more-argentine-than-you-arabic-speaking-immigrants-in-argentina compress

Arabic-Speaking
Immigrants in Arge.ntina
More Argentine Than You
More
Argentine
Than
You
Arabic-Speaking
Immigrants in Argentina
Steven Hyland Jr.
University of New Mexico Press
•
Albuquerque
© 2017 by the University of New Mexico Press
All rights reserved. Published 2017
Printed in the United States of America
22 21 20 19 18 17
1 2 3 4 5 6
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hyland, Steven, 1972– author.
Title: More Argentine than you: Arabic-speaking immigrants in Argentina /
Steven Hyland Jr.
Description: Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2017. |
Includes bibliographical references and index. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2016057145 (print) | LCCN 2017021782 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780826358776 (hardback) | ISBN 9780826358783 (E-book)
Subjects: LCSH: Arabs—Argentina—History—19th century. | Arabs—Argentina—
History—20th century. | Immigrants—Argentina—History. | Arabs—
Argentina—Social conditions. | Community life—Argentina—History. |
Argentina—Ethnic relations—History. | Argentina—Emigration and immigration—History. | Arab countries—Emigration and immigration—History. |
BISAC: HISTORY / Latin America / South America.
Classification: LCC F3021.A59 (ebook) | LCC F3021.A59 H95 2017 (print) | DDC
305.892/7084—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016057145
Cover illustrations: Map, new map of the Republic of Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and
Paraguay, published by the Cartographic Office of Pablo Ludwig, Buenos Aires, 1914.
Stamps, courtesy of All-free-downloads, licensed under CC by 2.0
Designed by Felicia Cedillos
For Ryuri, Reina, and Raia
Contents
List of Illustrations
ix
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction
1
Chapter 1. “To Forge a New Dream”
Emigration from Greater Syria
19
Chapter 2. “The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
Syrian Immigration in Argentina, 1880–1914
41
Chapter 3. Syrians in the Time of Depression, War, and
Emergent Nationalism, 1914–1922
69
Chapter 4. Building Families, Building Communities, 1920–1940
97
Chapter 5. The Syrian-Lebanese Elite, Community Politics,
and the Politics of Community, 1920–1940 133
Chapter 6. “A Patriotic Work”
Women, Education, and the Politics of Charity, 1920–1940 161
Chapter 7. “More Argentine Than You”
Political Culture, Cultural Politics, and Belonging, 1939–1946 185
Epilogue 219
Notes
225
Bibliography 261
Index
vii
277
Illustrations
Maps
Map 1. Ottoman Empire, 1900.
14
Map 2. Greater Syria, 1900.
15
Map 3. Argentina, 1900s.
16
Map 4. Tucumán Province, 1900s.
17
Figures
Figure 1. Poster announcing celebration of Young Turk
Revolution in Istanbul, Buenos Aires, 1908.
127
Figure 2. Lebanese immigrant in his general store, Leales,
Tucumán province.
127
Figure 3. Lebanese immigrant in the Tucumán countryside.
128
Figure 4. Officers of United Youth Organization (Jam‘iyya
al-Shabība al-Muttahida/Juventud Unida), 1921.
128
Figure 5. Young Syrian immigrant woman Hamame Saleh Ale,
Tucumán, 1925.
129
Figure 6. Tribute to Lebanese American author Kahlil Gibran,
San Miguel de Tucumán, 1930s.
129
Figure 7. Annual procession for Lord of Miracles and
Saint Maron, San Miguel de Tucumán, 1930s.
130
Figure 8. Feeding the unemployed at the soup kitchen,
July 31, 1932.
130
Figure 9. Inauguration banquet for the soup kitchen,
July 31, 1932.
131
ix
x
Illustrations
Figure 10. Community activity with children led by Alcira
and the Ladies Committee.
131
Figure 11. Reputedly the last Syrian-Lebanese peddler in
San Miguel de Tucumán, 1930s.
132
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank my mentor Donna Guy for her guidance, friendship, and,
when needed, tough love. Ever selfless, she read multiple drafts of the manuscript, challenging me to refine, deepen, or scrap ideas and arguments. No
amount of public recognition by me will ever express my sense of gratitude.
Thank you. I also am grateful for my mentors at the University of Texas, specifically Denise Spellberg and the late Elizabeth Warnock Fernea. The idea
of this study first started in a mafraj in Sana’a, Yemen, which was encouraged
from its inception and championed to the present by Isa Blumi. Thank you,
Isa Bey. I appreciate greatly the interest and support from Clark Whitehorn
in regard to this project.
My time as a graduate student at The Ohio State University was most
rewarding. I benefited far more than I contributed from interaction with Ken
Andrien, Carter V. Findley, David Staley, Mark Grimsley, Phil Brown, Bill
Childs, Chris Reed, Randy Roth, Nick Breyfogle, Stephen Kern, Abril Trigo,
Fernando Unzueta, Stephanie Smith, Jane Hathaway, Robin Judd, Allen
Clark, Joseph Zeidan, Ileana Rodriguez, and Scott Levi. I could not have
been as entrepreneurial without the friendly assistance and guidance from
Melinda Wightman and Carol Robison. Nor could I have carried out the
research abroad without the generous support of the Department of History,
the College of Humanities, and the Mershon Center for International Security Studies, the Middle East Studies Center, and the Center for Latin American Studies.
My tenure in Columbus led to wonderful friendships with Kyle Sisk, Jim
Weeks, Michael Alarid, Danny O’Malley, Evan Wollen, David McLaughlin,
Ryan Skinner, and their families. Tatjana and Conor, Solange and Matt,
Ciara and Garth, and the St. John family in Paris have provided such warm
and enriching relationships since those heady days at O’Sullivans Grands
xi
xii
Acknowledgments
Boulevards. My parents and siblings have always supported my endeavors
and shown remarkable patience as I wended my way through graduate
school.
In Buenos Aires I am indebted to the hospitality, support, and friendship
of Dora Barrancos and Ana María Presta. Patricio O’Dwyer’s friendship,
good cheer, and advice over the years have meant very much to me. Víctor
and David Massuh were most generous with their time and in sharing their
memories. I am thankful to the staff at the Biblioteca Nacional Mariano
Moreno and the Archivo General de la Nación. Padre Felipe at the Saint
Maron Church was most helpful. In Tucumán, Daniel Campi remains much
more than adviser and colleague. The Remonda family, especially José
Ricardo and Pablo, made me a part of it. I am grateful for the collegiality of
Marcela Vignoli, Liliana Asfoura, and Félix Montilla Zavalía. The staff at the
Archivo General de la Provincia de Tucumán, the Archivo Histórico de la
Provincia de Tucumán, and the Archivo Judicial de la Provincia de Tucumán
made it very easy to pursue this project. Thank you to Katie and Matias in
Salta for their hospitality.
The staff at the Assad National Library and the Institut Français de
Proche-Orient in Damascus, Syria, were helpful in locating and accessing
materials. Friendships with my Fulbright cohort were rewarding, especially
Roland McKay and his outstanding homemade limoncello. US foreign policy
and diplomacy are in safe hands. Kawa Morad deserves special recognition
for his kindness and patience in partnering to translate the poems used in
this study. His personal experience as a Syrian Kurd and his scholarship on
refugees help inform this study. The staff at the Jafet Library at the American
University of Beirut and the Bibliothèque Orientale at the Université de
Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth were professional and attentive. Hani Loutfi gave
shelter during the conflict and Caroline Chalouhi-Brennan’s command decision provided for my departure from Lebanon via US Marines helicopter.
I have great gratitude for Wingate University. My colleagues in the
Department of History and Political Science are, quite simply, wonderful
people who are committed to creating the best learning community for our
students. In particular, the great Bob Billinger merits special mention
because he embodies the model scholar-teacher, demonstrating that quality
teaching (and a lot of it) marries well with quality research. That and the fact
he was head of the search committee that hired me. Much love for him. The
Acknowledgments
encouragement and support from Jennifer Armentrout, director of international programs, and Dr. Martha Asti, executive vice president of academic
affairs, allowed me to finish the research in Argentina and France needed for
this study. Wingate’s former president Dr. Jerry McGee and current president, Dr. Rhett Brown, have always embraced my various scholarly and
student-centered endeavors and my belief that our best students can compete
for the highest awards and best graduate programs. I have been most fortunate to work with inspiring students who enriched the classroom experience.
Thank you, Hilary, Haley, Tyler, George, Nelly, Sophie, Lessly, Jake, and
Zach. The world awaits you.
In Charlotte I am fortunate to be surrounded by wonderful scholars of
Latin America. Jürgen Buchenau and Greg Crider are at once great friends
and great mentors. Lyman Johnson continues to be a generous resource. His
advice was indispensable for the completion of this manuscript. I have found
solidarity with Erika Edwards in our shared commitment to push our
respective institutions to open up, recruit, and embrace the Latino population, many of whom are undocumented. Carmen Soliz is a wonderful writing partner in the cafes of Charlotte. I wish I saw Oscar de la Torre and Jackie
Sumner more often than during our Latin American lunches. I also benefit
greatly from the encouragement and friendship of Andy Clarno, Carlos
Morin, Jeff Shumway, Adriana Brodsky, Akram Khater, John Tofik Karam,
Melissa Guy, John Curry, Fabricio Prado, Stacy Fahrentold, Kris Lane, Matt
Childs, Steven Bunker, Raanan Rein, Jeff Lesser, and Lily Balloffet.
My three beautiful, smart, often rambunctious daughters inspire me to be
the best person I can be. I am very lucky to say that I am their father. Finally,
I want to thank my wife, Chihiro. As Víctor Massuh noted years ago, you are
the perfect partner, and I cherish what we have built together.
xiii
Introduction
In March 1949 Argentina’s new constitution manifested the political, social,
and economic programs of populist president Juan Domingo Perón. The constitutional convention that drafted the document featured delegates from the
federal capital and each province, including two second-generation, Arabicspeaking immigrants from the Northwest, Félix Antonio Nazar from Catamarca and Alfredo David Maxud from Tucumán. Each man earned the right to
represent his province through local elections, with Maxud joining a Peronist
delegation including two union leaders, a federal Supreme Court justice, and
a provincial legislator.1 Yet Nazar’s and Maxud’s success was not uncharacteristic of this group in the Northwest. Rather, their triumph at the polls and their
participation in reforming the Argentine social compact confirmed the role of
this immigrant colony and their descendants in the economic, political, and
social development of this region and nation. Furthermore, Nazar and Maxud
exemplified how Syrian-Lebanese from the Argentine Northwest became
municipal council members, provincial legislators, national deputies, and federal senators, culminating in the ascendancy of Carlos Menem from La Rioja
province to the presidency in 1989. This immigrant success story, however, is
built upon a rich history of migrants integrating into local societies, finding
work, suffering hardships, creating families, establishing institutions, and
experiencing alternating moments of intense internal discord and shared commitment.
