promises of both imperialisms in the modern era.

Embedded in various policies carried out in both British and French colonial contexts was the paternal claim that colonial overlordship might transform indigenous peoples into self-disciplining subjects. French thinking about empire remained marked by struggles between competing strands of thought: revolutionary and secular, religious and aristocratic, assimilationist and associative. But colonial administrators serving republican metropolitan governments invested in comparative claims for French ‘tutelage’ as more benevolent and emancipatory than that of the British.36 In practice these claims encountered numerous setbacks on both sides. However, as Satadru Sen has shown in the case of the reformatory in British India, even the ostensible ‘failure’ of reformist tactics was in a sense productive, for it could be used to validate arguments for the innate incapacity of the individual indigène, and his unfitness for self-government. Failure could be used to legitimate the rejection of nationalists’ claims for self-rule and the deferral of the colonial ‘coming of age.’37

Paternal arguments for empire were more sternly tested in the early twentieth century as advocates of empire embraced a more active view of their social role. Critics grounded comparative interpretations of imperialism in evidence of how colonials treated their children, ‘native’ and nonnative alike. Consequently, in the postwar context childhood’s universalist dimensions came to serve powerful critiques of claims for empire as progress, social elevation or ‘civilisation.’ Urban-based Vietnamese, Chinese, Malay and other elites in British and French Asia identified children as integral to nation building and to the very project of becoming modern. Childhood came to be seen less as a subject of sentimental reflection and much more as a battleground for rival visions of the future.

New Variants: Trans-colonial Approaches to Childhood

This is a study of Europe in Asia and not primarily a study of Chinese, Vietnamese, Malay or other local ethnic-racial children and childhoods, but it does not theorise a unidirectional domination originating in Europe and simply acting upon the Asian ‘other.’ Instead it considers colonial childhoods as interacting, relational and mutually constitutive. This is a history that focuses not upon a diffusionist paradigm—the spread of ideas and people from Europe to Asia—but more on reciprocal relations and how those ideas travelled. In the commercial and administrative centres that burgeoned in Asia under British and French rule the serial nature of interethnic interconnections ensured childhoods were never simply projections of their metropolitan equivalents. They were, rather, a set of new variants engaged in a dialogue with metropolitan models but shaped by local pressures, conflicts and desires.

Europeans shared knowledge across empires, and stakeholders in empire centres produced ‘childhood’ in the aggregate. But such false unities broke down in practice along lines of gender, race and age. ‘On the ground,’ colonial childhoods took on a variety of durations, forms and meanings. The relationship between ‘Western’ and ‘local’ childhoods in colonial culture, in a period marked by European overseas expansion and entrenchment, needs to be understood in pluralistic and dialectical terms. European conceptualisations of childhood emerged from a dialogue with childhoods in East and Southeast Asia, and orientalist versions thereof. And India, Malaya, Vietnam and the China coast, as much as metropolitan France and England, were sites upon which modern childhoods were produced.38 The value of resituating the development of ‘modern European ideas’ of childhood in a trans-colonial and imperial framework is that we can then see that these ideas were in fact only partly ‘European.’

Showing how ideas about childhood went mobile and changed over time reveals how important they were to ways of thinking about, representing and contesting empire. Rather than locating some common overarching ‘imperial discourse of childhood’ acting on the global stage, the goal here is to tease out local differences and to explore how and for what purpose contemporaries—Asian and European—participated in the construction of social categories of age. Interethnic contact triggered quite different trajectories within European empires.39 As we shall see, it was precisely because childhood was flexible enough to work as a signifier of elite norms, racial authority and as a potential bridge permitting cross-cultural collaboration that it became so important to the cultures of colonialism that flourished at points of intense interethnic contact.

Until recently, historians have tended to write histories of empire within well-established national paradigms. However, in a recent ‘turn’ in imperial history, scholars have begun to argue for multicentric approaches that look to the importance of connections built beyond Europe. To be sure, the study of empires remains fundamentally about relationships between centres and peripheries, but this recent scholarship has challenged older assumptions of the metropole as ‘centre’ and the colony as ‘periphery.’ Catherine Hall has argued that metropole and colony were mutually constitutive, while Ann Stoler and Frederick Cooper have examined them as part of a “single analytic field.”40 Scholars have sought to break with the metropole-colony binary by studying multiple colonies within a single domain or empire and by turning their attention to the networks connecting them.41 Some have theorised ‘trans-national’ or diasporic networks strung between empire centres as a “web.” Tony Ballantyne, for example, has called for a reimagining of empires as “bundles of relationships” rather than as fixed and bounded entities.42 By devoting attention to imperial networks scholars have revealed these as vehicles for creating, moving and subverting European colonialisms.

