Camila Pastor, The Mexican Mahjar: Transnational Maronites, Jews, and Arabs under the French Mandate (New Texts Out Now)

Camila Pastor, The Mexican Mahjar: Transnational Maronites, Jews, and Arabs under the French Mandate (New Texts Out Now)

Camila Pastor, The Mexican Mahjar: Transnational Maronites, Jews, and Arabs under the French Mandate (New Texts Out Now)

By : Camila Pastor

Camila Pastor, The Mexican Mahjar: Transnational Maronites, Jews, and Arabs under the French Mandate (University of Texas Press, 2017).

Jadaliyya (J): What made you write this book?

Camila Pastor (CP): As I started graduate school in September 2001, disturbing and urgent questions about how the Middle East is imagined and subjected to changing forms of administration suddenly disoriented me. I had arrived at UCLA with a project on insurgency in southern Mexico, provoked by Mexico’s late twentieth-century Zapatista moment. In a mad witch hunt, street violence and Homeland Security regulations targeted Latinos along with Arabs. I marveled at the swift mediatic and administrative production of Middle Eastern subjects as intractable Others, and at the ease with which violent state practice infiltrated university administration and everyday interaction among scholars. The legitimation of a global “war on terror” begged alternative perspectives. I set out to write a connected history of Middle America and the Middle East. In the absence of a history colonialism between the two regions, there might be space for recognition, for solidarity in lieu of subjection. Mobile subjects circulating transregionally offered the perfect bridge.  

In my struggle to make sense of reactions to September 11, I discovered the modern history of the Arab world, exploring it through a stance that appeared to be missing from regional scholarship: mobility. Despite theoretically sophisticated new perspectives on transnationalism and diaspora, I became aware of deeply problematic, normative assumptions embedded in migration studies. The center-periphery model haunts scholarship, along with methodological nationalism and diverse orientalisms. Much migration literature effaces historical specificity, casting the migrant as a universal, a-temporal type. These migrants of an impoverished, policy dominated imagination are all dispossessed, marginal third world subjects seeking settlement in the Global North. In this narrative, “receiving” states’ expect mobile people to settle (stop being mobile) and shed their “origins” to join the national “mainstream,” in celebratory accounts of the upward mobility of immigrants. Alternatively, scholars emphasize diasporic subjects’ investment in “homeland politics,” treating them as if circulation and displacement were of no consequence to their trajectories. Even Mahjar studies recognizing differently anchored subjects in movement assume that they circulate from colonial to metropolitan geographies, transatlantic migrations from the Middle East to America narrowly understood as seeking the United States. 

A transnational myself, I was constantly uncomfortable with such programmatic accounts of mobility. As a postcolonial subject, an interloper from the South, I found many Euroamerican scholars bound and gagged by area studies expectations and identity politics; historically specific, contextually informed accounts of mobility foreclosed. South-South vision afforded a sense of connected histories in the administrative and representational practices through which the Mashriq and Middle America are subjected by the same global Euroamerican formation of power. It also allowed me to challenge the widespread if unspoken notion that only Middle Eastern subjects, or their colonizers, are authorized to write historically about the Middle East.

The Mahjar, a moveable place, a global space inscribed with a variety of national and regional differentials, invites us to shed expectations about the directionality and permanence of movement.

J: What particular topics, issues, and literatures does it address? 

CP: Mobility was central to Mahjaris’ personal and collective projects. The Mahjar, a moveable place, a global space inscribed with a variety of national and regional differentials, invites us to shed expectations about the directionality and permanence of movement. The book tells the story of moving Mashriqis at the crossroads of overlapping jurisdictions and colonial projects. Mexican Mahjar subjects were variously colonial, postcolonial, and global. Crossing French colonial archives, ethnography across Mashriq and Mahjar and in family archives, Mahjar press and literatures, and various state archives in Mexico (court records, foreign national registries, diplomatic archives, presidential correspondence), I reconstruct conversations and processes that shaped migrant trajectories from the late nineteenth century through to the late 1940s. My theoretical roots are in historical anthropology, subaltern studies, feminism, and postcolonial scholarship.

The migrant population circulating between the Mashriq and the Americas remained highly mobile and cultivated connectivity, not only to its localities of origin but also to many regional and national Mahjars. As a space of settlement and transit, the Mexican Mahjar was tied through the circulation of migrants and their cultural production to the North American Mahjar dominated by the New York “mother colony,” the South American Mahjars of Brazil, Argentina, Venezuela, and a European Mahjar centered in France. It integrated a Central American Mahjar of migrants living in Guatemala, Honduras, and Haiti. Migrants moved along multiple sites of anchorage in the pursuit of kin, profit, and stability.