This study examines how Arabic-speaking immigrants and their descendants evolved from a group of foreign nationals into a well-integrated ethnic
minority committed to life in northwestern Argentina from the late nineteenth century until the rise of Juan Domingo Perón in 1946. Their ascent to
prominence resulted from an ongoing process of negotiation influenced by
1
2
Introduction
economic cycles, interpersonal networks, time of arrival, place of birth, religious identity, nationalist ideologies, local conditions, and politics of the old
country. The emergence of a new understanding of self and group was a
dynamic synthesis of internal and external processes that shaped and defined
an evolving ethnic identity. Ultimately, however, membership in an organized Syrian-Lebanese ethnic group was an internal deliberation in which
social status and wealth were the determinant factors.
Emigration from Greater Syria (contemporary Syria and Lebanon, historical Palestine, and parts of Turkey and Iraq) was part of a global process
in the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century in which
more than 150 million people moved from Eurasia to the Americas, Southeast and Central Asia, Manchuria, and Siberia. More than 50 million Europeans and 2 million Asians left for the Americas. On the eve of World War I,
between 450,000 and 600,000 Syrians resided abroad, more than 15 percent
of the Bilād al-Shām’s (land of Syria) population. Argentina, with its sustained economic expansion based upon the agro-pastoral sector and infrastructure development, served as the second most popular destination in the
Western Hemisphere after the United States, attracting more than six million immigrants, half of whom settled permanently. By the late 1920s Arabic
speakers accounted for one of the largest immigrant groups residing in this
South American nation, numbering some 160,000 people.2
The Arabic-speaking colonies in Argentina were a diverse group representative of the confessional makeup of the Levant, consisting of Maronite Catholics, Antiochian Orthodox Christians, Sunni and Shi‘a Muslims, ‘Alawites,
Druze, Isma‘ilis, and Sephardic Jews. Despite the conventional wisdom
asserting timeless, protracted conflicts between religious communities, the
example of Argentina suggests that the politics of belonging differed in the
diaspora. These immigrants did establish religious institutions such as
churches and burial societies; however, members of each tradition joined
secular organizations at certain moments and celebrated weddings and
births. Politics of the homeland, chiefly the French Mandate in Lebanon and
Syria (1922–1946), exacerbated fissures within the colony, but religious identity was never a good predictor of political disposition.3 Shared provenance,
mutual cultural traits, and socioeconomic status, especially for the colony’s
elite, created greater ties for many of the colony.
Within the group and in the Arabic-language press published in the
Introduction
Americas prior to the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, the community
referred to themselves as jāliyya suriyya and jāliyya ‘uthmāniyya (Syrian colony and Ottoman colony, respectively). In Spanish they used colonia siria,
colectividad siria, and colectividad sirio-otomana. Latin American officials
alternated between “colonia siria,” “turcos,” “árabes,” and “sirios.” Argentine
officials standardized the use of Ottoman for their political identity in 1914,
and Brazilian administrators did not start counting Syrians and Lebanese as
separate, recognized political identities until 1921.4 This hegemonic immigrant identity went through a variety of transformations during World War I
and later throughout the French and British colonial moment in Lebanon,
Palestine, and Syria. After World War I the Arabic-speaking community
gradually converted into a Syrian-Lebanese ethnic minority group. While
there was much activity for and against the French presence in Lebanon and
Syria in the first decade of the Mandate, by the 1930s the old country waned
in importance as independence seemed destined never to materialize and the
second generation came of age. In an overarching sense, birthplace shifted
the locus of homeland from Greater Syria to Argentina. Put another way,
shifting understandings of homeland were a product of differences between
newly arrived immigrants and their offspring.
In comparison with the city of Buenos Aires and its surrounding provinces, the Argentine Northwest was not a popular destination for new arrivals. Immigrants, for instance, only accounted for 10 percent of Tucumán
province’s population in 1914, contrasting with the federal capital (49 percent),
Santa Fe (35 percent), Buenos Aires (34 percent), and Cordoba (20 percent)
provinces. Yet the example of the Syrian-Lebanese colonies in the Northwest
permits scholars to see more clearly how immigrants confronted issues of
importance while influencing local societies. Tucumán serves as the central
location of this study for several reasons. The province was the regional economic engine and cultural capital that constantly compared its development
to the federal capital and the cities of Europe, producing a statistical annual
from 1895 to 1945. Tucumán also hosted the largest Syrian-Lebanese colony in
the Northwest, and over time the group’s merchant class would become an
economic powerhouse. As a result of this general, if not equitably distributed,
wealth, the Syrian-Lebanese in Tucumán produced at least six periodicals
during the period of study, each of which claimed to be the voice of the colony.
Finally, the path to political power in Tucumán as well as in neighboring
3
4
Introduction
Santiago del Estero province emerged in the rural hamlets in which SyrianLebanese merchants established dry goods stores (almacénes), developed into
political bosses (caudillos) delivering votes on election day, and eventually
sought elected office themselves. Thus the Argentine Northwest is a suitable
setting to study and assess the emergence, evolution, and consequences of this
influential ethnic community.
The Syrians and the Lebanese became an economic powerhouse as well
as a maligned immigrant colony in the Northwest. This dual experience is
evidenced in Tucumán province by the facts that this group became the
wealthiest national merchant class by 1920 while also possessing the highest
rates of arrest of any national group for disorderly conduct, aggravated
assault, and larceny between 1908 and 1922. By examining how immigrant
socioeconomic class formation and host society politics influenced ideas of
community across generations and how these changes affected integration
in Argentina, this case study offers a window into understanding how
migrants experienced a life in motion and the pressures of adaptation and
settlement. In short, class interests, often articulated as community affairs,
structured the strategies and rhetoric of the colony’s elite far more than
concern for their less-fortunate or disinterested compatriots.
Economic standing in Argentina was largely determined by time of
arrival, personal skill sets, and access to specific immigrant institutions. A
disproportionate share of Arabic speakers who arrived in Argentina prior to
the Young Turk Revolution of July 1908 was educated, had access to capital
and information, and was overwhelmingly Christian. Most of these migrants
elected commerce as the best way to achieve financial betterment, creating a
hemispheric phenomenon of the Arab itinerant peddler. As emigration
evolved into a recognized social practice and acceptable life choice, the composition of the flow changed after 1908 as poorer, less educated migrants,
including many more Muslims, departed Greater Syria. As a consequence,
the Syrian-Lebanese communities became socially stratified as time passed,
and this stratification had a direct impact on community formation and
maintenance.
Immigration scholars have focused on the ethnicity of these migrants to
better assess how these people viewed and presented themselves privately
and publicly.5 This emphasis has been a critical contribution to understanding how immigrants deploy strategies of belonging and association. Ethnic
Introduction
groups rely on cultural and historical artifacts, such as language, confessional identity, and a believed shared past, to help create boundaries with
those deemed different. In addition, people use or craft symbols that evoke a
certain meaning with which many from the group identify, fostering a perceived authentic and shared cultural heritage. These ideas, which form the
bases of many national identities, have an integrative potential in which, in
many cases, elites embraced a shared identity and past with non-elites for the
first time. Yet, when activists appropriated symbols and attached a nationalist discourse to them, their meanings changed, necessarily including some
and excluding others.6
In the case of Arabic speakers in Argentina, the terms “Syrian,” “Lebanese,” and “Syrian-Lebanese” transformed in meaning multiple times in the
first decades of the twentieth century. Local issues, such as host society values, legal regimes, economic participation, stereotypes, and prejudices, influenced individual and group identity formation. Politics of the homeland and
institution-building by the migrants themselves did too. The creation of
immigrant and national identities was a contested process having as much
to do with the old country as with local, internal deliberations within these
émigré colonies. As such, Syrians became Syrians in the Americas, but this
identity evolved in direct relation with fellow immigrants elsewhere, in dialogue with intellectuals based in Beirut, Cairo, and Damascus, and with the
host society’s social and moral values in mind.7 Community institutions, in
particular the press, served as the critical catalyst for this collective identity
formation. Charting the development of these community institutions can
assess the expression of competing, emergent, and novel identities and how
they change over time.
This study casts a wide net in the attempt to identify and interpret the
diverse experiences of Syrians and Lebanese residing in the Northwest. To
be sure, the notion of community changed over time and despite the rhetoric
of a cohesive lot, the fact is that the Syrian merchants and cultural elite constantly fretted about the lack of unity and the need to overcome personal
rivalries or goals for the sake of the group at large. The majority neither cared
nor had the resources to join these institutions. The socioeconomic stratification of the Syrian colony served as the key ingredient in this fragmentation,
and as such community events related in the immigrant press usually noted
the attendees as being the colony’s “most select” and representing its “best”
5
6
Introduction
elements. As a result, class identities were most important in forging a sense
of community among each other. Put differently, a wealthy Maronite Catholic merchant from Mount Lebanon had more in common with a successful
‘Alawite Muslim shop owner from Latakia than with a Maronite day laborer.
This study builds upon the rich scholarship on migration and its focus on
adaptation and integration. Interpersonal social networks were important
resources and, in many instances, a good predictor of one’s ability to achieve
financial betterment.8 Yet not all of these arrangements were created equal.
Many pioneer immigrants would become the point of contact for subsequent
arrivals; however, as Syrian migration to Argentina intensified after 1908,
many new arrivals did not possess the resources or connections to aid adaptation. At the same time, these networks also were vertically ordered. Not all
members of an informal network were equal, and not all compatriots
accepted subordination to a particular community leader. Thus there was at
once an intrinsic hierarchy of social networks and a hierarchy within these
associations. Each influenced the formation of an organized community,
how it perceived itself, and how local Argentine society recognized this
immigrant colony.
The following discussion contributes to studies assessing how immigrants
and minority groups interacted with state and society. Recent scholarship
has demonstrated that Jewish women possessed vital roles in linking the
Jewish community to the nation through the performance of charity.