Those who have called for a shift in focus beyond the singular nation-state have drawn upon ‘trans-national’ approaches, which have come into academic vogue lately. Interpretations of what is meant by ‘trans-national’ vary, but generally this involves a focusing upon units smaller or larger than nations and extending across national borders. Scholars have grasped the potential of this perspective to critique the binarisms of colonial discourse, to expose heterogeneity and to uncover the intricate processes and negotiations through which empires were fabricated.43 This perspective allows nations to be seen as fragile, constructed, ephemeral and imagined.44 Recent studies drawing upon this approach have examined, for example, how Indian Ocean connections sprang up alongside, or bypassed, the hegemonies of the British Empire, while others have examined the mobile processes—particularly the movement of goods and labour—drawing regulatory responses from authorities resulting in colonial border formation.45 The term ‘trans-national’ sounds somewhat anachronistic when applied to colonial contexts in periods when national liberation remained a distant dream. And recent research has also challenged its idealistic overtones, placing greater emphasis upon ‘frictions,’ frustrations and violence instead.46 Scholars have adopted the term ‘trans-colonial’ to refer to approaches linking multiple sites or centres, and connecting the global and national with an essentially porous ‘local.’47

The trans-colonial perspective is interesting and valuable precisely as it presupposes an alternative (but complementary) spatial framework to that of the nation or even British or French Empire ‘worlds,’ and one emphasising slippage, transfer and the weakness of national cultures. Thus far, however, even those who have adopted multisited approaches that redefine the ‘periphery’ as centre have tended to confine their studies to single empires. Revealing and important though multisited studies have been, the question remains as to whether single-empire studies can fully account for the reciprocity that defines their subject, especially at points where imperialisms overlap.48 After all, “cultural traffic,” to adopt Tony Ballantyne’s phrase, flowed serially across empires as well as within them. By moving beyond studies of unitary, nationally defined ‘empire worlds’ to embrace multicentred, pan-imperial studies, we can engage more directly with this important facet.

The need for such an approach becomes more evident when we consider places where multiple imperialisms overlapped. By the late nineteenth century, Asia had become such a place. From the Indian Ocean to the China coast the French and British imperial presence overlapped with that of the Dutch in Southeast Asia, with the Qing Empire further north (until 1911), with Germany as it emerged as a direct rival of Anglo-French commercial interests after the acquisition of Kiachow in 1898, and with the United States after Spain ceded the Philippines in the same year. Japan’s victory over China in 1895, its participation in the alliance suppressing the Boxer Uprising in 1900, and its defeat of Russia in 1905 stimulated shared fears over its further, aggressive expansion. Certainly, great-power rivalry between Britain and France played an important role in driving imperial acquisitions. The French invasion of Saigon prompted the British to secure the Kowloon peninsula in 1860 on a ninety-nine-year lease. The creation of the Union Indochinoise in 1887 influenced the British decision to create the ‘Federated Malay States’ on 1 July 1896, and to secure the lease of Wei-hai-wei and the New Territories in Hong Kong on a ninety-nine-year lease, both in 1898. Traditional accounts of empire, written as stories of nations, have often emphasised rivalry. However, multisited studies can provide new insights by bringing into focus flux, the agency of nonstate actors and ways in which empire was often essentially a collaborative venture on the ground.

In order to shed light upon the global impact and significance of youthful mobility in the British and French Empires this study looks beyond conventional national or imperial frameworks and focuses upon networked inter-Asian and interimperial interactions. It deliberately exceeds the boundaries of a single specific ‘nation,’ ‘empire,’ ‘region’ or ‘territory.’ It does so from the conviction that such an approach might better reflect the linkages of these centres as points of intense impact into wider trans-colonial and global relations. To move beyond these analytical confines I apply a multisited approach that focuses upon Europe’s two largest empires and the way youth and childhood, both in terms of ideas, ideologies and identities and as an embodied presence, moved between them.

Few have attempted comparisons between empires. A notable recent exception is Julian Go’s Patterns of Empire. This usefully models the benefits of the comparative approach, which historians have appreciated for its ability to allow true points of commonality or specificity between different cases to be more easily discerned. Comparison can shed light upon structures, patterns and evolving discourses. It can highlight what was exceptional or equivalent.49 Applied to the global history of empires it can illuminate the duality of nation and empire, and disparities between local effects and imperial purpose. However, as critics have pointed out, the danger that lurks in comparative work is that the overarching patterns identified simply reinforce or reassert the nation, in all its ‘natural’ and preeminent distinctiveness, as the central actor in the story. Go acknowledges this criticism, insisting that “colonial policies were not shaped by national character, values or styles but by the very spaces and scenes they aimed to manipulate and manage.”50 While ‘big comparison’ makes it difficult to do justice to local pressures and dynamics, he like others who have adopted a comparative approach to study empire, notably Philippa Levine, argue that “empire is in the details.”51 Adopting a multisited, comparative approach can help to avoid underestimating the multidimensionality and contingency of the cases discussed. Such an approach offers a picture of empires and communities as multiple, overlapping and diverse. It enables us to link multiple centres into wider global movements without jettisoning the detail that is so important to fine-grained empirical approaches dealing with questions of race, gender and other subjectivities.

Youth and Empire seeks to build upon this insight by bringing trans-colonial perspectives and the comparative method into complementary relation. Though the trans-national perspective emerged from critiques of the comparative method, the two approaches are by no means mutually exclusive, as Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka have argued.52 In places where imperialisms overlapped, in an era of rising nationalism, it is difficult to say much about ‘empire’ without taking into account its different national varieties. However, an empirically grounded comparison can allow us to critique certain established narratives or unspoken assumptions about imperialisms. As Nancy Leys Stepan has shown in her discussion of ‘Tropical’ nature, notions of empire had very different meanings in different national colonial spaces.53 But these meanings developed in conversations that cut across borders. A multicentred approach can help to show how certain ‘strategies’ worked ‘on the ground’ at different times and places within and between empires.54 This approach is used here to enable us to see how youth travelled as an idea and social group, and how it changed and was changed in the process. This approach resonates strongly with that of ‘connective comparison’ modelled by contributors to the important ‘Modern Girl around the World’ project in that it promises to take us beyond and between imperialisms without losing sight of microhistorical detail and specific, local processes.55

FIG. 1.1. Map of East and Southeast Asia. Source: Author.