The horizon of these mobile subjects shifted significantly between their Ottoman modern framing and the construction of a French mandatory state. Migrants were subject to the overlapping jurisdictions of disparate authorities, and to a confluence of French, Mexican, and Arab colonial projects. These intersected with American and British consular authorities active in Mexico. Through trade blacklists during World War I, and then French attempts to enlist the migrant population as Syrio-Lebanese in census and subsequent registration procedures, migrants who did not align with French colonial projects in the Mashriq were subalternized.

The migrant population soon polarized into a handful of migrant notables, who established themselves as employers of less fortunate or more recent arrivals, and mediators between their clients and authorities—be it the French Mandate state, its consulates in the Americas, or local national authorities in the Mahjar. Migrant notables collaborated with the French to discipline, displace, and pauperize those targeted as not Francophile, not Christian, and therefore not white. The most systematically affected were Muslim migrants, who were labelled as suspect by British, American, and French authorities, regardless of their actual political practice and despite their interconfessional networks to other Mahjari merchants.  

As Mexican authorities passed increasingly stringent legislation curtailing and eventually banning the arrival of working-class Middle Eastern migrants in Mexico in the wake of the Great Depression, migrant notables and community intellectuals developed a complicated defense of their own desirability in xenophobic post-revolutionary Mexico. Mobilizing Phoenicianism and Ottoman travel narratives recovered during the Nahda, they argued that as the longtime conquerors of Spain, Phoenicians and Arabs were equivalent to the Spanish conqueror in Latin American social formations. Negotiating with Mexican criollo (Spanish descent) ideologues in the press and other public fora, they jointly bisected Latin American populations into civilized criollos and inadequately civilized mestizo and Amerindian majorities, whom Mahjaris and criollos had the joint duty of bringing into the fold of civilization.

Mobility to Middle America practically disappeared after Syrian and Lebanese independence, during the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. The book’s final chapters turn to migrants’ social mobility and the production of collective memory among Mahjaris in Mexico. I survey a variety of textual memory genres marked by contrasting forms of production, circulation, and authority and explore different strands of Mexican orientalism, as they collapse Arab and Jew, making them indistinguishable to the Catholic eye.

J: How does this book connect to and/or depart from your previous work?

CP: This project bears the traces of my socialization into the field of Middle East mobility studies through an Anglophone training in historical anthropology. I stumbled onto “the archive” as site and source in Kaslik, encountering the French colonial archive during my doctoral field research in Lebanon. Radical invitations to bring time into anthropological analysis suddenly made sense. The coloniality or colonial effects of casting “the Other” outside temporality and history were strikingly incarnate in the very foreign artifact that was to my ethnographic training an imperial state archive. It fascinated and repulsed me; it was perverse. The “grey literature” of administration was populated by officials attempting to construct their transnational regime over migrating subjects, anxious to legitimate the Mandate, coming to colonial administration from diverse trajectories themselves. Migrant voices, filtered through orientalist and rationalist projects, interpellated different authorities as their own, forging unequal networks with them and amongst themselves. The co-construction of categories of allegiance and administration, the polarization of migrants along class lines following a Mashriqi tradition of notability and a colonial logic of protection, the interaction of migrants and the French consular apparatus with Mexican and Central American logics of inclusion and subordination—it was a kaleidoscopic, always unfinished entangling of projects with different jurisdictions, claims to authority and scales of operation. A complicated, floating world anchored and fractured by new state boundaries in construction. My ethnographic reading of the archive was informed by interviews and participant observation with migrant families. It was within these other archives, interactions, and conversations that gendered dynamics became most salient, evolving into a necessary dimension of my analysis.

J: Who do you hope will read this book, and what sort of impact would you like it to have?