Middle- and working-class Jews at once solidified their attachment to the
nation while crafting an ethnic identity through membership and support of
the local soccer club, Atlanta Athletic Club, in the Villa Crespo neighborhood of Buenos Aires. In addition, Ashkenazi Jews used cultural forms, such
as a vibrant Yiddish theater scene, to hash out what it meant to be a minority
and a member of an ethnic community in a cosmopolitan setting while contributing to an ever-widening Argentine national identity.9 Collectively these
works demonstrate that despite moments of intolerance and violence, Yiddish speakers and other immigrants found their way in Argentina. Indeed,
this study attempts to illuminate methods of cultural, economic, and social
integration by non-European and mostly non-Catholic immigrants in an
area and environment where the foreign-born made up a far smaller portion
of local society than in Buenos Aires. Certainly interpersonal networks, skill
sets, and social class conditioned these encounters. At the same time, the
Introduction
local economic, political, and social situations affected the strategies of these
immigrants. It is clear from the evidence that Syrians and Lebanese used
state institutions from the onset to seek protection, pursue justice, and secure
their financial interests. Many also suffered from state bodies in times of
distress and social disturbances. In sum these interactions were complex and
contingent upon multiple variables.
This study also adds to scholarship on immigration history by examining
how transnational processes affected new arrivals and their identities while
attempting to situate this story within its larger global context. In addition,
the evolution of this community demonstrates how these people directly
affected the development of national and cultural identities while being sensitive to the fact that a Syrian-Lebanese identity could be as exclusive as it was
inclusive. Not every Arabic speaker was a member of the larger ethnic community. More specifically the immigrant groups in Northwest Argentina
provide answers unique from the European flows. First, the Syrian-Lebanese
illustrate how a supposed undesirable immigrant group successfully achieved
economic prosperity that many translated into social prestige and political
power. Carl Solberg and Ignacio Klich have documented the prejudicial discourse against Jews and Arabs. Yet this emphasis on discrimination is overstated and glosses over the many types of encounters and associations these
immigrants experienced. Certainly prejudice existed; however, it operated
differently based on one’s class identity in the Northwest.10 Second, the
pre–World War I generation carried Ottoman citizenship and was active in
imperial and later nationalist politics as the empire collapsed. Taken together,
the local and global intersected to have a direct impact on ideas of community, on thoughts of home and homeland, and on who could associate in the
institutions, shaping notions and expressions of self and group as these people forged lives in Argentina.
Cultural and social elites of immigrant groups spearheaded the formation
of a hegemonic immigrant identity through the erection of community institutions and periodicals. While the size of the Syrian colonies in the Northwest grew considerably in the years before World War I, these immigrants
were unable to organize enduring pan-Syrian (or pan-Arab) organizations
servicing the broadest sectors of the group. In its place were religious institutions, such as the Maronite churches in Buenos Aires (1901) and Tucumán
(1910), the Greek Orthodox Church in Santiago del Estero (1914), an Islamic
7
8
Introduction
Society (1910), and burial societies for Sephardic Jews from Damascus (1913)
and Aleppo (1923). Ephemeral social and political associations, such as the
Ottoman Youth Society (1909) and the Lebanese Union (1915), also appeared.
Yet, in spite of the inability to form broad-based social institutions, a
vibrant press materialized and was critical in the creation of the mahjar.
Mahjar, in Arabic, is a noun of place that means “land of emigration,” and
was at once a particular locale and a shared imagined space that connected
Arabic speakers residing in various places, such as Tucumán, Dakar, New
York, and Rio de Janeiro, and linked them back to their compatriots who
remained in the old country. Print capitalism for those in the mahjar became
the driving force for creating a shared sense of connectivity across continents
as well as for competing nationalisms that emerged toward the end of World
War I.11 Indeed, the immigrant press is a vital source for historians. These
media, while certainly representing elite perspectives, nonetheless provided
venues for migrants to discuss the state of affairs and engage in a space about
life in a particular locale.12 The Arabic-language press produced in the
Americas indicated that these immigrants considered themselves part of
their homeland at every level: politically, socially, and economically. Intellectuals who published newspapers in Argentina were part of a larger “Arabophone Republic of Letters” and viewed themselves as agents of social and
political change, corresponding with the larger nahda, or cultural renaissance, in the homeland beginning in the middle of the nineteenth century.13
These publications, usually in Arabic, possessed particular political orientations, competed against other publications for the mantle of community spokesperson, and were often ephemeral.14 Periodicals presented news
about the homeland, usually in the form of letters from correspondents,
information received from recent arrivals, and letters from family members.
Most consisted of only four pages, and also provided news about immigrants in Argentina and the issues faced, successes achieved, and tragedies
suffered, reflecting “faithfully the life, aspirations, and values of the Arab
community” in Argentina.15 The Arabic press was effusive in praising the
generosity of Argentina too, marveling at the country’s wealth and celebrating the freedoms experienced there by immigrants.16 Hence, Arabiclanguage newspapers published in the diaspora are invaluable sources for
assessing the state of immigrant community life, the affairs circulating
within it, the competing concerns regarding the politics of the homeland,
Introduction
and what the intellectuals believed the individual and collective responsibilities were to the host society.
As the Syrian colony grew in size, a discernible cultural elite emerged
within the communities. Arabic speakers in Argentina were certainly influenced by local political arrangements and the national culture within which
they lived. The excitement surrounding Argentina’s centenary, for instance,
figured into the Syrian immigrant communities’ embrace of constitutional
rule. Alejandro Schamún, editor of the Arabic periodical Assalam, published
in Buenos Aires, received a letter from the iconic Socialist Deputy Alfredo
Palacios declaring, “Liberty is not granted, it must be won,” in celebration of
the first anniversary of the Young Turk Revolution.17 Moreover, SyrianLebanese intellectuals in Northwest Argentina, in particular in Tucumán,
viewed themselves as the defenders of the immigrant colony against affronts,
prejudices, and threats emanating from local society or other migrant
groups. Many also believed that they were a vital part of their homeland’s
political life and dialogued and debated with their peers in the Americas, in
Europe, and in the Arab lands of the Ottoman Empire. Many worked as
merchants, were recognized for their oral poetics, and also published or contributed to Arabic-language periodicals. Only a very few worked solely as
newsmen. The term used by Syrian intellectuals to address themselves and
their peers was adīb (pl. udabā’), an Arabic term denoting a cultured person
as well as a man of letters. Many of these elites were well educated, some even
graduating from university, but this was not necessarily a requirement for
recognition as such.18
Before World War I émigrés, especially those who published newspapers,
formulated a Syrian identity as the hegemonic Arabic-speaking immigrant
identity in Argentina and the rest of the Americas.19 In the critical years after
1908, Levantine newspapers disseminated competing nationalist ideas to
readers, including the émigré communities in the Americas.20 It was these
ideas and debates that also animated the Arabic press in Argentina and elsewhere. Syrian immigrants in Argentina were an important part of this discussion, yet little scholarship has examined the intersection of transnational
ideological currents that influenced one’s political disposition and mode of
participation with local particularities such as democratic governance and
economic opportunity in Argentina.
As a result, the cultural elite possessed a tremendous amount of social
9
10
Introduction
capital within and without their immigrant colonies. In many cases these
men defended their compatriots against injuries and insults, imagined or real.
They also set the agenda about issues deemed important to the colony. These
publishers also gained access to the political elite of the host society. Consequently, the cultural elite fashioned much of the popular understandings of
what would become the Syrian-Lebanese colony, and local elites accepted
these intellectuals, along with their merchant elite and the social institutions
they controlled, as the natural representatives of the group at large.
Primary documents in four languages collected from repositories in
Argentina, France, Lebanon, Syria, and the United States make up the bulk
of materials informing this study. In particular it relies on civil, commercial,
and criminal court proceedings, diplomatic correspondence, statistical
annuals and censuses, government publications, newspapers and journals,
poetry volumes, and plays. The court cases reveal the various experiences of
immigrants and in certain instances present stories and voices of people at
their most vulnerable. The press features numerous Arabic-language periodicals published in Argentina as well as the Spanish-language publications.
The immigrant press is vital in presenting a particular window into the internal deliberations of this colony. The poetry is very important because it was
a cultural practice using a common register shared by these immigrants.
Oral poetics were deeply ingrained in critical community events such as
births, weddings, and funerals. The statistical annuals from Tucumán province were vital in crafting the rates of arrest of various groups as well as the
probabilities of endogamous and exogamous marriage. Taken together, these
materials permit the close inspection of a diverse group of immigrants over
successive generations to appreciate more fully the processes of adaptation,
integration, and the emergence of new social identities.
With the exception of the Arabic-language poems, all translations are
mine. For the poems, I partnered with Kawa Morad. In transliterating and
using Arabic and Turkish words and phrases, I utilized the Transliteration
Chart and Word List from the International Journal of Middle East Studies.
Book Organization
To chart the development of this immigrant colony and its evolution in the
Argentine Northwest during the first half of the twentieth century, the study
Introduction
begins in the Arab lands of the Ottoman Empire and follows the waves of
emigrants who pursued their destinies abroad. Chapter 1 scrutinizes the
causes for emigration from the Ottoman Empire in the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries. The integration into the world economy, the penetration of liberal economic and political ideologies, the efficacy of Ottoman
rule, and the development of interpersonal networks played important roles
in creating an environment of emigration. Because of the uneven nature of
these processes, certain zones produced significantly more emigrants than
others at particular moments. Equally important, the general expansion of
regional economies and access to information and education combined to
spur the outflow of hundreds of thousands of Arabic speakers. Over time
emigration would become as much a cultural rite of passage and acceptable
life choice as an economic or social necessity.
Chapter 2 explores the various experiences of the pioneer generation of
Syrian immigrants in Northwest Argentina, which ranged from tragic ends
to internal disputes to interactions with local social and political elites to celebrating an Ottoman political identity, until the start of World War I in 1914.
Peddling and later the opening of dry goods stores influenced the Argentine
popular imagination. At the same time the surge of Syrians into Tucumán
immediately before the Great War coupled with the colony’s lack of a social
aid institution to intensify internal social stratification and fragmentation.
Many immigrants experienced great labor and personal insecurity.
Chapter 3 examines the evolution of the Syrian colonies in the context of
significant political transformations and economic uncertainty. Collectively
the group’s merchants emerged as a very wealthy block at the same time as
poorer immigrants endured penury, arrest, and violent altercations. During
the period Syrian immigrants based in Tucumán but working in Jujuy province initiated the then largest labor rebellion in that area. The course of
World War I and the subsequent collapse of the Ottoman Empire had a significant impact on the most politically active immigrants. Some activists
used it as an opportunity to attach the colony to the larger Argentine social
fabric. Others created an organization to eschew homeland nationalist politics and crafted what would become a hegemonic Syrian-Lebanese identity.
Chapter 4 studies the issues and efforts surrounding the raising of families and the establishing of community institutions between 1920 and
1940—efforts that proved to be vital in the development of a recognizable
11
12
Introduction
Syrian-Lebanese ethnic identity and community in Northwest Argentina.