In order to throw light upon the global impact and significance of youth in empire this book focuses upon connective processes, movement across political units and situated entanglements in specific centres across Asia. It examines childhood and youth as the product of a series of encounters within and between Hong Kong, Hanoi, Singapore and Saigon, which were all important colonial centres of the French and British Empires in the period under discussion. A close, comparative reading of colonial centres through a multisited approach enables us to link different scalar levels while keeping in the foreground the ways in which individuals interpreted and manipulated ideas and rooted them in social and political practice. But what did these four places have in common that allows them to be usefully compared?

Clearly, they present us with different demographic profiles and models of colonial rule, but their interconnectedness nevertheless made these centres representative cases of the more general phenomenon of empire. Though they were not geographically proximate, the centres discussed in this book had long been points of conjuncture connected by external trade. Their histories had been shaped by Chinese and Southeast Asian networks, as well as by newer European and Indian Ocean networks. Small craft had plied intermediary trade routes between the China coast, Cochinchina, Siam, Singapore, Sumatra and Java long before European ambitions to monopolise trade with China had an impact. Europe’s presence enhanced preexisting connections and linked Asian networks, through British and French Empire networks, to the rest of the world.56

The general aim of accessing the China trade, rather than any detailed plan for imperial domination, had driven successive territorial acquisitions by British and French empire-builders in Asia. In 1819 Thomas Stamford Raffles, an East India Company official based in Sumatra, advised the governor-general in India to secure the island of Singapore for the East India Company in order to protect trade between India and China via the Straits of Malacca. The island’s location on the east–west Straits of Malacca trade route allowed it to develop into a crucial entrepôt between India and China. The British secured the cession of Singapore from the Temengong of Johore in 1819, extended sovereignty over the island in 1824 and relocated the seat of government here from Penang in 1832. Two years earlier the East India Company had lost its monopoly over Asian trade and with this Singapore became a mere presidency of India, until in 1867 it became a Crown Colony as part of the Straits Settlements (which also included Penang, Dinding and Malacca).57

A free port, Singapore grew rapidly after the opening of the Suez Canal as a centre for the import of Western manufactured goods and for the export and processing of raw materials and plantation crops. Tin, copra, tapioca, rice, rubber and other goods moved through Singapore from the Malay Peninsula where expanding British power had by 1896 brought about the creation of the Federated Malay States (FMS), which included Perak, Selangor, Negeri Sembilan and Pahang. The FMS had a resident general based in Kuala Lumpur who reported to the governor in Singapore, the seat of the Legislative Council of the Straits Settlements. The rapid growth of trade saw Singapore emerge by the late nineteenth century as a regional economic hub.

In 1841 Singapore had served as the base for operations in the First Opium War (1839–42) with China, which delivered Hong Kong into British hands. On Tuesday, 26 January 1841, the hoisting of the British flag at the foot of Taipingshan formally marked the taking of Hong Kong Island. Hong Kong’s creation as a Crown Colony on 5 April 1843 followed from the Treaty of Nanking of 1842 ratifying its cession ‘in perpetuity’ to Britain from China. Hong Kong gradually rose to prominence to become an important trading and mercantile centre by the late nineteenth century.

Joint French and British action in China in the Second Opium War in 1856–60 provided the backdrop for the formal expansion of French colonial power in Asia. An important spark for the invasion of Saigon in 1858–59 was the Nguyễn emperor’s antagonism of Christian missionaries. This led to the taking of Cochinchina (formed from the three eastern provinces of Cochinchina, taken from the Vietnamese court in 1862, and the western provinces, taken in 1867) as a colony. However, it remained unclear until the late nineteenth century as to whether French power would endure in Asia. The rise of a powerful, new unified German neighbour saw the colonial lobby’s influence grow in France, and following the seizure of Hanoi in 1882 empire-builders advanced projects to tap the commercial and mineral potential of the Chinese provinces of Yunnan, Guangxi and Guangdong via the Red River. Five years later came the establishment of a so-called Indochinese Union. This comprised the formal colony of Cochinchina, the protectorates of Tonkin in the north and Annam (part of central Vietnam today), and Cambodia, Laos and Guangzhouwan (the latter secured on a ninety-nine-year lease in 1899).

Technology was crucial to the web of connections linking these centres. Regular steamship services connected India, Britain and China from the 1840s. In 1846, P&O commenced its service between Singapore and Calcutta, with fortnightly services from Europe in 1855. Following the opening of the Suez Canal, in the wake of what Chris Bayly has termed the ‘great acceleration,’ these centres emerged as important sites in the history of the transmission of ideas, ideologies and identities between Europe and Asia. The canal reduced the length of the journey from Europe to Asia from three months to less than thirty days. The use of the Malacca Straits as the main route to the East dramatically increased trade.58 From Saigon it was 935 miles to Hong Kong, 677 miles to Singapore and 712 miles to Hanoi along the coastal route. Though Saigon was a river port (like Hải Phòng) situated slightly off the main steamship route from Singapore to China and Japan, regular steamship services linked it to other centres.59 Hanoi was also linked via Hải Phòng and overland routes to Canton (present-day Guangzhou) and other centres.