CP: I hope the book will be relevant to scholars of mobility, and those more broadly interested in the history of the modern Middle East. Scholarship on mobility—whether the burgeoning field of Mahjar studies exemplified by the excellent work of fellow historians and anthropologists or Middle East mobility studies writ large, including work on Indian Ocean Muslim merchant lineages and communities, the Nahda’s intellectual exchanges, the radical Mediterranean, the Suez canal as a site of transit, global Muslim mobilities in the age of steam and print, global governance and sex work, or transnational anticolonial intellectual networks across Morocco and Egypt—has suggested for over a decade now that we need to rethink regional historiography in relation to mobile subjects. As mobility becomes normalized in academic analyses through theoretical shifts across disciplines and the production of a critical mass of exceptional research centrally concerned with moving subjects, centering mobility as a form of sociability, how we conceive of stasis and its enforcement by different agents shifts. Destabilizing “regions” and their disciplinary containment in area studies traditions, imagining social formations as “unbound” or variously “trans” instead complicates the historiography of states and national projects but also of subject formation, inaugurating all sorts of archival, analytic, and narrative challenges as well as emancipatory possibilities. 

J: What other projects are you working on now? 

CP: French colonial concern with mobility suggested new avenues of inquiry, into the colonial state’s surveillance of working women. The French mandate in the Mashriq, French administrations in Algeria, and French and Spanish protectorates in Morocco were fundamentally unsettled by subjects that destabilized distinctions between colonizer and colonized. Metropolitan women travelling across these geographies beyond the channeling discipline of institutions were liable to undo distinctions that legitimated logics of colonial rule. 

I follow French, Spanish, and Arab women trying to make a living in a wide range of seasonal or otherwise impermanent occupations during the first half of the twentieth century. They provided modern services in ports and other urban spaces in the Mashriq and North Africa, from cooking and specialized care of Western style dress and textiles, childcare or instruction, to coffee and bar tending, factory work, performance and prostitution. These subaltern metropolitans moved across urban sites, imperial boundaries, and domains of employment. Often suspected or accused of selling sexual services and favors, they invite us to complicate the evolving distinction between whoredom and prostitution against a backdrop of changing gender norms, women’s movements, and women’s growing economic and erotic autonomy. Prostitution emerges not only as a form of seasonal labor and an increasingly institutionalized subjection, but as an accusation with particular moralizing effects for subaltern women despite their “colonizer” status. Their mobility was framed by landscapes of sexual access in changing public and domestic arrangements: various types of marital alliances and new cohabitations, ranging from different kinds of formal marriage to concubinage, slavery, the hosting of celebrated traveling performers, and other itinerant liaisons. I am also working on a historical ethnography of conversion to Islam in Mexico, which evolved from the Mexican Mahjar’s history of Islamophobia.

  

Excerpt from the book 

Mahjar - space of migration, diasporic homeland, dwelling in movement- was the term used by Arabic speakers to describe geographies and sociabilities inhabited by muhajirin, migrants, since the late nineteenth century. The Mahjar was a transnational field, weaving together social formations across distinct national, imperial, and ecclesiastical jurisdictions. I will use the terms Mahjari and migrant to refer to people who moved and to their descendants, insofar as they continued to engage the Mahjar as a social space, dwelling at a crossroads, in transit, subject to multiple sovereignties.

[...]

The Mahjar has long been studied through national histories of reception of Arabic-speaking migrants. This book argues that the Mahjar was a multifaceted transregional formation that migrants inhabited as the floating world of elsewhere once they had shaken their moorings in village and Ottoman belonging. This global Mahjar of the migrant imagination was, however, fragmented by the legalities of national and imperial constructions. Migrants were subject to distinct administrative practices that operated simultaneously, constituting overlapping frames to migrant trajectories. When we read different archives in conjunction, particular national and regional Mahjars become apparent- the Mexican Mahjar, the Latin American and North American Mahjars- in which national and regional politics intersected first with Ottoman and later with French imperial practice. Mahjaris have also been the object of interventions by the universalist jurisdictions of religious institutions- initially the Maronite, Greek Orthodox and Melkite churches, later also Zionist Judaism, and eventually a proselytizing Islam. This book recognizes the importance of national jurisdictions channeling mobility, while attending to imperial circuits and migrant notables framing migrant trajectories, to offer a colonial history of mobility centered on migrants as agents crafting networks and mobilizing discordant authorities.

The migration’s pulse reflects the bewildering variability of individual experience as well as social processes framing divergent trajectories: the social location from which a journey was initially undertaken; its timing; and the social and political conditions organizing departures, arrivals, transits and returns… young men hope for economic success, political exiles flee regional reconfigurations, journalists and professors address global Mahjari publics, and women work in the administration of memory. Their mobility was experienced and narrated as conquest, diaspora, exile or pilgrimage. Making Mashriqis in movement the unit of analysis, I follow mobilities and migrant constructions of memory, attempting to track their logics and make sense of their constraints, intending to grasp the human experience of broad structural and discursive phenomena, to explore global history on an intimate scale.