Inasmuch as Syrians and Lebanese set out to create a sense of community
and thus a group identity, the ways in which Argentines viewed these people
factored into both the fashioning of communal norms and the way certain
immigrant intellectuals attempted to present the colony to local society.
Syrians and Lebanese drew upon a repertoire of cultural artifacts to interpret the world within which they lived. Arabic-speaking immigrants utilized community events and cultural forms to mark, reflect upon, and
debate issues, fleshing out personal and group identities. This chapter also
closely inspects the evolution of institutions pertaining to Maronite Catholics, Antiochian Orthodox Christians, Sephardic Jews, and the diverse Muslim population.
In the backdrop of the global depression of 1930, Chapter 5 explores
Syrian-Lebanese merchant and intellectual elites’ activities, in particular
their internal wrangling and growing calls for political activism. The founding of the Syrian-Lebanese Society did little to foster a sense of mutual commitment, but rather turned into an organization run by and for the merchant
elite. Activists demanded more political participation and a greater appreciation of the Syrian-Lebanese by local political bosses, and called for the
formation of a voting bloc to secure the colony’s interests. Politics of the old
country also returned, proving irreconcilable for the most politically committed. The second-generation Syrian-Lebanese raised concern among many
of these same activists. Despite several attempts to kick-start youth organizations and persistent encouragement from the Arabic press, the children of
Syrian and Lebanese immigrants pursued different interests. As such, the
idea of a Syrian-Lebanese colony for numerous immigrants and their children became little more than an intellectual exercise, while it emerged as an
existential concern for many of the older generation connected to community institutions.
Chapter 6 examines the activities of girls and women of the Syrian-Lebanese
colony. Families increasingly emphasized education for their male and female
children, and communities established private schools to teach Arabic, to
inculcate cultural values, and to help condition the rate or quality of integration. The colony’s lack of a broad-based mutual aid society left the task of charity to women. As such, public charitable acts gave certain women from the
Syrian-Lebanese colony a prominent role in local society and unprecedented
Introduction
influence in crafting social policy. The soup kitchen organized and operated by
Syrian-Lebanese women during the global depression was the most influential
political intervention by the colony to that point.
The final chapter looks at the political activism of Syrian-Lebanese immigrants and their children in yet another turbulent moment in Argentina. The
heated provincial elections of 1942 featured an impasse in the Electoral College, which was tasked with designating the new governor. Despite a presence in Tucumán for more than half a century, the political strife and heated
encounters in the Electoral College led to a public expression of prejudice
that questioned the ability of Syrian-Lebanese to become Argentines. Elite
members of Tucumán society targeted two Syrian immigrants who were
naturalized Argentines and members of the Electoral College, attempting to
remove them from their political role. The encounter on the floor of the provincial legislature provoked one of the immigrants to lash out, “These two
Syrians are more Argentine than you.” The maneuvers against the two Syrian
electors also sparked significant political mobilization of Syrians and Lebanese. This critical moment in Tucumán political life marked the decisive rise
of these immigrants’ children who identified with Argentina and pursued
their lives in this understanding.
Many Syrians and Lebanese and their children believed that Argentina
was a generous receiver of immigrants. They also believed that the SyrianLebanese colony was an important element in the democratic advance and
economic development of Argentina. A significant portion of these immigrants and their children deeply felt a sense of loyalty and patriotism to the
nation. Yet socioeconomic class played the critical role in who participated
and who was recognized by local Argentine society as representatives of the
Syrian-Lebanese colonies in Tucumán and throughout the region.
13
14
Marseille
Black Sea
Istanbul
Smyrna
Alexandretta
Mediterranean Sea
Tripoli
Beirut
Alexandria
Aleppo
Damascus
Jerusalem
Cairo
Khedivate of
EGYPT
N
Red
Sea
Map 1. Ottoman Empire, 1900.
15
N
Alexandretta
VILAYET of ALEPPO
Aleppo
Latakia
Banias
CYPRUS
AY E
T
of B
EIR
UT
Tartus
Homs
Tripoli
Beirut
VIL
Mediterranean
Sea
Hama
Governorate of
MOUNT LEBANON
Saida
Damascus
Haifa
Nazareth
VILAYET of SYRIA
Jaffa
Ramallah
Jerusalem
Bethlehem
Governorate of
JERUSALEM
Dead
Sea
Valley of Christians
Governorate Area
Vilayet Boundary
EGYPT
0
0
Map 2. Greater Syria, 1900.
100 KM
100 Miles
16
BOLIVIA
PARAGUAY
San Salvador de Jujuy
Salta
San Miguel de Tucumán
BRAZIL
Santiago del Estero
Cordoba
Mendoza
Pacific
Ocean
Rosario
URUGUAY
Buenos Aires
ARGENTINA
CHILE
Atlantic
Ocean
N
0
0
Map 3. Argentina, 1900s.
300 KM
300 Miles
17
Burruyacú
Tafi Viejo
San Miguel de Tucumán
Famaillá
Alderetes
Bella Vista
Villa Fiad
Monteros
N
Concepción
Aguilares
Rio Chico
Area of Interest
Sugar Growing Area
Province Boundary
Department Boundary
0
0
Map 4. Tucumán Province, 1900s.
40 KM
40 Miles
Chapter 1
“To Forge a New Dream”
Emigration from Greater Syria
Staring out at the Mediterranean Sea for the first time, Nissim Teubal
experienced a new sensation. As if in a daze, with a feeling of something near
fear, he was struck by the water’s vastness, its freedom, its immensity. He
briefly wanted to return home to Aleppo. Teubal, however, resisted that
temptation, remembering that he was leaving behind a city and a society that
offered little in the way of personal and professional fulfillment. He, along
with his uncle and cousin, had traveled the three-day, 160-kilometer journey
from Aleppo to the port city of Alexandretta in a covered wagon pulled by
two mules in May 1906. The decision to emigrate was one that had arrived
over a gradual evolution and then in a sudden moment of conviction. Nissim
Teubal, and countless others in the Ottoman Empire, cultivated a growing
sense that opportunity lay beyond the horizon of his hometown. After a
short stay, Nissim Teubal and his family members boarded a cargo steamship
destined for Alexandria, Egypt, from which they would travel to Marseille
and finally onward to Buenos Aires.1
Nissim Teubal and his family were part of the sizable, ancient Jewish community in Aleppo. The city itself was a provincial capital and cosmopolitan
hub of commercial activity that sat at a principal end of the trans-Asia caravan route known as the Silk Road. Aleppo in the beginning of the twentieth
19
20
Chapter 1
century numbered roughly 250,000 citizens, a majority of whom were Muslims and with considerable minorities of Christians and Jews.2 These three
groups largely resided in three historic neighborhoods inside the walls of the
old city. Religious plurality was an important characteristic of Aleppo in this
era, yet this was not an egalitarian society. Jews and Christians did not carry
the same legal rights as their Muslim compatriots. Nevertheless, the Aleppo
of Teubal’s youth was one in which Muslims were “benevolent” to these religious minorities: many Jews were business associates with Muslims, and
Muslims in general defended Jews against the aggression of particular coreligionists. When the city was contrasted to the Jewish experience in contemporary Central Europe and Tsarist Russia, Teubal reflected that Aleppo in
the reign of Sultan Abdul Hamid II was “pacific” and Jewish security was
“complete.”3
Despite the general security young people like Nissim Teubal began to
perceive limits in Ottoman socioeconomic life. Teubal had set his course as
an entrepreneur at the spritely age of fourteen, trading in new and used burlap sackcloth. He had gained valuable experience working for his uncle, and
his early success led local merchants to compete for his services. After some
time moving between local merchants, Teubal decided to ask for seed money
from his maternal grandfather for an initial stock purchase of burlap sacks.
The elder, impressed with the negotiating skills of his grandson, extended a
loan. Nissim Teubal’s accomplishments were tempered by a sense of disbelief
in the ability of Aleppo to create an environment of prosperity for its Jewish
inhabitants. This creeping sentiment coincided with an increasing number
of locals, including a rising number of Jews, emigrating to the Americas. This
was partly a result of the opening of the Alliance Israélite Universelle school,
which after several stunted attempts opened for good in 1896. According to
Teubal, this was the first lay school in Aleppo that taught European languages—principally if not exclusively French—and modern sciences in a
European curriculum, thus offering an introduction to the wider world. By
the end of the century many Jewish families understood the value of sending
their children to this school, and the Teubal family decided to send Nissim’s
elder brother Ezra there.4
At the time of Ezra Teubal’s attendance, Jews from Aleppo began emigrating to the Americas. Almost immediately letters detailing untold wealth and
the consistent remittance of money stoked the interest and desires of many
“To Forge a New Dream”
local youths. As Nissim Teubal remembered, “the poor multitude of our
neighborhood in Aleppo, full of forces but without having a place to employ
their energies, began to forge a new dream: America, emigrate to America!”
It was in this moment that two neighborhood youths approached Ezra Teubal about learning French from him. As he taught the pair over the course of
some months, Teubal’s father suggested that they emigrate and take Ezra
with them as an interpreter. The three departed in 1905 for the United States.
One of the young men, however, was diagnosed with trachoma in Marseille,
thus preventing his entry into the United States. Committed to staying
together, the three looked for another destination. They settled upon Argentina because it required neither the passing of a medical examination nor
entry visas. Shortly after their arrival in Buenos Aires, Nissim Teubal and his
family began receiving letters from his elder brother Ezra. They learned that
several other neighborhood boys had been living there for some time and
participating in the cotton textile trade. Ezra Teubal further wrote of the
lifestyle and its quality in Buenos Aires, describing Argentina as “good, free,
and generous,” with “just laws.” He also confessed to making monthly profits of between 10 and 20 pounds sterling, despite the work being “hard and
tiring.” Ezra Teubal warned his brothers “it was not a game being a peddler.”
