This paper examines the mechanisms of the ethnic identification of the Lahu in Thailand. Recent studies on the highlanders of mainland Southeast Asia have repeatedly stressed that ethnic identification in this area can be manipulated, and is regarded to have nothing to do with inherited attributes. Rather, it has been discussed that it is determined by a set of customs selectable according to one's interest at any time. However, as far as the natives' viewpoint is concerned, it is reported that the highlanders of this area generally tend to regard each ethnic group as nothing other than a kin group based on inherited attributes. The problem is that, while the highlanders themselves have an essentialistic expression of ethnicity, anthropologists are very eager to reject or deconstruct it. Then, how can we explain both the subjective inside view and the objective fact that ethnic boundaries are consistently flexible ? Since the subjective view is expressed in terms of descent or kinship, and the objective fact is mainly concerned with customs or religion, a consideration of both ways of explanation of ethnic identification is called for. First, the author examines custom and religion as determinants of ethnicity. In the Lahu language, the term aw li denotes a custom that includes religion and ritual. And it is supposed that each chaw ceu (ethnic group) has its own aw li. In this sense, custom (aw li) functions both as a religious and ethnic boundary.That tempts us to conclude that ethnic identification is determined by the choice of religion or a set of rituals. An ethnic group in such a context is nothing other than a religious organization as a voluntary group. Then is it really so? If the aw li is a determinant of ethnic identification, then those who accept a foreign religion can no longer be considered Lahu. However, in the case of Christians, the acceptance of a foreign religion does not result in a change of ethnic affiliation. Even though the converts abandoned the old Lahu way of religion, they still claim that they are Lahu. It may be plausible that Christianity among the Lahu is now regarded as a kind of Lahu aw li. But the converts themselves stress that Christianity can never be a Lahu custom. That is because customs and religion are clearly separated according to their folk theory. So Christianity is not the custom of any ethnic group and, theoretically, the choice of religion does not affect ethnic identification . Customs and ethnic identification are regarded as determined by birth or the Creator's supreme will. But that folk model can be applied to actual social life in a flexible manner. Members of the Lahu often refer to somebody of a different ethnic background, who shares his religion and social life with them, as if he were Lahu. That attitude approves of the historical fact that Lahu religious movements have recruited members across ethnic boundaries. Those all mean that ethnic identification is a function of religion (or custom) and birth as well. The next issue to be examined is the kinship system of the Lahu. The feature of Lahu kinship system is that it lacks any kind of corporate group based on descent; instead, their kinship category takes a loosely-organized bilateral form. In the Lahu language, "ethnic group" is described as a chaw ceu, or an aw ceu of people. The word aw ceu corresponds to kinship, and in that sense, an ethnic group is primarily a kinship group. This concept of aw ceu covers those who share kinship and their spouses. For that reason, in the case of interethnic marriage, one's self, one's spouse, and their children can have plural identities. Another term to denote Lahu kinship is aw vi aw nyi, literally "elder kin and younger kin." The connotation of that term depends on social context, and its coverage is very large. The narrowest sense of its use is to denote siblings only, but it

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This paper tries to argue the connection between the large structural transformation owing to perestroika and the breakup of the Soviet Union within Uzbek society, on the one hand, with the daily (trivial but important) endeavors of the urban people, on the other, by describing, analyzing and examining the experiences of beggars in the Uzbek capital of Tashkent. In Uzbekistan after perestroika and the breakup of the Soviet Union, many people were plunged into sudden poverty accompanied by a decline in living standards, while a rich class - the so-called 'New Uzbeks' - also appeared thanks to the macro-structural changes that resulted from the transition to a capitalist market. In that situation, people have tried to cope with the stern realities of daily life, by dint of maintaining, shaping and extending their networks of mutual aid (mutual-aid associations, private transfers etc.), mainly with their relatives and neighbors. Still, beggars do exist in reality despite those networks. Furthermore, beggars, who had been banned as a rule and arrested under the socialist policies of the Soviet regime, also exist as a result of the crossover between capital and religion (below, Islam), owing to perestroika and the breakup of the Soviet Union. The beggars are the economic losers who could not adapt to the changing times, but at the same time have their own legitimacy, supported by the wide revival of Islam. Who, then, are the beggars in Tashkent? How do they beg, and in what situations? How do they manage to eke out a living by subsisting on alms alone? Moreover, why don't they belong to any mutual aid network? With whom do they create their own communal society, while coping with their daily lives? To answer the above questions, this paper examines, firstly, the relation between current poverty in Uzbekistan and the revival of Islam in urban society. Secondly, the author looks at the more ordinary communal world of the urban lower classes and the condition that shape it, by investigating the actual conditions of beggars in Tashkent. I give specific examples of the former phenomenon in Chapter II, as described below: Under the Soviet regime, begging was considered a crime under the policies that stipulated modernization and banned religion. At that time, the only people begging were the loli ('gypsies') and disabled war veterans from World War II and Afghan Wars. But right before the breakup of the Soviet Union and thereafter, people from various ethnic groups (Uzbeks, Russians, etc.), especially those from the vulnerable elements of society - handicapped persons, children, women and seniors - started to beg on the streets. I restrict the subject of my investigation to the Uzbeks. I found that most come from rural provinces, regardless of gender, including the urban settlers. However, not all of them originally came to Tashkent to beg, but rather were forced to do so on account of the lack of sufficient employment and wages (even in Tashkent, where jobs and money are concentrated). Another reason is the further economic deterioration caused by the recent large-scale influx of urban population including migrant workers. Under the current situation, they try to solicit alms by actively appealing to Islamic and national values that are considered desirable in interpersonal relations, delivering a begging 'performance' and manipulating certain impressions to stimulate a compassionate response. As a result, in Tashkent, where cash is concentrated and anonymity is high, beggars can sometimes maintain a living standard that is nearly as high as that of 'ordinary' people, simply by making begging their occupation. Furthermore, the perception that being a 'beggar' can be good business is widely shared among the people, and that is another reason for its increase. On the other hand, the ideology of Islam, which sustains the life style