[...]

If Amrika was a land of plenty, Latin America, Amrika al Jnubiya, was narrated as a place to discover and conquer. Arriving as liberal Latin American states invested in infrastructure in order to better link up with a global industrial order, Mashriqis contributed to the creation of regional markets through their itinerant credit economies and transnational business networks and profited from the expansion of emergent economies in the Belle Epoque global moment. Ottoman subjects brought with them newly articulated Nahda claims regarding the place of Arabic speakers in modernist global hierarchies, which imagined Native American populations as racially and civilizationally subordinate to Arabs. Mahjari racializations as white in Middle American postcolonial formations, though briefly contested by xenophobic nationalisms in the wake of the Great Depression, consolidated their reading as potential local elites.

[...]

The recognition of Mahjaris as simultaneously imperial subjects (Ottoman, French) and postcolonial national subjects (Lebanese, Syrian, Mexican) alerts us to the fact that they navigated geographies framed by distinct and unequal projects. Trajectories in the Mexican Mahjar were afforded by the intersection of Arab, French and Mexican colonial modernisms. 

An exercise in historical anthropology, this book will explore the transition from the Ottoman to the mandate moment in the making of the Mexican Mahjar. The transition was vital, establishing new boundaries within Mahjar networks and communities, organizing institutions, aligning categories of subjects. It was essential to migrant social mobility during the second half of the twentieth century, when geographic mobility diminished and Mexican Mahjar dynamics were fundamentally focused on migrants’ differential access to material and moral accumulation. Mandate-era understandings continue to structure migrant memory work, Mahjari self-orientalizations, and Mexican Orientalisms and Islamophobias- conditioning trajectories, as recent arrivals with the right connections and attributes capitalize on definitions of Mashriqi privilege in Mexican public culture.

[...] 

The colonial encounter has been studied in historical anthropology and postcolonial scholarship through boundaries inherited from national history. Scholars have often concentrated on encounters between colonial administrators and colonized subjects within the elastic, expansive boundaries of a single empire. Official archives organized as national repositories, and the weight of historians’ assumptions of national histories as natural units are powerful deterrents to global imaginations. When scholars look at more than one imperial venture, work slides into comparative key. When anthropologists tackle the question of mobility across imperial domains, they construct ethnographies anchored in temporal displacement.

An important part of this book’s contribution is extending explorations of the colonial encounter through geographies, imaginaries and politics missing from the conversation. Conceptualizing a colonial and postcolonial global, recognizing that colonialism afforded encounters not only within the expanding political boundaries of empire but across domains of differently constituted sovereignties requires additional theorizing. Revisionist historians of nationalism have extensively pursued the work of undoing the nation as an omnipresent referent by recognizing it as a political project proposed by dissident elites at particular historical conjunctures. We need not only to denaturalize nations and nationalism, but to move toward the theorization of alternative, parallel, nested, intersecting social formations. Creating a history of movement requires shifting the boundaries of analysis to recognize the spheres of action of various agents: migrants, states, and religious authorities among others. These overlap only partially, are frequently at odds and need to be understood as fundamentally unfinished, discordant processes in the making. The story of Mashriqis in movement destabilizes regional historical narratives as much as it reflects the history of the regions that their migration weaves together. 

This book is about encounters at a colonial crossroads where Ottoman, French and Mexican civilizing missions intersected, attempting the administration of mobile populations of the Ottoman Arab provinces, later the French mandate territories of Syria and Lebanon. As I step beyond methodological nationalism to consider the world of the migrants, two aspects of the Mexican Mahjar become salient: migrants’ experience in spinning transnational life-worlds and a transnational imagination at work in the administrative practices that they were subjected to by the French, during the mandate and by postcolonial governments and religious authorities since then.  Stabilizing and inscribing difference at the Mexican Mahjar crossroads was particularly challenging. Changing imperial projects fueled subversion by various subalterns and destabilized even exceptionally successful trajectories, as did the ambivalence of postcolonial Middle Eastern and Middle American modernist nationalisms. 