After devouring the letters’ contents, Nissim Teubal decided he too would
emigrate. The seduction of life in Argentina, as told by his older brother, was
the pull he needed to do it.5
Nissim Teubal consulted with his grandfather and again asked for a loan,
this time to help pay for his fare and expenses to Buenos Aires. After the
conversation Teubal’s grandfather introduced him to a local Muslim notable
who loaned the younger Teubal the money, but only after he promised to pay
it back. With finances secured and after only a year since his brother Ezra
had embarked for the Americas, the younger Teubal left Aleppo with his
uncle and cousin. Each determined that their futures lay in South America,
and each had begun a journey that was the product of the intersection of
global processes and local particularities—one that was replicated by tens of
millions of people who pursued their destinies in the new world. For millions
Argentina was not only a destination; it was the future.6
The voyages of the Teubal brothers fit a broader pattern of migration, but
also illustrated the idiosyncratic and deeply personal contexts informing the
decision to move. The integration into the world economy and the rise of
21
22
Chapter 1
European nations over the course of the nineteenth century provoked reform
projects targeting Ottoman politics and society by leaders in Istanbul. These
initiatives had profound, unexpected consequences in Greater Syria. The
development of the silk industry, the expansion of agricultural and industrial production, and the introduction of modern schooling through public
and private institutions led to important cultural changes in which emigration became a recognized social practice and acceptable life choice. Certainly
family connections and emerging networks of compatriots, coreligionists,
and neighbors were vital too. Through these human webs people shared
information, marshaled resources, and adapted upon arrival in the new society. Put another way, the course of the previous century met Nissim Teubal
on that late spring morning in Alexandretta as he looked beyond the horizon
in great anticipation and concern.
Society and Economy in Greater Syria in the Era of Mass Migration
The nineteenth century marked an era of reform and pronounced transformation in the Ottoman Empire that produced an environment conducive for
mass emigration. In response to a series of internal and external threats, the
Ottoman state initiated a series of policies commonly referred to as the Tanzimat (Reorganization). These reforms included the establishment of new
institutions designed to guarantee security of life, property, and honor to all
subjects of the empire regardless of their religion or ethnocultural identities.
It also authorized military conscription and training, and the development
of a system of taxation to eliminate abuses. Collectively these measures
weakened the grip of the ulama (the group of leading Muslim scholars and
jurists) on Ottoman society. The Tanzimat, however, was an expensive
undertaking, and the Ottoman state never could generate enough revenue to
pay for all the initiatives—a direct result of the state’s inability to fundamentally reform the collection of taxes in the countryside. The goal of the Tanzimat, which was to increase the military and economic strength of the empire
to withstand the power of European nations, ultimately fostered the exact
opposite result. The overwhelming public indebtedness to the British and
French led to greater intervention in internal Ottoman affairs.7 The Ottoman
reforms came to a halt in 1878 as Sultan Abdul Hamid II nullified the constitution, shuttered the parliament, and curtailed civil liberties. The state
“To Forge a New Dream”
continued tinkering with military and economic policies and initiated a sustained program of infrastructure development, including the introduction
of a postal system and railroads and increasing use of steamships.8 A group
of civilian and military reformers seized the institutions of state from the
sultan in July 1908. This so-called Young Turk Revolution, led by the Ottoman Committee for Union and Progress and supported by the military,
retained the sultan as a mere figurehead and link to the past. The revolutionaries restored constitutional government and civil liberties. Yet the Young
Turks were frustrated by secessionist movements in the Balkans. In addition,
several of their policies alienated important segments of Ottoman society, in
particular the Arabic-speaking populations whose demands for greater
autonomy within the imperial superstructure were ignored by Istanbul.9
Syria is a historic term used since the times of Herodotus denoting the
coastal regions of the eastern Mediterranean Sea and its hinterlands. The
various Islamic caliphates referred to this region as Bilād al-Shām following
its conquest in the seventh century. Both terms have endured to the present.
In the late Ottoman era Syria consisted of the provinces (vilayet) of Beirut,
Syria, and Aleppo and the governorates (mutasarrifiyya) of Mount Lebanon
and Jerusalem. The region featured several mountain ranges that over time
became the home for various Shi‘i Muslim communities. Beirut province,
established in 1888, was a noncontiguous administrative district consisting
of Beirut city and its immediate environs; the northern coastal towns of Latakia, Tartus, and Tripoli; the Syrian coastal mountain range; and the southern coastal municipalities of Saida and Haifa. Syria province, the largest in
dimension and population and formally promulgated in 1865, extended from
the Hijaz province in the south to the Aleppo province in the north and
shared a border with Beirut, Jerusalem, and Mount Lebanon. Mount Lebanon, formed in 1861, covered the Lebanon mountain range, but had no true
port city despite having miles of coastline. The Jerusalem governorate, established in 1873, included the coastal cities of Jaffa and Gaza and bordered the
Sinai Peninsula in the south.10
The provinces of Aleppo, Beirut, and Syria experienced a general economic expansion between 1880 and 1910 along with a corresponding concentration of land in the hands of the state and opportunistic landlords. The lack
of access to land and its expense would be two of many factors that prompted
emigration. As the rail network lengthened and agricultural production
23
24
Chapter 1
bloomed, a noticeable expansion in the textile-weaving sector targeted new
urban and rural markets. Mount Lebanon also experienced general economic expansion after 1880. The silk industry was its economic engine as half
of the cultivable land was planted with mulberry trees by the 1890s. While
prosperity from the silk industry in Mount Lebanon accustomed the local
population to certain living standards, increasing land prices prevented
many inhabitants from purchasing land or expanding holdings. Falling
world prices also hit at the sector’s profitability in the immediate years before
World War I.11 The structure and strictures of the silk complex thus provided
an impetus for emigration. The governorate of Jerusalem experienced similar
trends. Industry was as developed as it was in the neighboring provinces,
much of it done by Ashkenazi Jewish immigrants. Among local producers,
soap making and weaving showed growth. There were at least thirty soap
plants in Nablus by the 1880s and towns such as Nazareth and Beit Jala near
Bethlehem emerged as weaving centers.12
While many studies emphasize the Christian and Lebanese characteristics of emigrants, the outflow of Ottomans from Greater Syria was as religiously diverse as was local society. The region’s confessional groups included
Maronite Catholics, Antiochian Orthodox Christians, Melkites, Armenian
Catholics, Gregorian Armenians, Sephardic Jews, Sunni Muslims, Shi‘i
Muslims, Druzes, ‘Alawites, and Isma‘ilis. Each Christian community possessed its own churches, clergy, liturgy, and traditions. Some traditions were
in union with Rome and others were ecclesiastically independent of the
Roman Catholic Church. The undeniably large numbers of Syrian Christians
abroad led the respective patriarchates to send out clergy to minister to and
organize the faithful.13 Ottoman Jews also had robust communities in the
most important urban centers in Greater Syria, in particular Aleppo, Beirut,
Damascus, and Jerusalem. People from these communities too ventured in
the mahjar, and religious leaders also later found their way to these communities.14 The Islamic communities residing in Greater Syria made up the
majority of the regional population. While Sunnis made up the bulk of urban
and rural Muslims in Greater Syria, various smaller Shi‘i Muslim communities were the largest in particular jurisdictions, such as the Druzes in Mount
Lebanon’s Shūf district and ‘Alawites in Beirut’s northernmost district of
Latakia. As emigration became a regional characteristic in the years before
World War I, members from each tradition found their way to Argentina
“To Forge a New Dream”
(including Muslims—perhaps the largest and most vibrant) and served as the
bedrock for emerging informal, interpersonal networks that played a vital
role in the movement of migrants.
Modern Education and Cultural Change in Greater Syria
Increasing access to Western-influenced education motivated many students
to venture abroad. Schools organized by American and European Roman
Catholic and Protestant Christian missionaries educated generations of boys
and girls, introducing them to mathematics, science, technology, and foreign
languages. In addition, teachers introduced students to European and North
American histories, where they learned about markets, landmarks, and
founding fathers.15 The establishment of the Syrian Protestant College was
an admission by missionaries from the United States of “the futility of direct
evangelism in deeply multireligious lands, and also an accommodation to a
local demand for secular education.”16 For many students these missionary
schools also created the human networks on which these young people relied
in the early years of emigration. Imperial reforms too were critical in the
modernization of education, much of which followed an 1845 report by the
Ottoman Education Commission. The intellectual François Guizot, who
established modern education theory in France, certainly influenced this
body as it incorporated his ideas into the Ottoman system. The 1869 Ottoman Education Regulation created a four-tier schooling structure that
emphasized science and foreign languages in its curriculum. The state subsequently embarked on a sustained expansion of public education in the
1880s.17 Public and private education in Greater Syria and Egypt aided the
emergence of a vigorous cultural renaissance in the second half of the nineteenth century. The nahda was a movement of cultural modernization influenced by political liberalism and European cultural forms. Intellectuals and
many others discussed the rights and obligations of individuals in society in
a burgeoning public sphere that ranged from broadsheets in Beirut to anarchist theater in Alexandria. Introspection on the complex issues of the day
characterized it, and a deep recognition of the importance of the Arabic
language emerged. The increasing use of the printing press yielded Modern
Standard Arabic, the vernacular of intellectuals. Poets published their collected works, playwrights and artists fostered a vibrant theater scene, and
25
26
Chapter 1
journalists used their periodicals to comment on all aspects of society and
politics.18
The role of schools in the development of mass emigration cannot be
understated despite it not necessarily being the primary cause. The location
of missionary schools suggests a correlation between access to liberal and
positivist-inflected curriculum and emigration, at least in the early years.
By the end of the nineteenth century there were reportedly seventeen thousand students in Protestant schools in Syria and Palestine, with 150 schools
in Syria run by American missionaries.19 The Americas received Syrian
immigrants from specific areas within the region, all of which had schools
run by Protestant and Catholic evangelists and, later, state-supported
schools. For instance, the caza of Batroun—a subdistrict in the northern
part of Mount Lebanon—consisted of a coastal town and many small mountainous hamlets, including Kahlil Gibran’s home village of Bcharre. By the
early 1890s, when emigration to the Americas was beginning to intensify,
there were 119 schools servicing 8,200 students in the caza. The high school
Saint-Jean-Maron, which was supported by the Maronite patriarch and
open to all faiths, offered a curriculum similar to that of the French missionary schools and taught its students Latin, Syriac, Arabic, French, and
Italian. Catholic missionaries regularly inspected the school, which had an
enrollment of 150.20
The burgeoning cities of Greater Syria represented the locales where the
consequences of these revolutionary transformations can be seen most
clearly. The access to information, modern education, and the benefits of an
expanding economy contributed to rising expectations and an increasing
willingness to emigrate when local realities prevented people from pursuing
and achieving their personal goals. Key cities and towns for emigration were
Beirut, Aleppo, and Homs. Each municipality had a corresponding impact
on its hinterlands—the most significant perhaps being the relationship
between Beirut and Mount Lebanon—and as such these urban spaces served
as loci for agents of transportation companies, migrants, and points for
information dissemination.
Beirut’s financial and political prominence increased in the final quarter
of the nineteenth century. The municipality served as an important conduit
through which silk was exported and European goods arrived. The city also
featured several foreign consulates and a growing number of international
“To Forge a New Dream”
banks. Local elites launched concerted efforts to persuade officials in Istanbul to upgrade the city to a provincial capital, which they achieved in 1888.