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Farm equipment used in Thailand today was developed by local manufacturers after World War II. They manufacture a variety of machines, including two-wheel tractors, pumps, threshers, plows, and combine harvesters. Most of the manufacturers are small and medium-size enterprises, and most machines were designed by mechanics who have trained as apprentices or have learned the skills by themselves. This article looks at the mutual relationship between the development of agricultural machine technology and the formation of social groups of mechanics. By describing technical development as a process of the co-construction of machines and mechanics, I explore the origin of social groups and its relation to technical practices. I discuss neither social actions nor social relations as a basis of the formation of social groups, but instead sociality transpired from technical practices and their heterogeneous arrangements. In the course of my argument, I develop the notion of the "arrangement" of practice, borrowing a phrase from a philosopher of practice, Theodore Schatzki. The term "arrangement" refers to the combination of heterogeneous elements, such as mechanics, machines, machinery parts, tools, farmers, soil, weeds, etc. that comprise the technical practices of repair, development, and the use of machines. The development of both technology and social groups in Thailand originated in the import of farm equipment after World War II. Most of the imported machines did not suit the local environment, and would not work sufficiently without constant repair and adaptation. Soon after foreign farm equipment was introduced into Thailand, Chinese mechanics and Thai farmers started to learn repair skills, and began to form social groups of mechanics. It is those groups of mechanics that became the agents of subsequent technical development. To illustrate the process of technical development, I focus on the network of practices comprising the practices of maintenance, remodeling, and parts manufacturing in various factories and workshops, and the use of farm equipment by farmers. Those practices are connected by the circulation of artifacts, such as farm equipment and their parts. By describing such a network of practices, I show how the farm equipment has been remodeled and developed in the nexus of heterogeneous practices, and point out that the negotiations between farmers and mechanics have played a significant role in technical development. It is the openness of the network of practices that makes such negotiation possible. I describe how that open structure emerged, by focusing on Thai social categories of factory (u and rong klung) and their historical development. The word rong klung is composed of the noun rong, which means "building," and the verb klung, "to lathe." Literally, a rong klung is a machine shop with a lathe and other machine tools. The rong klung are the oldest machine factories in Thailand, founded by Cantonese immigrants around 1900. They had learned their skills working in rice mills, sawmills, and docks run by Westerners in the late 19th century, and later started to run their own factories at the turn of century. The Cantonese workers also organized apprenticeship schemes based on the traditional Chinese guild. Therefore, the apprenticeships were restricted to Cantonese people from the outset. Consequently, most rong klung were run by Cantonese until the 1950s. However, the apprenticeships rapidly opened to Thais and other Chinese groups after World War II. In contrast to the rong klung, u have been run by almost all ethnic groups. An u is a factory or workshop that repairs automobiles. The word comes from the Teochew dialect of Chinese, and originally means "dock," and has also come to mean auto repair shop as a result of postwar motorization. In contrast to turners, who are trained by apprenticeship,