Imperial expansion in Asia also speeded up flows of information between these centres. Telecommunications technologies accelerated preexisting trade-based connections and facilitated the establishment of financial services, notably insurance and banking.60 Saigon emerged primarily as a centre for the sale and onward shipment of rubber and more especially rice to Singapore, Bangkok, Hong Kong and Batavia.61 Hong Kong, the main market for rice from Tonkin and Cochinchina, emerged as South China’s foremost port and remained deeply connected to Singapore, while the latter functioned to export the tin and agricultural output of the Malay Peninsula and linked up trade between India and China. The intensity of economic activity varied, but the economic activity of the British centres outstripped even Saigon, the most dynamic of French centres, for much of the period.62 Singapore had by 1903 become the seventh seaport of the world, but Saigon, situated 80 kilometres from the coast, still ranked only sixth among French-run ports.

These myriad connections also ensured that the economic, social and cultural histories of these centres were profoundly interlinked. As they were driven through familiar stopping points, contemporaries theorised the connectedness of these places for themselves, as sites upon routes linking Europe to Asia, and discussed their distinctive, but interlinked nature.63 The sheer volatility of human and other forms of traffic prompted frequent reflections upon these centres as ‘crucibles of modernity’ and ‘sites of acceleration.’ In the Straits Settlements, for example, the textile merchant J. M. Allinson observed that

A ‘centre’ may, I think, be well described as the ‘nucleus around which or into which things are collected.’ We need go no further than our own tight little Island to find a most excellent illustration of a trade centre. In Singapore we collect things, and these things are manipulated and prepared for distribution all over the world.64

These centres became foci for branches of the heavily capitalised trade and financial firms and trans-shipment points for the China trade; places where the ‘great acceleration’ took concrete form.65

Another common feature of these sites was that they all experienced rapid population growth and as ‘large cities’ they formed nodal points in imperial systems and were notable for the increasing ethnic-racial diversity of their populations.66 They therefore became spaces where travel and “intercultural connections” were not the exception but the norm.67 In each place, Chinese immigration was an important driver of growth, but mobility was pan-Asian. After the Chinese government abolished restrictions on emigration in 1893, Singapore grew from 67,752 people in 1871 to 425,912 in 1921, and its population became strikingly plural in the process. In ‘British Malaya’ (the FMS, Straits Settlements and unfederated Malay States), Chinese, mostly Hokkiens and Teochews, lived alongside a significant Tamil, Indian and Malay population. By 1931 the Chinese population reached 1,709,392 (compared with 1,644,173 Malays, 624,009 Indians and 317,848 ‘others’), and the colonial government imposed restrictions on Chinese immigration. In Hong Kong, the flow of migrants remained unrestricted across the period and here too a diverse range of Asian migrants resided. These included Indians, ‘Lascar seamen,’ Parsi merchants and Portuguese alongside the majority Southern Chinese. In-migration transformed what had been an island with a few thousand inhabitants into a large international trading city with a population of 301,967 by 1906, and 1,028,619 by 1938. The growth of Saigon was also breathtaking. Among its inhabitants were ‘Malabars,’ Chinese, Pondicherry Indians and others as well as the majority Vietnamese. The population here surged from 14,000 in 1882 (with 150,000 in nearby Cholon) to 126,000 by 1930.68 The city of Hanoi also became more ethnically diverse as it grew rapidly from 50,000 inhabitants in 1880, to 127,880 by 1931, and 200,000 by 1940.69

The growth and diversity of these centres served to highlight the status of their ‘European’ residents as equivocal, fragile and in constant need of being shored up. While ‘whiteness’ was often defined in terms of a hierarchy of national identities, the term ‘European’ was often used to refer to whites in general. Even so, this group only ever constituted a very small proportion of the total population. As statisticians observed, ‘British Asia’ was the part of the empire where the white presence was the smallest as a proportion of the total population.70 In Singapore, Europeans “barely left an impression upon the eye,” and in 1921 the 6,231 enumerated constituted less than 2 percent of the total population.71 In Hong Kong, the picture was similar.72 In the French-governed cities of what would later become Vietnam, European populations were approximately the same size of those under British rule, though the total number of inhabitants residing in Hanoi and Saigon was significantly less than in Hong Kong and Singapore.73

However miniscule the sociological reality of the foreign presence vis-à-vis other resident groups and however much their contribution may have been overplayed in older literature on empire, the projection of European power defined these places as ‘colonial.’74 Indeed, these sites were also comparable as sites of colonial authority and military power as well as waterborne trade. With privileged access to information, access to credit and backed up by political and military power, Europeans were becoming a dominant trading group. Models of governance varied in form but were starkly exclusionary and segregationist.75

Far from being the ‘indirect rule’ with which the British Empire was often associated, governance in the British Crown Colonies of Hong Kong and the Straits Settlements was intentionally direct. Both formed part of an imperial system with a constitutional structure that confined merchant power, closed off wider representation and concentrated power in nonelective executive and legislative councils and a governor (who was monitored by the Colonial Office and parliament).76 This system was intended to avoid the pitfalls of ‘older’ colonialisms, in particular those of British India where large Anglo-Indian and poor white populations had come to be condemned as a problem, and centres such as Shanghai, where municipal government endowed ‘settlers’ with a powerful voice.77

Saigon and Hanoi functioned as the principal sites of governance within a ‘French Indochina.’ By the late nineteenth century Indochina had come to embody French claims to be a Southeast Asian (and thus global) imperial power. Officially at least, French colonial policy was defined from the 1880s in terms of ‘assimilation.’ Ostensibly this policy aimed to achieve the incorporation of the colony and its subjects within ‘Frenchness.’ This involved projects ranging from the introduction of metropolitan opera and architecture, legal and penal codes and education, to the creation of mixed representative institutions such as the Colonial Council. Around the turn of the century colonial theorists undermined this model and won official endorsement for an ‘associationist’ policy instead. This emphasised respect for the customs and mores of ‘natives’ but was often understood to require the imposition of greater distance between coloniser and colonised and the deferral of the need to deliver equality to an unspecified future time.