As Beirut’s economic importance grew, so did the population, increasing
some 40 percent between 1858 and 1863 from fifty thousand to seventy thousand and nearly doubling by the mid-1890s to one hundred twenty thousand
residents. As a result, the city grappled with the consequences experienced
by a large number of port cities around the world regarding perceived social
ills such as social unrest, unemployment, and epidemics. The urbanization
of Beirut and the subsequent draw of internal migrants to it marked the city
as the first waypoint for many people who traveled into the mahjar.21
Schools were an important feature of Beirut’s urban landscape, servicing
more than ten thousand students annually by the mid-1890s, and they were
one of the most contested spaces of cultural production. Public primary
schools and religious schools (madrasas) attached to mosques were the most
numerous; however, local Christian communities and American and European Christian missionaries had a robust presence in the city, most notably
in higher education. The Syrian Protestant College (later the American University of Beirut) and the Jesuit’s University of Saint Joseph were important
centers producing many future public intellectuals, physicians, nationalists,
and emigrants. Beirut served as the hub of this intellectual activity. The city
boasted several printing presses, newspapers, and magazines. In 1881 the
American printing press published 57,500 books, and more than two-thirds
of the books were sold that same year. This intellectual outpouring fueled the
nahda. The reading public expanded and writers began discussing pressing
issues such as good governance, social equality, due process of law, and economic and infrastructure development. By the mid-1890s local journalists
were publishing twelve periodicals in Arabic and other European languages.
The increasingly public role of intellectuals led them to view themselves as
agents of change and as a separate class.22
Beirut became increasingly subject to social disturbances, and new institutions emerged to monitor working-class men and women. The press was
one such example. Public intellectuals, municipal officials, and local notables
concerned themselves with health conditions and urban services, especially
housing, street repair, and order as internal migrants flooded the city. These
issues dominated the columns of Beirut’s first newspaper, Hadīqa al-Akhbar.
In addition, private organizations, state offices, and entrepreneurs opened a
27
28
Chapter 1
host of services and shops to meet the needs of the local population. For
instance, twenty benevolent aid societies worked with the indigent and the
infirm. Other establishments and services included six hospitals, multiple
tramways, two public parks, twenty-three police posts, ten public baths on
the beach, five olive presses, twelve bookstores, twenty printing presses, and
much more. Consequently, the city was a place of great contrast—of wealth
and misery—which also served as a primary gateway for emigration.23
Aleppo suffered many issues similar to those that afflicted Beirut. It served
as an important commercial and industrial center in addition to its role as
provincial capital, mixing the modern with the historic in terms of the urban
landscape. Historic mosques, churches, Turkish baths (hammams), and caravan quarters (khans) increasingly shared space with monuments of a modernizing society such as public fountains, casinos, pharmacies, and the famous
clock tower at Bab al-Faraj. In addition, newspapers emerged and attempted
to create venues for discussing current issues in an incipient public sphere.
The media was important elements in the emergence of a middle class that
embraced novel social practices and evolving notions of nation and politics.
The city was also a destination for internal migrants and Circassian refugees,
foreign consular agents, international merchants, and evangelizing Protestants attempting to find their way, attain wealth, or save souls. The net result
was a large, cosmopolitan city in which access to information was relatively
easy to come by.24
Aleppo also served as the education center of the province. A diverse
urban space of some one hundred twenty-five thousand people by the 1890s,
the city possessed 260 schools serving more than six thousand students.
Muslims accounted for nearly half of the students, mostly at the primary
level. There were two government schools open to all faiths—one military
and the other civil—that attracted talented locals destined for state service.
While many Muslim families realized the importance of an education for
their children, some pious Muslims bristled at a perceived lack of religious
instruction in the state civil schools.25 The Christian communities— such as
the Chaldeans, Maronites, and Armenians—organized their own parochial
schools. European Roman Catholic orders of priests and women religious
also established secondary schools and colleges. The prominent Franciscan
Holy Land College, for instance, offered Arabic, Turkish, Latin, French, and
Italian languages; science; and arts and letters; the college used a curriculum
“To Forge a New Dream”
similar to those of the religious universities in France, Belgium, and Italy.
This institution was also open to students of any faith. The Jewish community benefited from the school organized by Alliance Israelite Universelle,
which offered a curriculum based on the public French one, despite the local
religious establishment’s strong reservations.26 For Nissim Teubal, this
school offered “incalculable advantages” for local Jewish students, and in the
case of his family the opportunity emerged for his older brother Ezra. While
not every former pupil of these schools emigrated, it is likely that these institutions performed a vital role in the decision-making process to emigrate.27
Similarly, the city of Homs (the “Manchester of Syria”), situated north
of Damascus, possessed 421 schools educating 5,895 students and included
23 college-level institutions, primarily law and Islamic theology faculties.
The Ottoman Ministry of Public Instruction established two public high
schools—one for girls and the other for boys—following a curriculum similar to that of secondary schools in Paris. Courses were taught in Turkish,
Arabic, and Persian. The Jesuits ran fifteen free primary schools; French
was the primary language of instruction in twelve of them. Six nuns ran
the three Catholic schools for girls. The Roman Catholic missions funded
these schools and regularly inspected them to maintain quality. Maronite,
Greek Catholic, and Syrian Catholic residents of Homs sent their children
to these religious schools believing the students would receive “primary
education at the level of progress achieved in Europe.” It was not only
Christian communities in Greater Syria that benefited from these schools.
North American Protestant missionaries established twelve schools in
‘Alawite villages in the Latakia district, including eight in hamlets near the
district’s seat. Ottoman officials also promised ‘Alawite leaders to build
public schools and grant full share in local administration in exchange for
more cooperation regarding military conscription. These schools were as
critical in disseminating information about and crafting networks of peers
in the Americas as they were in developing a set of skills that may have
inspired the departures by many of the local population.28
The integration of Greater Syria into the world economy, the reform efforts
of the Ottoman state, and the increasing penetration and meddling by European nations unleashed cultural, economic, and social transformations for
the region’s inhabitants. A growing belief in liberal ideas of equality, freedom,
and individual rights was disseminated via public and private schools, a
29
30
Chapter 1
burgeoning press, and word of mouth. This cultural shift combined with a
general economic expansion to raise expectations about life choices that in
many cases local labor markets could not meet. Together an environment
emerged in which hundreds of thousands of men and women—young and
old, single and married—decided to pursue their destinies overseas.
Emigration and its impact on society, politics, and the economy
The emigration of people from the eastern Mediterranean before 1914 experienced two distinct phases. First, a pioneer generation composed of a disproportionately large group of educated men with better skills moved with capital.
The 1860 riots in Mount Lebanon, during which more than two hundred
villages were razed, led to European intervention and the Ottoman decree
known as the 1861 Règlemente Organique. The proclamation established the
autonomous administrative unit of Mount Lebanon answering directly to the
Ministry of Interior in Istanbul. The Règlemente abolished all “feudal” privileges and freed peasants from their historical ties to local notables.29 It also
guaranteed the freedom of movement and coincided with the increase of private and public schools offering secular education. This provision played a
most consequential role in creating a cultural practice of emigration that was
increasingly viewed as a suitable life choice throughout the region. This notion
of uninhibited passage had filtered into popular culture by the period of
intense emigration and created “venues of social and physical movement
within and out of the country.”30 While the average peasant was neither rich
nor destitute, land prices, limited employment opportunities, and the understanding that emigration was a viable option generated this movement.31
The Young Turk Revolution of July 1908 marked the beginning of the second stage. The numbers of émigrés had grown in the years before the events
in Istanbul; however, the numbers surged thereafter. As many as one hundred thousand émigrés from Mount Lebanon lived in the Americas by the
start of World War I, as did an estimated forty thousand people from Homs
and its hinterland—a startling number considering that the city had sixty
thousand inhabitants in the 1890s. By 1914 between four hundred fifty thousand and six hundred thousand people from Greater Syria resided in the
Americas, equaling one-sixth of the regional population, a percentage comparing closely with Italians abroad.32
“To Forge a New Dream”
Yacoub Debes was one of the first Arabic speakers to emigrate to the
United States; he arrived shortly after the Civil War from the small village of
Bazoun, located in northern Mount Lebanon. Debes was a partisan of the
1864 uprising led by Yusef Bey Karam, who also had attempted to mobilize a
group of Maronite irregulars to fight the Druze in 1860. Karam, who understood the 1860 riots as a plot against the Christian population benefiting
from Druze and Maronite peasant ignorance, consistently challenged the
Ottoman state in Mount Lebanon. The Ottomans for their part attempted to
buy his loyalty through a series of bureaucratic appointments in Istanbul
between 1861 and 1864. In the latter year Karam quietly returned to Mount
Lebanon, rebelled against Ottoman governor Davud Pasha, and initiated a
series of military skirmishes with Ottoman troops that was in the end unable
to inspire a massive rebellion. In 1866 Karam and his supporters, including
Debes, were given amnesty and safe passage out of Beirut, first to Algiers,
then to France, and finally to Italy. While exiled in Italy Debes learned of the
“New World and the bountiful riches in it” and watched ships filled with
Italian migrants leave for the United States. Debes soon returned to Bazoun
and told what he had heard and had seen to anyone willing to listen. He then
convinced family members and some village youths to sail to the United
States.33 The example of Debes and his peers would be replicated by everincreasing numbers of Syrians, including the Teubal brothers. Word of
mouth and the press proved critical in encouraging this initial stage of
migration, and these were accompanied by the emergence of social networks
based on various types of relationships, including ideas of kinship or religious fellowship. This inspired José Sansón, also from the village of Bazoun,
to move to Argentina, where he was the first Syrian immigrant to reach San
Miguel de Tucumán, arriving in 1885.34 At the turn of the century the emergence of an Arabic-language press throughout the Americas connected emigrants with their homelands and disseminated tales of life abroad. In 1906 a
Beirut press began publishing an Arabic-language Spanish grammar book
written by a Druze immigrant residing in Montevideo.35
Although emigration from the empire was technically illegal until the
first decade of the twentieth century, sojourners bribed officials and secured
transport via traffickers with evolving efficiency and availability. As a result,
a growing number of emigrants left their hometowns in search of opportunity abroad. In fact, in June 1907 the French minister in Istanbul ordered
31
32
Chapter 1
reports on the numbers and ethnicities of Ottoman emigrants departing to
the Americas.36 The reports from France’s consulates reveal common causes
and specifically local reasons for emigration, in particular the pursuit of
financial betterment. They also illustrate how the Young Turk Revolution
affected particular populations and the decision to leave the country. Most
important, the records demonstrate that this was far from a phenomenon
particular to the inhabitants of Mount Lebanon. Rather, it was a regional
phenomenon that operated according to local flows.