I analyze the colonial encounter as global process through the everyday lives of mobile subjects. I place the colonizer and subaltern in a single social field, recognizing that Mahjari notables and Middle American criollos were both colonized and colonizers. Mahjari notables were subject first to the Ottoman center and later to French and criollo elites; they in turn constantly attempted to colonize other Mahjaris and Middle American natives. Criollos invoked their European heritage to legitimate a monopoly on power and their right to categorize Mahjaris as desirable or not, yet they were subordinate to French and American imperial projects in global geopolitics. In the twenty-first century, robust Middle American Orientalisms remain blind to Mahjari diversity even as they celebrate solidarities with the Orient.

[...]

As a historical anthropologist writing a history of the present, I flag chronologies but do not reduce analysis to temporal sequence, attempting instead to follow cultural categories as processes, produced in the interaction of differentially situated subjects. Following feminist ethnography, each chapter tells a story of intersections while centering one of three main actors: Mahjaris in their diversity; the global colonial French state under construction; and Mexican elite, state and popular interventions. Since each of these heterogeneous actors has different genealogies, chronology in each chapter recedes and adjusts, bringing into focus the cultural history necessary to situate an interaction within the broad transition from Ottoman to mandate Mahjar. The two final chapters reach into the contemporary, focusing on migrants’ memory work and on early twenty-first century Mexican Orientalisms afforded by the Ottoman-to-mandate history. 

Geographical anchoring fluctuates across chapters; attention focuses initially on Mashriq and then on Mahjar, circling on to how the Mashriq is remembered or imagined in the Mahjar in the final chapters. The Mexican Mahjar emerges as transnational not only in regard to the Eastern Mediterranean but also across a web of American migrations. Mashriqis in Central America and the Caribbean- Haiti, Guatemala, and Honduras- were often integral to the Mexican Mahjar through the circulation of migrants and their cultural production. The press and the notables of the North American Mahjar, with its heart in the mother colony of New York City, were constant interlocutors, and the Mexican-US border a vehicle for the production of value. 

Stacy D. Fahrenthold, Between the Ottomans and the Entente: The First World War in the Syrian and Lebanese Diaspora, 1908-1925 (New Texts Out Now)

Stacy D. Fahrenthold, Between the Ottomans and the Entente: The First World War in the Syrian and Lebanese Diaspora, 1908-1925 (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, March 2019).

Jadaliyya (J): What made you write this book?

Stacy Fahrenthold (SF): I came to migration history originally because I was motivated by silences I observed in place-based histories, and I wanted to examine how, when, and why migrants are removed from the historical record. I was unsatisfied with narratives of migration that begin and end at borders, where interesting people “appear” or “disappear” through the act of passage told from the perspectives—and usually the documents—of the regulatory nation-state. I wanted to write a history centered on individuals who moved between the Ottoman Empire and the Arab Atlantic. Often these migrants travelled more than once, navigating a complex social geography that linked immigrant neighborhoods in New York City, São Paulo, and Buenos Aires and beyond. By World War I, these three cities had their own shared philanthropic institutions, social clubs, political parties, serials, and intellectual spaces: their own gravity and culture. I wanted to write about migration from these places, and from the perspectives of individuals who lived there. 

Though this work began as a history of migration, I was also influenced by the displacements of the post-2011 era. The internationalization of the Syrian conflict, the struggles over refugee provisioning, and the complex ways that diasporas intervene in or advocate for homelands all mirror some of the deepest political tensions experienced in the mahjar during World War I. Similarly, contemporary turns in American political discourse around migrants, refugee rights, “bans,” border walls, and Islamophobia have disturbing resonance with US rhetoric and legislation a century ago. It is not a coincidence, either; one of the topics this book explores is the United States’ “Muslim ban” of 1918, and efforts by Syrian migrants to evade it through passport smuggling.

Compelling new work being done in Middle Eastern migration studies makes this an exciting subfield to be a part of right now, and I draw a lot of inspiration from my peers who work across Middle Eastern, American/Latin American, and ethnic studies contexts. I wanted to be a part of this inherently collaborative field—to contribute to meaningful conversations about the interrelations between mobility, sovereignty, borders, and rights—and that motivated me to finish this book.

... the mahjar functioned as a site for critique, resistance, and opposition to Ottoman (and then French) rule.

J:  What particular topics, issues, and literatures does the book address?

SF: The book begins with a deceptively simple idea: that mass migration from Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine shaped Middle Eastern politics at the end of the Ottoman period and that consequently, the “mahjar matters.” But there is more to it than this: I argue that the effacement of migrants and diasporas from histories of the region—usually by means of reliance on state archives and state-centric modes of inquiry—has produced a fictive rift in the historiography of the Levant. The European Mandates established in the region after World War I not only enacted policies to partition the Mashriq from the mahjar, but in doing so it also generated specific legal fictions about the mahjar that persist in popular memory until now.