Though the general perception may have been that, as one scholar puts it, “the empire that mattered was the countries of settlement,” by the early twentieth century it was in the so-called tropics—in places such as Hong Kong, Singapore, Hanoi and Saigon—that contemporaries believed the fate of imperial nations would be decided.78 As John Darwin has noted elsewhere, by the early twentieth century it was Asia that proved to be “the ultimate test of Europe’s capacity to construct a stable and co-operative colonial order.”79 And as the strategic, economic and cultural value and significance of these centres grew on the global stage, the implications of children’s presence there also became more profound. Debates over childhood informed debates over the possibility that the French and British presence in Asia might endure, especially as nationalist, Communist and other anticolonial factions more directly threatened European rule. While youth and its cognates provide a lens through which to read different colonial cultures, scholars have only recently begun to examine how trans-colonial mobility impacted upon more marginal groups in empire, including children. Conversely, the importance of children’s trans-nationality to empire is only now being brought to light. As this book aims to show, far from being irrelevant or inconsequential, the presence (and absence) of children in empire had a profound impact upon the histories of colonies, metropolitan societies and empires in the modern era.


1. Rhodes House Library, Oxford (hereafter RHL), MS. Nathan 340 May to Nathan, 14 May 1905.

2. Ellen Boucher, Empire’s Children: Child Emigration, Welfare and the Decline of the British World, 1869–1967 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Shurlee Swain and Margot Hillel, Child, Nation, Race and Empire: Child Rescue Discourse, England, Canada and Australia, 1850–1915 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010).

3. C. A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996); Dwayne R. Winseck and Robert M. Pike, Communication and Empire: Media, Markets, and Globalization, 1860–1930 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007).

4. E. M. Merewether, Report on the Census of the Straits Settlements Taken on the 5th April, 1891 (Singapore: Government Printing Press, 1892), 45.

5. A. Bouinais and A. Paulus, L’Indo-Chine française contemporaine: Cambodge, Tonkin, Annam (Paris: Challamel Aîné, 1885), 294; Vietnamese National Archives Centre I, Hanoi (hereafter VNNA1), Mairie de Hanoi (MHN) D88 3260 “États statistiques de la population de la ville de Hanoi 1890 à 1918”; Claudius Madrolle, Tonkin du sud, Hanoï. Les Annamites, Hanoï, pays de So’n-tâi, pays de So’n-nam. (Paris: Comité de l’Asie française, 1907), 10.

6. In Cochinchina in 1922, 25% of the 8,524 French and ‘other Europeans’ residents had been boys and girls under age fifteen, while in Tonkin as a whole the figure was 31%. Henri Brenier, Essai d’atlas statistique de l’Indochine française: Indochine physique, population, administration, finances, agriculture, commerce, industrie (Hanoi: Imprimerie d’Extrème-Orient, 1914); Gouvernement Général de L’Indochine, Annuaire Statistique de l’Indochine, deuxième volume, 1923–1929 (Hanoi: Imprimerie d’Extrème-Orient, 1931), 64.

7. In 1930 there were 5,026 children under age fifteen in Cochinchina compared with 4,447 women, i.e., 30% of the European population were children. Gouvernement Général de L’Indochine, Annuaire Statistique de l’Indochine, troisième volume, 1930–1931 (Hanoi: Imprimerie d’Extrème-Orient, 1932), 55. There were 612 women and 499 children in Singapore and 1,218 women and 1,275 children in Hong Kong in 1891. Merewether, Report, 45; C. A. Vlieland, British Malaya: A Report on the 1931 Census and on Certain Problems of Vital Statistics (London: Crown Agents, 1932), 234–35. “Census Report, 1891,” Sessional Papers, 15 August 1891, 377; “Hong Kong, Report on the Census of the Colony of Hong Kong, 1931,” Sessional Papers, 12 February 1931, 123.

8. Merewether, Report, 45; By 1931 those under age fifteen constituted 15% of the total European population of Singapore and this compared with 32% for ‘Malaysians,’ 26% for Chinese and 13% for Indians. Vlieland, British Malaya, 234–43.

9. “Report on the Census of the Colony for 1911,” Sessional Papers, 23 November 1911, 40–41, 43. From 1881, when there had been 144 British ‘boys’ and 144 ‘girls’ under age fifteen among the 785 British enumerated (or 37%) in Hong Kong, the total increased gradually to 353 in 1891, 752 by 1901. This rose further to 2,082 by 1921, before dropping to 1,532 in 1931.

10. In Hanoi, in 1921, out of a total of 75,400 people, 24,800 were under age fifteen (32%). In Saigon, in the same year, 29,000 were under nineteen while 54,000 were over (35%). Gouvernement Général de L’Indochine, Direction des Affaires Economiques, Service de la Statistique Générale, Annuaire Statistique de l’Indochine, premier volume, recueil des statistiques relatives aux années 1913 à 1922 (Hanoi: Imprimerie Extrème-Orient, 1927), 36–37, 40–41. It should be noted that these figures were swelled by the inclusion of Eurasian children from the late 1920s. Gouvernement Général de L’Indochine, Annuaire Statistique de lIndochine, deuxième volume, recueil des statistiques relatives aux années 1923 à 1929 (Hanoi: Imprimerie d’Extrème-Orient, 1931), 64; Gouvernement Général de L’Indochine, Annuaire Statistique de l’Indochine, troisième volume, 1930–1931 (Hanoi: Imprimerie d’Extrème-Orient, 1932), 55.