In regard to the provinces of Beirut and Syria and the governorate of
Mount Lebanon, the motives, according to diplomats, were largely based on
stagnant economic conditions and weak labor markets. An estimated twelve
thousand people had been departing annually, of whom Sunni and Shi‘i
Muslims made up nearly one-fifth. This recent wave marked a significant
increase from the six thousand annual departures in the 1890s and again
spoke to the increasing popularity and acceptance of the choice to migrate.
Beirut served as the primary port of departure, although Latakia, Tripoli,
Sur, and Saida were also used. As more people emigrated, brokers emerged
in Beirut and other cities, serving as intermediaries for French and Italian
transportation firms to tap this growing market. In fact, the French consul
in Beirut anticipated the intensification of emigration as the rail lines began
linking the coastal city with the Syrian interior.37 A French official based in
Aleppo observed that nearly twenty thousand emigrants from the province
of Syria and the governorate of Mount Lebanon had settled in Brazil by 1907,
many working as peddlers and with quite a few achieving vast wealth. He
concluded that the residents of Syria, Aleppo, and Mesopotamia provinces
were “also more willing than before to follow the example of their fellow
Lebanese, and it was indeed found that the number of emigrants from these
regions [began] increasing gradually.”38
In the governorate of Jerusalem, the French representative noted that
Christians and Jews made up the two primary groups of emigrants by 1907.
Christians primarily originated from Bethlehem, Bait Jala, Beit Sahour,
and Ramallah. According to the report, three hundred Bethlehemites and
another two hundred from the surrounding villages left for the Americas
annually, where they peddled for the most part. Interestingly, 50 percent of
these men departed with their families, and another 15 percent would
return one or two years later looking for their parents. The diplomat noted
“To Forge a New Dream”
that it was rare for these emigrants to return home permanently, and as a
result some four thousand émigrés left Palestine without a desire to
return—a significant number considering Bethlehem’s population in the
mid-1890s was less than six thousand people.39 The second group consisted
of the local Jewish population, including a small portion of the Russian
Jews that had originally immigrated to the governorate. The French report
noted that members of some two hundred Jewish families from Jerusalem
had migrated to the United States, and after six to eight months they would
petition for an American passport. Thereafter, these people would return
to Jerusalem with the protections guaranteed by the US government. In
North America these émigrés tended to work as mechanics and fitters; initially they searched for work in New York City, but seemingly shifted to
Canada and Brazil by 1907. Interestingly, this emigration of local Sephardic
Jews coincided with the immigration of Ashkenazi Jews, numbering some
2,500 annual arrivals. The French diplomat then observed that 10 to 15 percent would move later to Egypt and other Ottoman provinces. Nearly onefifth would return to Russia and two-fifths would push on to the Americas.
Only 10 percent of these immigrants tended to remain in Palestine. For
émigrés in general, Argentina was becoming an increasingly attractive destination of choice because of the government’s agricultural colony policies.
The official noted that the fare from Marseille to Buenos Aires cost 150 French
francs.40
The shape and intensity of emigration changed after the watershed
moment of the Young Turk Revolution. The restoration of the 1876 constitution and the seizure of power by the Committee on Union and Progress in
1908 initiated a period of intense transformation as the reformers attempted
to redefine the relationship between state and society. A critical policy initiative featured the conscription of Ottoman Christians and Jews into the military. This measure, which was designed to foster a broad collective political
identity through shared experiences, provoked a spike in emigration of religious minorities. At least this reason for the intensification was a general
impression among the various diplomatic corps in the region. The American
consul general in Beirut, for instance, reported that intensifying emigration
was a direct result of the military law’s enforcement.41 British consular officials in Jerusalem noted that many Christian and Jewish youth fled because
of the draft despite their elders’ encouragement to perform their patriotic
33
34
Chapter 1
duty.42 As conscription ramped up to put down a series of insurrections in
the Balkans, Muslims in Greater Syria increasingly departed. The economy
faltered in this transitional moment and thus could not meet the expectations of sectors of the population, which produced a growing loss of trust and
belief in state institutions. Emigration thus became an increasingly attractive
option for a far wider cast of individuals and communities.
An early indication that something new was afoot came in an account
from the French consulate in Aleppo in October 1909 reporting on the “exodus” of Christians and Jews. Christians had formed the bulk of emigrants
in the late nineteenth century; however, this exodus largely consisted of
people from Mount Lebanon and adjacent areas in the province of Syria.
According to the dispatch, the application of the new military law, which
dealt with the conscription of non-Muslims, provoked the departure of a
large number of young people.43 The sputtering economy and a sense of
declining security produced an impression of extreme misery in the local
population, which then combined with a belief and hope that a better life
awaited them abroad. The new wave of emigrants leaving Aleppo featured
an increasing number embarking via Smyrna, Jaffa, Istanbul, and Alexandretta. Of the twelve thousand people who had received travel permits to
emigrate through these ports, nearly two-thirds declared their intent to quit
the empire permanently. Those leaving through Smyrna wanted to travel to
Latin America; those from Jaffa intended to move to the United States. Half
of the people headed to Alexandria planned to remain in Egypt, and the
others desired to travel on to Europe. In the previous twelve months, Aleppo
had a contingent of 5,100 Catholics of all communities (Maronites, Syriac,
and so forth) and Gregorian Armenians depart as well as 2,250 Jews. It was
rumored that they did so without proper passports.44 The choice of these
ports might have resulted from greater Ottoman scrutiny of the port of Beirut after the promulgation of compulsory military service for all subjects in
October 1909.45
The local Aleppo newspaper al-Taqaddum (Progress), which received a
subvention from the French consulate, explored the Christian exodus. The
article began with a reference to the ardor that citizens of Aleppo possessed
for their city and was a primary reason why locals had been “hesitant” to follow the examples of their compatriots in neighboring provinces. Noting that
this civic attitude had changed, the paper lamented that five thousand young
“To Forge a New Dream”
people from the “best population of Aleppo” had traveled recently to the
Americas and were later followed by family members. The permanency of
this migration caused grave concern for al-Taqaddum. The editor, Shukri
Kanaydir, a Melkite Greek Catholic, challenged the notion that military conscription was the lone causative factor. Indeed, Kanaydir defended the honor
and patriotism of the Christian community and declared that they “have
never been less courageous than their Muslim compatriots.” Instead, recent
massacres in the province and city of Aleppo and in nearby Adana province
destroyed all “hope found in the Constitution.” The state had made little
effort to prosecute the perpetrators of the violence, thus making people distrustful and hopeless in the efficacy of its institutions. Furthermore, the
“dearness of provisions,” the bad state of commerce, and the dearth of jobs
made outlooks drearier. Yet, the paper admitted that there were legitimate
concerns about the conscription of Christians and suggested that these Ottomans were harassed in the military. Speaking on behalf of their respective
constituents, Aleppo’s patriarchs declared that Christians wanted to help the
country’s progress, asserting that the Committee of Union and Progress
(CUP) still inspired confidence. These community leaders, however, suggested that a non-Muslim battalion would be the most sensible policy to ease
Christian concerns. Al-Taqaddum’s Kanaydir argued that these were the
principal causes for emigration and believed that the government could
enact “sage measures” to resolve the problem. Accordingly, sound economic
policy would follow, allowing Christians to perform a critical role in the
nation’s progress, as they had already demonstrated in Beirut and other
Christian majority cities.46 As noted, emigration to avoid the draft was not
a problem specific to Aleppo. The Sephardic newspaper Herut (Liberty) in
Jerusalem declared that this circumstance resulted locally from the lack of a
patriotic education curriculum.47
Thus, emigration became a general phenomenon motivated by larger processes, local realities, and personal desires. In 1909 nearly fourteen thousand
people emigrated through the ports of Beirut and Tripoli, and well over
twenty thousand were leaving annually in the years before World War I. The
difficulties in the old country did not necessarily inspire self-imposed exile,
as officials believed that between one-third and one-half of emigrants
returned once they had saved enough money. The myth of getting rich
abroad filtered into the popular conscience throughout the region. This belief
35
36
Chapter 1
even led the German consul in Tripoli to remark, “It is astonishing how
swiftly the great majority of emigrants attain a certain measure of prosperity
in their new fields of activity and how infrequent are failures, especially if it
be borne in mind that the majority of emigrants are completely uncultivated
and that most of them can hardly read and write their mother tongue.”48
The composition of emigrants changed too as many more Muslims emigrated. In the decade before World War I, Muslims from the provinces of
Beirut and Syria and the governorate of Mount Lebanon made up a greater
portion of the travelers. For instance, of the émigrés departing from Tripoli,
only 20 percent were from Mount Lebanon, and Muslims from the district
of Tripoli accounted for 40 percent. In fact, ‘Alawite emigration was so
intense in the years before World War I that two mountain villages reputedly
were renamed “‘Argantin” (Argentina) and “Brazin” (Brazil). In 1913 Muslims
accounted for 35 percent of travelers quitting the governorate of Jerusalem,
as did Jews. The three thousand emigrants from the district were mostly
young men.49
The consequences of this phenomenon were not lost on the Young Turk
government in Istanbul or among local leaders and intellectuals. The prominent newspaper Lisan al-Hal reported in September 1910 that more than two
hundred families from Aleppo, Beirut, and Syria provinces emigrated every
week. This fact prompted the Ottoman Ministry of War to instruct the Ministry of Interior to stop the outflow of people. Commenting on the underlying reasons, the Egyptian Gazette asserted the following month that “Syrian
emigrants . . . prefer exile in America to the dubious blessings of Turkey
under the so-called constitution.” That same month the New York Herald
noted that the large number of Syrians repatriated by US officials for failing
the medical examination had returned penniless. Yet because the local silk
industry struggled to compete against British and German goods, these
recent returnees were now bound for South American ports.50 During a testy
exchange between Damascene intellectual and journalist Mohammad Kurd
Ali and Ottoman Interior Minister Talaat Bey it became clear to the former
that the central government had little care and fewer ideas to address the
situation. At a meeting in Istanbul in March 1914, Talaat Bey happily
informed Kurd Ali that a good lot of migrants from the Balkans were arriving in Greater Syria. Kurd Ali responded that for the hundreds that arrived,
Syria lost thousands every week. Talaat Bey rejoined that these were only
“To Forge a New Dream”
Christians. The Syrian snapped, “Wrong. They are Muslims. Muslim Syria,
numerous and many, larger than Christian Syria is depopulating. If the exodus continues there will not be many farmers or artisans in the country.”51
Talaat Bey declared, “If they are Muslims that leave, we will pass a law to
interdict the emigration.” Kurd Ali scoffed, “Such a law will have no other
result than to levy to the official agents charged with stopping [emigration]
more money than they steal now for [allowing refugees] entering.” He then
suggested the administration should be relaxed, taxes lowered, agriculture
encouraged, and greater attention paid to the well-being of the worker. Talaat
Bey became angry and ended the meeting. After relating this encounter to
the French consul general in Damascus, Kurd Ali said, “Voila! Our government. And Talaat Bey is the most intelligent of them.” The French consul
general concluded that the bad effects of the war in the Balkans and the corruption of the local Ottoman government caused emigration. He further
surmised that the example of Mohammad Kurd Ali demonstrated the impudence of the pan-Islamic rhetoric expressed by the CUP and explained the
prevailing exasperation and lack of trust in state institutions of a large number of Syrians.52
Emigration had another, mostly positive, impact on local society. Remittances proved vital to maintaining families, purchasing real estate and building homes, closing budget deficits, and acting as start-up capital for business
ventures. Put another way, emigration was becoming dearer to local communities because remittances could ameliorate the imperfections of local
economies. For instance, the mayor of Batrun, Mount Lebanon governorate,
admitted that remittances accounted for 43 percent of the village’s economy,
equaling the amount of local commerce.53 Many Syrians abroad, particularly
earlier arrivals with their own capital, experienced financial success in their
business ventures and remitted money back to their families. In August 1905
the Beirut branch manager of the Ottoman Imperial Bank (OIB) estimated
that remittances to Mount Lebanon from the Americas equaled four million
French francs and were being sent directly to banks in Beirut. Previously,
emigrants had preferred to send money via London or Paris.54 Local banks
estimated that in 1910 Syrian immigrants in North and South American
remitted 35 million francs every year.55 Writing in 1916, Arthur Ruppin, a
German subject and head of the World Zionist Organization’s Palestine
Office in Jaffa, noted that remittances made up 41 percent of the annual total
37
38
Chapter 1
income of Mount Lebanon in the immediate years before World War I, averaging more than 20 million francs.56
The provinces of Beirut and Syria also received “not less than 30 million
francs; of this 15 million was remitted through banks in Beirut, 12 million
through banks in Tripoli, and 3 million through banks in Homs.”57 Alejandro Schamún, publisher of the Buenos Aires–based Arabic-language periodical Assalam (al-Salām, Peace) stated that the sum reached 50 million
francs in one year with 20 million coming from banks in Buenos Aires.58 In
the face of this movement of capital, banks in Buenos Aires such as the
Banco Londres y Río de la Plata advertised in local Arabic-language publications, offering direct wire services to the OIB office in Beirut, which was
expanding its banking services within the Ottoman Empire boundaries.