This work builds from documents I collectively call “movable texts:” that is, the newspapers, correspondence, propaganda, passports, and petitions that Syrian, Lebanese, and Palestinian migrants carried with them across oceans. I complement these papers with state archives, but my goal is to place individual migrants at the fore. Basically, I wanted to tell a political history of the mahjar from these items, rather than from the lens of the regulatory nation-state; after all, these migrants avoided interactions with the state whenever possible. 

Sitting at the juncture between migration history and World War I studies, this work also closely examines a period often bookended, a shard of daylight between the historiography on late-Ottoman emigrations and studies of diasporic politics during the European Mandates. Guided by distinct questions and by totally different archival approaches, I saw an opportunity to examine the war years more closely. For historians of World War I, the book focuses on the relationship between mass migration, displacement, and conflict by demonstrating how the mahjar functioned as a site for critique, resistance, and opposition to Ottoman (and then French) rule. 

J: What surprised you most, over the course of researching this book?

SF: One of the biggest surprises that came from this research was how invested the state was in producing certain historical narratives about the mahjar and its politics. The book contests, for instance, the notion that the mahjar and its activists supported the Mandate system and argues this narrative was a production of French officials who papered the mahjar with Francophile petitions and propaganda after the 1918 armistice. So, despite my initial goal to write a migration history “beyond state records,” this book failed to escape the state because the empires, nations, and Mandates pursued émigrés abroad. Instead, the book critiques how states generate their own histories of migration: for instance, lasting tropes about migration-as-crisis, migration-as-threatening, emigrants-as-patriots or dangerous subversives date to the World War I moment. They persist as nativist shorthand today because states invested immense resources in reproducing such stereotypes. 

Attached to this is the complex issue of naming the communities of the mahjar. The migrants in this work come from Ottoman Syria, Mount Lebanon, and Palestine, commingled together in urban settings ordered primarily around commercial and economic rhythms. They were identified in a stunning variety of ways in their countries of domicile: as “turcos” and then as “Syrians” or “Syro-Lebanese”, regardless of actual geographic origin. “Syrian” emerged as an ethnic category, used by Atlantic states as a shorthand for Arabic speakers within larger schema of racial classification. But during World War I, the Entente powers began to legislate “Syrian” and “Lebanese” as national origin classifications, largely in lockstep with the French Foreign Ministry and the lobbying efforts of émigré activists in New York, São Paulo, and Buenos Aires. After 1920, the European Mandates each drafted legislation for “their share” of emigrants according to a bordered map that was unlike the geography from which these migrants had departed decades earlier. Consequently, one of the surprises here was how differently the French Mandate treated Syrian versus Lebanese emigrants, with significant consequences for thousands of people marooned abroad. 

J: How does this book connect to and/or depart from your previous work?

SF: My commitment has been to writing social histories that take mobility seriously, and until now I have written mostly about the construction, maintenance, and restoration of diasporic social networks. Usually, this has been through institutions like the global Syrian press, or the establishment of fraternal associations in émigré communities. My book continues in that vein by placing social networks at the fore, but it also critiques the “transcendental” tone of some transnational history more fully. Wartime activists in the mahjar may have coordinated their efforts across continents, working clandestinely in legal gray areas to which the Entente Powers and Ottomans had limited access, but they did not seek to transcend the state. Nor did they live in an unbounded world of limitless agency. Instead, this work divulges the complex, ambivalent role that Syrian, Lebanese, and Palestinian activists abroad played in the process of post-Ottoman state building, and it reveals the limitations of that business.

J: Who do you hope will read this book, and what sort of impact would you like it to have?

SF: I hope that anyone interested in social history will find something to like about this book! One of the pervasive anxieties I hear when chatting with colleagues in migration studies is that our field is often understood as being limited to a “diaspora box.” That is, limited to a specific topical and epistemological space set apart from rest of area studies, territorially defined. Migration histories are now getting more attention, influenced by the desire to comprehend the tragedies of our own moment. I think my book will be of interest to students and scholars who want to understand migration, but my larger goal is to also demonstrate that social history—broadly speaking—is more radical and compelling if historians question the territorial determinism that governs much of Middle East studies.