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The entertainment robot "AIBO," which was first marketed by Sony in 1999, has attracted many people as the first robot designed for everyday life. In this paper, I analyze both the engineering and reception of AIBO in order to question the relationship between science and culture, which can be seen in technology. In recent years, many authors have pointed out that technology has social or cultural aspects. However, it is difficult to grasp technology comprehensively because of its manifold nature. Because of that difficulty, authors in various academic fields tend to criticize each other for reducing the analysis of technology to a restricted framework of a particular academic field. To avoid that, and to grasp the dynamics of technology, I focus mainly on two instances in the case of AIBO in which elements belonging to different domains are connected. First of all, in order to construct the mechanical system of the robot as an attractive product, the engineers at Sony needed not only scientific knowledge but also cultural narratives about robots, which they mixed with scientific knowledge while constructing the system. In 1993, the engineers started to construct an autonomous robot system, based on a method of making robots called "subsumption architecture," as proposed by Rodney Brooks, an American researcher of artificial intelligence and robotics. Robots constructed using that architecture can keep 'robust' even in unstable environments outside the laboratory, but are not able to carry out any complicated tasks. The engineers of AIBO needed to make the robot an attractive product, while not designing it for any specific uses. For that reason, they made an image for the product before constructing its mechanical system, calling it the "New Three Laws of Robotics," paraphrasing the "Three Laws of Robotics" as proposed by the science-fiction author, Isaac Asimov, in his work. In order to make a product that would be attractive to consumers, the engineers translated certain characteristics of subsumption architecture according to the image of the New Three Laws of Robotics. By connecting the narratives of the robot, such as the Three Laws of Robotics, with scientific knowledge such as subsumption architecture, the engineers sought to design a mechanical system of autonomous robots. At last, their efforts bore fruit in a mechanical system for AIBO called "agent architecture," composed of a mixture of subsumption architecture and the New Three Laws of Robotics. In analysis of the engineering process of AIBO, I point out that in order to make a product worthy of being bought by consumers, the engineering of innovative technology involves not only the processes of constructing artifacts materially that depend on scientific knowledge, but also those of constructing perceptions about artifacts that depend on cultural resources. Moreover, the two processes of construction interact and are mediated by engineers' practices, such as in the making of agent architecture. Second, each AIBO has changed into "a member of the family" through the interpretation of its owner, based not only on cultural conventions but also the unstable operation of artificial intelligence in an ordinary living space. In their marketing strategy for the first-generation AIBO, the Sony engineers regarded its main selling point as giving consumers the chance to appreciate advanced technology in their homes. However, the relationship between AIBO and owners evolved into something much different from their suppositions. The owners like to make their AIBOs dance and wear clothes, and frequently gather at various locations around Japan to meet and share their robots. They prefer the 'cute' behavior of their AIBOs and communicating with them, rather than appreciating the actions that such sophisticated technology makes possible. I

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Though it has been said that anthropologists do their fieldwork at places far removed from science and technology, during fieldwork we recognize that any community where anthropologists go has already been "polluted" by science and technology. Now it can be said that science and technology are an essential part of our everyday life. Under such circumstances, this paper attempts to describe them anthropologically. Generally speaking, an anthropological approach to science and technology can assume two forms: one is to describe their influence on social life, and the other is to tackle directly the fields where they are is produced. My approach is the latter. This paper analyzes the process of scientific knowledge production at a seismographic observatory in Istanbul. The anthropological or ethnographical study of science and technology has a 30-year history in literature of science studies. Students of that school have observed what scientists really do (including chatting over coffee or lobbying outside the laboratory to raise money), and have unveiled how scientific activities - as a hybrid of scientists, experimental instruments, data, devices, technicians, local culture, applications for funds, technical papers - produce scientific facts. Sometimes they are criticized because of their tendency to emphasize the socially-constructedness of scientific facts, but their works are appreciated at least because they describe dynamics between society and nature in the practice of science. My analysis of the seismographic observatory basically depends on the "mangle" model posited by A. Pickering. This paper consists of five chapters. The first is an introduction, starting with an episode about an event that happened on August 19, 1999. On that day, two days after a great earthquake hit northwest Turkey, a famous seismologist, who was the director of the KOERI (Kandilli Observatory and Earthquake Research Institute) in Istanbul, warned on TV that a big earthquake might hit Istanbul in a couple of days and that people should stay out during the night. Although his prediction turned out to be false (no earthquake happened), it is true that his warning confused Istanbul residents very much. Why did people take the warning seriously? Because at that time he was providing "scientific" data about earthquakes continuously as the director of a "scientific" observatory of earthquake. Then, what was the prediction on that day? Was it a "scientific" fact like other normal data? To answer that, it is necessary to understand the process of scientific knowledge production at the observatory in question, and the context surrounding Turkish seismology more precisely. I try to describe them relying on field data collected during my one-year term of field research (2004-2005) in the observatory. The second chapter provides contextual information about KOERI and UDIM (National Earthquake Observation Center), the center for seismography in KOERI. KOERI (formerly the Istanbul Observatory) was established in 1868 as a weather and planetary observatory. But after the 1894 Istanbul earthquake, the sultan at that time ordered a seismometer to be brought there. That was the start of Turkish seismology. After World War II, seismology (geophysics) was institutionalized in Turkey, but geophysics was a rather marginal discipline with a small budget, so was unable to catch up with the worldwide trend toward "big science." So the Turkish network of seismography is very unique and heterogeneous. In the third and the fourth chapters, I describe the system of seismographic observation in detail. The third chapter looks at the network in terms of technology. The network consists of: (l) seismometers, (2) data communication systems, and (3) computational programs. I follow the trials and errors in the improvement of each part. Now at UDIM, ground tremors are

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