11. Robert Bickers, Settlers and Expatriates: Britons over the Seas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010); Robert Bickers, Britain in China: Community, Culture and Colonialism 1900–1949 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999); J. P. Daughton, An Empire Divided: Religion, Republicanism and the Making of French Colonialism, 1880–1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006); Eric T. Jennings, Imperial Heights: Dalat and the Making and Undoing of French Indochina (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011).

12. Robert Bickers and Christian Henriot, “Introduction,” in New Frontiers: Imperialism’s New Communities in East Asia, 1842–1953 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 1.

13. Alfred H. Northcliffe, My Journey around the World, 16 July 1921–25 February 1922 (London: Lane, 1923), 88.

14. H. L. Wesseling, The European Colonial Empires, 1815–1919 (Harlow: Pearson, 2004), 23; Gilles de Gantes, “Coloniaux, gouverneurs et ministres: L’influence des Français du Viet-nam sur l’évolution du pays à l’époque coloniale, 1902–1914,” vol. 1, PhD diss., Université de Paris VII, 1994, 45–46.

15. Classic studies include Philippe Ariès, Centuries of Childhood: A Social History of Family Life (New York: Knopf, 1962); John R. Gillis, Youth and History: Tradition and Change in European Age Relations (New York: Academic Press, 1974); Viviana Zelizer, Pricing the Priceless Child: The Changing Social Value of Children (New York: Basic Books, 1985); Steven Mintz, Huck’s Raft: A History of American Childhood (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004).

16. Roger Cox, Shaping Childhood: Themes of Uncertainty in the History of Adult-Child Relationships (London: Routledge, 1996); Colin Heywood, A History of Childhood: Children and Childhood in the West from Medieval to Modern Times (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2001); Jane Humphries, Childhood and Child Labour in the British Industrial Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010); Hugh Cunningham, Children and Childhood in Western Society since 1500 (London: Longman, 1995).

17. Ann Pellegrini, “What Do Children Learn at School? Necropedagogy and the Future of the Dead Child,” Social Text 26, no. 4 (2008): 97.

18. Leslie Paris, “Through the Looking Glass: Age, Stages, and Historical Analysis,” Journal of the History of Childhood and Youth 1, no. 1 (2008): 106–13.

19. Cati Coe et al., eds., Everyday Ruptures: Children, Youth and Migration in Global Perspective (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2011), 2–3.

20. Mary Bucholz, “Youth and Cultural Practice,” Annual Review of Anthropology 31 (2002): 525–52.

21. Laura Briggs, Gladys McCormick and J. T. Way, “Transnationalism: A Category of Analysis,” American Quarterly 60, no. 3 (September 2008): 630.

22. Nara Milanic, The Children of Fate: Families, Class and the State in Chile, 1800–1930 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009).

23. See, for example, Julia Clancy-Smith and Frances Gouda, eds., Domesticating the Empire: Race, Gender and Family Life in French and Dutch Colonialism (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1998). See also Mary A. Procida, Married to the Empire: Gender Politics and Imperialism in India, 1883–1947 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000); Alison Blunt, “Imperial Geographies of Home: British Domesticity in India, 1886–1925,” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 24 (1999): 421–40; Margaret MacMillan, Women of the Raj: The Mothers, Wives and Daughters of the British Empire in India (London: Thames and Hudson, 1988), 125–41; Nupur Chaudhuri, “Memsahibs and Motherhood in Nineteenth-Century India,” Victorian Studies 31 (1988): 517–35; see Daniel P.S. Goh, “States of Ethnography: Colonialism, Resistance, and Cultural Transcription in Malaya and the Philippines, 1890s–1930s,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 49, no. 1 (2007): 136; Julian Go, “The Chains of Empire: State Building and ‘Political Education’ in Puerto Rico and the Philippines,” in The American Colonial State in the Philippines: Global Perspectives, ed. Julian Go and Anne L. Foster (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003), 182, 205–6; Ann Raffin, Youth Mobilisation in Vichy Indochina and Its Legacies, 1940–1970 (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2005). See also the forthcoming work by Marie-Paule Ha on Indochina. Thanks are due to Robert Faber of Oxford University Press for drawing this to my attention. Marie-Paule Ha, French Women and the Empire: The Case of Indochina (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014).

24. See, for example, Durba Ghosh, Sex and the Family in Colonial India: The Making of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

25. Ann L. Stoler, Carnal Knowledge and Imperial Power: Race and the Intimate in Colonial Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). See especially ch. 5.

26. Elizabeth Buettner, Empire Families: Britons and Late Imperial India (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004).

27. Ann L. Stoler, “Tense and Tender Ties: The Politics of Comparison in North American History and (Post) Colonial Studies,” Journal of American History (December 2001): 843.

28. Laura Briggs, Reproducing Empire: Race, Sex, Science and US Imperialism in Puerto Rico (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002).

29. As Elizabeth Buettner puts it with reference to children, “No sooner are they invoked than they are summarily dismissed from the colonial arena altogether and from further analysis.” Buettner, Empire Families, 7.

30. Ann Laura Stoler, Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 137–64.

31. David M. Pomfret, Young People and the European City: Age Relations in Nottingham and Saint-Etienne (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004).

32. John Gillis, A World of Their Own Making: Myth, Ritual and the Quest for Family Values (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 70–72.