I have a second hope that the work will be a useful tool for anyone working more fully on the Mandates and their respective diasporas. The book argues that Mandate policies partitioned the Mashriq from its diasporas in the early 1920s, but there is an enormous amount of work to do on how these acts of partition iterated within the Syrian, Lebanese, and Palestinian communities abroad. How did European colonialism shape mahjari politics? What were the impacts of migrant repatriation, deportation, or denaturalization? There is so much work to do and I cannot wait to read more on these topics. 

J: What other projects are you working on now?

SF: I am working on a project on Lebanese workers in Latin America at the moment, focusing especially on Brazil. The project returns to some of the migrant clubs and social institutions that I have written about before (for instance, the Homs Club in São Paulo), but will expand into a labor history of the interwar mahjar.

Excerpt from the book

From the Introduction

The trouble in the Syrian colony of Buenos Aires began on 12 April 1915, outside the Ottoman Empire’s consulate on Avenida Corrientes. On that day, the city’s Ottoman General Consul, a Syrian emir named Amin Arslan, met a crowd of two thousand Syrian migrants on the steps of his office. Though an Ottoman official working for the Committee of Union and Progress (hereafter CUP) government, Arslan was an outspoken opponent of Istanbul’s alliance with Germany, a strategic maneuver that had brought the empire into the First World War in October 1914. Arslan spent the months since the declaration of war speaking out against his government’s alliance with Berlin. Though his popularity among the Syrians of Argentina soared, the city’s German consulate resented his disloyal behavior and reported Arslan to his superiors in the Ottoman Foreign Ministry. Istanbul was already uneasy with Amin Arslan: the consul’s open friendship with French diplomats in Argentina, seen as a major boon for the Empire a decade earlier, was no longer seen as such in 1914. The ruling Ottoman triumvirate—Enver, Talaat, and Cemal Pashas—began to see the Argentinian emir as a liability. They also saw the Syrian mahjar (lands of emigration, often translated as diaspora) as a dangerous place, its half million emigrants full of potential for sedition, collusion with the Empire’s enemies, and recruitment to the Arabist opposition mounting against Unionist rule. 

In April 1915, the embattled Ottoman consul received a letter from the Germans, invoking the Berlin-Istanbul alliance and ordering Arslan to stop defaming Germany. The letter demanded that Arslan cease all contact with the French consulate and refrain from public statements about the war in the Argentinian press. Finding it absurd that he should take orders from Germany, Arslan marched up the steps outside of the Ottoman Consulate building on that April day. Meeting a crowd of Syrians, Lebanese, Palestinians, and other Ottoman nationals from the Argentine colony, Arslan read Germany’s threatening letter aloud, tipping off a day of Arabist protest against the Unionist government and its involvement in the First World War. Arslan then read a letter he penned in response to the German consul general in Buenos Aires:

Señor Consul General, I have the pleasure of acknowledging your letter… I think it goes without saying how surprising this letter was, as its contents conflict with all established diplomatic protocol, and it has not come to my earnest attention that my Ottoman Empire forms a mere part of your German Imperium. And I keep hope, nevertheless, for the honor and dignity of my poor country, dragged unwillingly into the abyss of this war by you, a savage foreign power. 

Lamenting that “the interests of the [Syrian] community are now in the hands of foreigners,” Amin Arslan reaffirmed his loyalty “to my august sovereign, the Sultan… and my only superior, the Grand Vizier (Talaat Pasha).” He announced that he had written Talaat Pasha to demand that Istanbul either renounce its alliance with Germany or terminate him from Ottoman diplomatic service. 

Fire him they did. Receiving more complaints from the Germans, Talaat Pasha relieved Arslan of his post via telegram on 19 May 1915 and ordered the closure of the empire’s Buenos Aires consulate. Arslan was instructed to deliver the contents of his office’s archives to the German consulate and to return immediately to Istanbul. Seeing this course of events as further proof the Unionists had become German puppets, Arslan closed the consulate but refused to surrender its papers. “These documents provide legal protection and justice [for Syrians] in this country,” he explained to La Prensa newspaper. “No foreigner has the right to take and oversee the files of Ottomans [living in Argentina], nor to determine the interests of my countrymen, who…have an interest in defending what is rightfully theirs.” If the Germans came for the records, he threatened he would submit them to Argentina’s supreme court for protection. Istanbul responded by convicting the impudent emir of treason in absentia. He would never be allowed to return to the Ottoman domain.