33. In 1901 Charles Masterman and others argued that the urban environment had produced a ‘new race’ of poor. Charles F.G. Masterman, The Heart of the Empire: Discussions of Problems of Modern City Life in England with an Essay on Imperialism (London: T. F. Unwin, 1901); George R. Sims, How the Poor Live (London: Chatto, 1883). On the ‘racialisation’ of young working-class metropolitans, see Carolyn Steedman, Strange Dislocations: Childhood and the Idea of Human Interiority, 1780–1930 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), 112–13; Lydia Murdoch, Imagined Orphans: Poor Families, Child Welfare and Contested Citizenship in London (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2006), 25–32.

34. Laura Lee Downs, Childhood in the Promised Land: Working-class Movements and the Colonies de Vacances in France, 1880–1960 (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002).

35. Raymond F. Betts, Assimilation and Association in French Colonial Theory, 1890–1914 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), 4; Alice Conklin, A Mission to Civilise: The Republican Idea of Empire in France and West Africa, 1895–1930 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), 248–49; Daughton, Empire Divided, 10–12.

36. Raoul Girardet, L’idée coloniale en France: De 1871 à 1962 (Paris: Hachette, 1972), 86–90.

37. In an interesting and valuable study ranging in scope from colonial reformatories to boarding schools for aristocratic Indian children, Satadru Sen raises important questions concerning how and with what consequences colonialists exported metropolitan discourses of childhood into empire. Satadru Sen, Colonial Childhoods: Youth on the Juvenile Periphery (London: Anthem Press, 2005), 67.

38. ‘Vietnam’ did not exist as a formal state until 1945, but in this book I adopt the convention of using this to refer to three pays of French Indochina: Cochinchina, Annam and Tonkin, the populations of which were mainly Vietnamese.

39. Arif Dirlik, “Rethinking Colonialism: Globalisation, Postcolonialism and the Nation,” Interventions 4, no. 3 (2002): 441.

40. Ann Laura Stoler and Frederick Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony: Rethinking a Research Agenda,” in Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World, ed. Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 1–56.

41. C. A. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, 1780–1914: Global Connections and Comparisons (Malden: Blackwell, 2004), 470; Tony Ballantyne, Orientalism and Race: Aryanism in the British Empire (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), 14; Philippa Levine, Prostitution, Race, and Politics: Policing Venereal Disease in the British Empire (London: Routledge, 2003).

42. Ballantyne, Orientalism, 13–17; see also Alan Lester, Imperial Networks: Creating Identities in Nineteenth-Century South Africa and Britain (London: Routledge, 2001); Gary B. Magee and Andrew S. Thompson, Empire and Globalisation: Networks of People, Goods and Capital in the British World, c. 1850–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).

43. Micol Seigel, “Beyond Compare: Comparative Method after the Transnational Turn,” Radical History Review 91 (Winter 2005): 91, 63.

44. David Thelen, “The Nation and Beyond: Transnational Perspectives on United States History,” Journal of American History 86 (1999): 965; Patricia Clavin, “Defining Transnationalism,” Contemporary European History 14, no. 4 (2005): 421–39; Akira Iriye, Global and Transnational History: The Past, Present, and Future (New York: Palgrave Pivot, 2012).

45. Sugata Bose, A Hundred Horizons: The Indian Ocean in the Age of Global Empire (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006); Thomas R. Metcalf, Imperial Connections: India in the Indian Ocean Arena, 1860–1920 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007); Eric Tagliacozzo, Secret Trades, Porous Borders: Smuggling and States along a Southeast Asian Frontier, 1865–1915 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005), 13–14.

46. Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005).

47. Sara E. Johnson, The Fear of French Negroes: Transcolonial Collaboration in the Revolutionary Americas (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012); Michael S. Dodson and Brian Hatcher, eds., Transcolonial Modernities in South Asia (London: Routledge, 2012); Metcalf, Imperial Connections.

48. Levine, Prostitution; Ross G. Forman, China and the Victorian Imagination: Empires Entwined (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

49. For an excellent recent study applying the comparative method to four sites in the British Empire, see Levine, Prostitution.

50. Julian Go, Patterns of Empire: The British and American Empires 1688 to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 102.

51. Ibid., 13. Levine, Prostitution, 16–18.

52. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka, “Comparison and Beyond: Traditions, Scope and Perspectives of Comparative History,” in Comparative and Transnational History: Central European Approaches and New Perspectives, ed. Heinz-Gerhard Haupt and Jürgen Kocka (New York: Berghahn, 2009), 1–33.

53. Nancy Leys Stepan, Picturing Tropical Nature (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2001).

54. Jürgen Osterhammel, “A ‘Transnational’ History of Society: Continuity or New Departure,” in Haupt and Kocka, Comparative and Transnational History, 47.

55. Alys Eve Weinbaum et al., The Modern Girl around the World: Consumption, Modernity, and Globalisation (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008).

56. On Asian trade networks, see Wang Gungwu and Anthony Reid, Community and Nation: Essays on Southeast Asia and the Chinese (Singapore: Heinemann, 1981); Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988); Tagliacozzo, Secret Trades.

57. Twenty-eight miles long and 79 miles north of the Equator, Singapore joined the Straits Settlements as a free port in 1826 along with Penang (ceded to Britain in 1786) and Malacca (ceded to Britain by Holland in 1824).

58. The tonnage of ships into Singapore harbour increased from 0.6m tons in 1869, to 1.5m tons in 1876. The number of liners arriving in Saigon increased from 251 in 1861, to 403 in 1877. Commercial goods imported and exported from Hong Kong to China trebled from 1890 to 1910, and port traffic in Hong Kong expanded above the level of all other ports in China.

59. By the early twentieth century, the steamers of the Compagnie des Messageries Maritimes ran out of Saigon serving Hải Phòng (which was connected by river to Hanoi), as well as the China coast and Japan. The steamers of the Compagnie de Navigation Tonkinoise made the journey from Hong Kong in four days, via Guangzhouwan (Zhanjiang), Hoi Hau and Pak Hoi, and on by river steamer to Hải Phòng and Hanoi.

60. The Eastern Extension Australasia and China Telegraph Co. Limited opened in Singapore in 1870, the year in which Singapore was connected by telegraph to Europe, and telegraph companies soon served other centres, too. The Union Bank of Calcutta opened a branch in Singapore in 1844, followed by Oriental Bank (1846) and Chartered Bank (1859). The Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Company was set up in Hong Kong in 1864, establishing branches in Singapore in 1877 and Saigon in 1898. The French bank, Comptoir National d’Escompte, was followed by the Banque de l’Indochine, which opened a branch in Saigon in 1875, and in Hong Kong, Hải Phòng, Tourane, Pnom-Penh, Pondichery, Nouméa, Bangkok, Shanghai and Singapore. Dilip K. Basu, ed., The Rise and Growth of the Colonial Port Cities in Asia (Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 1985).

61. On Saigon’s role in the rice trade, see Haydon L. Cherry, “Down and Out in Saigon: A Social History of the Poor in a Colonial City, 1860–1940,” PhD diss., Yale University, 2011.

62. C. M. Turnbull, A History of Singapore, 1819–2005 (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1977), 43.

63. Basu, Colonial Port Cities, 288; Frank Broeze, ed., Brides of the Sea: Port Cities in Asia from the 16th–20th Centuries (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1989); Rhoades Murphey, “Traditionalism and Colonialism: Changing Urban Roles in Asia,” Journal of Asian Studies 29 (1969): 83.

64. J. M. Allinson, “Trade Centres and Routes of the Future in the Far East,” The Straits Chinese Magazine 7, no. 2 (June 1903): 34.

65. Bayly, Modern World, ch. 13.

66. Hong Kong’s population grew from 301,967 in 1906, to 456,739 in 1911. Hanoi’s population grew from 86,000 in 1913, to just over 100,000 inhabitants by 1924. Singapore’s census officials recorded a population of 259,610 by 1911. Saigon’s population had reached 250,000 by 1931.

67. Bayly, Modern World; James Clifford, Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997).

68. By 1931 in Cochinchina there were four million inhabitants and 15,000 French; André Baudrit, Guide Historique des rues de Saigon (Saigon: SILI, 1943), 79–80; Ville de Saigon, Statistique Municipale: Année 1907 (Saigon: F. H. Schneider, 1908), 3.

69. Dramatic fluctuations in the number of migrants render census data illustrative at best. Philippe Papin, Histoire de Hanoi (Paris: Fayard, 2001), 225.

70. Of those surveyed, 99.94% were natives of Asia, and this compared with 94.39% in Africa, 95.69% in the West Indies and 3% in Canada and Australasia. J. A. Baines, “A Census of the Empire,” Journal of the Royal Statistical Society 66, no. 1 (1903): 36.

71. In 1931, there were still only 8,147 European residents of a total of 567,453. J. E. Nathan, The Census of British Malaya (London: Waterlow & Sons, 1922), 148; Vlieland, Report, 120.

72. As a percentage of the total population, the white population in Hong Kong (at 1.16%) was actually larger than in other parts of Asia, such as India (0.057%), Ceylon (0.18%) or the Straits Settlements (0.88). In this Crown Colony, official statistics in 1899 recorded the population as 10,000 Europeans (of whom 4,000 were ‘Portuguese’), while 280,000 were Chinese. Baines, “Census of Empire,” 37.

73. Hanoi had 150 officers and 5,500 troops in residence in July 1884, and around 1,000 civilians by 1901. In 1913 there were 4,500 resident Europeans, including civilians and military, but by 1924 this number had risen to 6,121 Europeans, which was roughly the same number as in Singapore, a city whose total population was four times larger. In 1921 10% of the population of the older, and more compact, centre of Saigon was European, compared with 5% in Hanoi.

74. For Anthony D. King, consciousness of race and conflict is “perhaps the major urban manifestation of colonialism.” Anthony D. King, “Colonial Cities: Global Pivots of Change,” in Colonial Cities: Essays on Urbanism in a Colonial Context, ed. Robert Ross and Gerard J. Telkamp (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1985), 12–15.

75. A. J. Christopher, The British Empire at Its Zenith (London: Croom Helm, 1988), 22.

76. Charles Salmon and Robert Halliburton, The Crown Colonies of Great Britain: An Inquiry into Their Social Condition and Methods of Administration (London: Cassell & Co., 1885).

77. Robert Bickers, “Shanghailanders and Others: British Communities in China, 1843–1957,” in Settlers and Expatriates: Britons over the Seas, ed. Robert Bickers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 269–301.

78. John Darwin, Unfinished Empire: The Global Expansion of Empire (London: Allen Lane, 2012), 292.

79. John Darwin, “Afterword: A Colonial World,” in New Frontiers: Imperialism’s New Communities in East Asia, 1842–1953, ed. Robert Bickers and Christian Henriot (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000), 250.