South American newspapers noticed the Syrian protests against the Ottoman Empire’s entry into the First World War, especially in Brazil and Argentina where hundreds of thousands of Syrian migrants already lived. Both countries were then formally neutral in the war but were allied with the Triple Entente. The Syrian protests against their own sovereign grabbed public attention, fed a wider anti-German sentiment, and turned Arslan into a local champion. The Argentinian press called Germany’s takeover of Ottoman affairs an “act of piracy.” Brazilian papers congratulated “the Consul of the Turkish colony [colonia turca] for so energetically opposing the pretentions of a foreign monarchic regime.” But the Latin American public remained unaware of Arslan’s reasons for refusing to surrender his consulate’s archives, papers that documented the citizenship claims, migration status, political activities, and intelligence files for an estimated 110,000 Syrians in Argentina. Arslan was convinced the records would be used to levy criminal charges against Syrian emigrants, or even those who had returned to the Ottoman empire.  

Arslan’s fears were well warranted. Only weeks before, Syria’s Ottoman governor-general, Cemal Pasha, ordered Ottoman troops to seize records from Beirut’s abandoned French Consulate, using them to indict and convict dozens of Arabists, reformers, and Syrian elites of treason. The gallows went up in Syria, and over forty men were hanged in mass in Damascus and Beirut between August 1915 and May 1916. Their crimes originated with their ties to foreign powers and connections to Arabist émigré associations. Only those who fled the empire escaped this fate; like Arslan, they could only be convicted in absentia. 

The Ottomans had not always seen the mahjar as dangerous. For a time, this diaspora represented an overseas frontier, a source of economic development, its emigrants a useful population to be groomed and reclaimed through diplomacy. The new Ottoman consulates had been a manifestation of that mission. But under the shifting politics of the First World War and Cemal Pasha’s repression of Arabism at home, the state’s view of the mahjar shifted: it became a site for sedition, opposition to CUP rule, and collusion with the empire’s enemies. This book recounts that transition. It is about the empire’s momentary embrace of Ottoman migrants and the emergence of a political society organized across the mahjar’s major colonies in Brazil, Argentina, and the United States. It is about the breakdown of Ottoman control over migrant activism in the war’s early months, the result of an ill-fated alliance with Berlin and a crackdown on civil society. It is about the various means that Syrian and Lebanese migrants abroad had at their disposal to protest and rebel against the Ottoman state, and the readiness of the Entente powers to ally with these émigré activists. Ultimately, this book explores how this diaspora’s uneasy entanglement with the forces of European imperialism shaped the political fate of its Middle Eastern homeland.  

In some ways, [French] Mandate policies toward the Syrian and Lebanese diaspora mirrored those of their late Ottoman predecessors. For both polities, the mahjar and its activists provided opportunities to refract state power across an overseas frontier; for both, the emigrants were a population to be juridically reclaimed and perhaps even relocated for the good of the state. In a significant departure, however, was France’s goal to impose and harden territorial borders across a new geography of post-Ottoman nation states. In an international order premised on the forced fixing of identifies into the “cartographic mold of nation-states,” the Mandate ultimately partitioned the mahjar from the Mashriq, instituting policies to preempt the return of Syrians with presumed anticolonial politics. This book’s conclusion examines French attempts to deprive select emigrants of passports and nationality during the Great Syrian Revolt of 1925-27. The denationalization of Syrians abroad amounted to a diasporic partition, revealing French desires to cut the very ties with the mahjar they had nurtured a decade earlier.  

The pages that follow recover a social history of the Syrian and Lebanese diaspora at a crucial historical moment: the fall of the Ottoman empire, the region’s subdivision within new national borders, and the emergence of the imperial European Mandates. In their core function, borders create new territories, and in doing so seek to contain nations, discipline and define societies, and regulate cross-border mobility. As shall be seen, borders also manufacture histories, contriving a territorial determinism that this work critiques. For contrary to popular ideas about border-making as a process driven wholly by states (whether we think of borders as expressions of “natural” sovereignties or assertions of invented ones), Syrian and Lebanese activists in the mahjar played an enormous role in defining the post-Ottoman politics of their homeland. From revolution in 1908 to revolt in 1925, contests over nationalist politics, national borders, nationality laws, and citizenship norms in Syria and Lebanon happened somewhere beyond the seas [waraʾ al-bihar], in the political headwaters running between the Ottoman empire and the Entente. For a time, emigrants abroad navigated these currents in order to stake political claims on their places of origins. The mahjar mattered, not only because of the historical endurance of the Syrian colonies in the Americas, but also because its politics frequently came home.