The OIB established branch offices in Homs (1908), Hama (1911), and Zahle
(1914), the principal towns in regions of intensive emigration.59 Offices of the
OIB had been founded much earlier in Beirut (1863), Damascus (1875), and
Aleppo (1893). While Christopher Clay argues that this expansion resulted
from the opportunities of a growing Ottoman economy and competition
from foreign banks, remittances also served as a critical catalyst for local
economic development and banking expansion.60 With 30 to 50 million
francs being sent to Greater Syria annually in the years preceding World
War I, remittances supported the local economy until 1914 and may be one
reason why the hardships of safar barlik—the famine that resulted from
wartime military mobilization (seferberlik in Ottoman Turkish)—were felt
so acutely during World War I when remittances ceased.61
Conclusion
The Ottoman Empire and Greater Syria experienced a series of profound
transformations that affected cultural forms, economy, politics, and society
in the nineteenth century and the early twentieth century. Integration into
the European-led world economy and attempts by the Ottoman state to
reform its administration and modernize its military led to a sustained
expansion of cultivable land and communication and transportation infrastructure, which produced a general economic expansion from which increasing numbers of Syrians benefited. The political reforms of the Tanzimat,
which in many ways marked an admission of the supremacy of liberalism,
“To Forge a New Dream”
and the Règlemente Organique of 1861 combined with the rise of modern
educational curricula to have an indelible impact on the cultural understandings of rights and obligations. Emigration became a legitimate and acceptable
life choice and would be hegemonic if not absolute by the eve of World War I,
as information about the wider world became increasingly available and disseminated and networks of friends and family abroad beckoned.
Once the general prosperity began to slow in the waning years of the
nineteenth century and into the twentieth, the inability to meet rising
expectations inspired young men and women and sometimes entire families to try their luck in the Americas, western Africa, or Australia. The
Young Turk Revolution marked an important moment in the history of
emigration. As the Young Turks attempted to transform people’s loyalty
from one’s confessional community to the central state, economic stagnation, war in the Balkans, and the attendant conscription of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim citizens provoked a surge of emigration. This flow was
only exacerbated by the growing belief in the corruption of the Ottoman
administration and the very real insecurity experienced by religious
minorities in certain areas of the empire.
As Nissim Teubal stared upon the Mediterranean and looked to board the
steamer to Alexandria, he was leaving behind a homeland that was in the
midst of tremendous social and political change. At the same time, he was
destined for a location that was also experiencing great transformation. His
network of coreligionists and friends from Aleppo that awaited him in Buenos Aires would be vital in facilitating his adaptation and integration into his
new society. In many ways Teubal’s arrival in Argentina was the culmination
of broad-scale historical processes and the particularity of his personal experience as a boy growing up in Aleppo. It was this intersection of global processes and local realities that would help dictate the choices, opportunities,
and hindrances awaiting him and countless others in the Americas.
39
Chapter 2
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
Syrian Immigration in Argentina, 1880–1914
Argentina received nearly five million immigrants in the fifty years
before World War I, more than half of whom stayed permanently. In part,
technological advances in transportation provoked this movement of people.
Christian, Jewish, and Muslim subjects of the Ottoman Empire joined in this
mass migration and journeyed to the Americas. Pioneering emigrants from
towns and hamlets of Greater Syria, such as Homs and Zahle, ventured into
the mahjar, many permanently, and served as the nodal points for the chain
migration of friends and family from the homeland. In addition, a budding
Arabic-language press in the Americas, coupled with personal correspondence, disseminated information about lands of opportunity. As a result,
nearly one hundred thousand Arabic-speaking immigrants from Greater
Syria settled in Argentina by 1917.1
While the majority of the Syrian colony settled in the federal capital and
the province of Buenos Aires, a steady stream took the railroad to the northwestern Argentine provinces. Of these, the greatest number settled in the
province of Tucumán. As the center of the northwestern provinces and the
engine of the regional economy, Tucumán emerged as an attractive place for
immigrants to practice commerce, initially as itinerant peddlers. Many of
these pioneer immigrants later established stores, servicing the company
41
42
Chapter 2
towns and employees that worked in the sugar industry, the lifeblood of
northwestern Argentina. Once established, the pioneers existed as a social
network that influenced the formation of the Syrian colony in Tucumán. For
instance, villagers from El Mrouj, located in the central Matn district of
Mount Lebanon, leased and bought land in the Cruz Alta department of
Tucumán and grew sugarcane, while inhabitants from Bazoun, located in
northern Mount Lebanon, opened shops along Maipú and Mendoza streets
in San Miguel de Tucumán. Hence, early Arabic-speaking immigrants generally arrived with some capital and were also able to use interpersonal ties
to friends, family members, coreligionists, or wealthy immigrants already
established in Buenos Aires to procure merchandise on consignment.2
Later immigrants arrived and fit into these already-existing networks in
Tucumán, which eased their social adaptation and facilitated their economic
participation. Composed of associations of individuals connected by village
or kinship ties, economic arrangements, and/or shared religious identities,
these informal links helped recent arrivals acquire basic needs, such as procuring housing and employment, and arbitrate internal conflict.3 Commerce
and contracts also caused disputes and, as a result, immigrants used state
institutions such as the legal system to seek redress. The use of such bodies
demonstrated the limits of social networks in resolving internal discord. It
also illustrated certain flexibility within these associations that permitted
immigrants to reach outside networks while not severing these ties entirely.
The evolution of sizable Syrian colonies in northwestern Argentina was
characterized by complex intracommunal relationships, politics of the
homeland, and a variety of interactions with local society. The pioneer Syrian
generation who settled in northwestern Argentina grappled with a variety of
issues and insecurities as they integrated into the local social and economic
milieu and attempted to organize their community. Affinity for and identification with the Ottoman Empire provided a shared political identity and
point of union for many sectors of this immigrant group. The evolution of
the Syrian colony in Tucumán, however, was marked by intense internal
power struggles among its elites and distinct class formation. In contrast, the
Spanish and Italian immigrant communities in Tucumán dwarfed the Syrian colony in 1895 and had already established social aid and community
institutions. By the outbreak of World War I, however, the Ottoman community had swelled and, though still only a quarter of the size of the Spanish
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
colony and half the size of the Italians, had become a recognized commercial
force.4 Unlike the Spanish and Italians in Tucumán, the Syrian colony before
1914 never established broad-based social aid and cultural institutions.
These interpersonal associations, however, were not benign entities. As
the Syrian colony grew in size in the years before World War I, a hierarchy
of networks and hierarchies within networks emerged. These characteristics
helped accelerate the formation of a stratified immigrant community. Syrians benefiting from stronger bonds were better equipped to secure employment and weather difficult economic moments. Those in Tucumán who
arrived with weaker or nonexistent social networks faced greater hurdles in
achieving upward social mobility and were subject to intense social dislocation during turbulent economic times with fewer options to ameliorate the
situation. In particular instances, the Argentine state intervened in the lives
of those immigrants whose social networks could not effectively deal with a
specific crisis.
Microsocial networks influenced Syrian participation in the local economy,
but had limited capabilities in times of socioeconomic distress. Arabic speakers concentrated in the commercial sector of the economy, working mainly as
shopkeepers and peddlers. Among those Syrians attracted to agriculture, there
were also cañeros (sugarcane planters) who bought and leased land and produced cane for the local sugar factories. The absence of social aid institutions
during these early years, however, meant that the most vulnerable Syrians suffered during the swings of the regional economy. Equally important, early
efforts to limit immigration to agriculturalists from Europe led to negative
stereotypes of Ottoman immigrants. The surge of Arabic-speaking immigrants in the years immediately preceding World War I overwhelmed the Syrian colony in Tucumán, which doubled in size between 1910 and 1913.
Settling in Argentina
The pioneer generation of Arabic-speaking immigrants to Argentina was
primarily Christian and arrived with capital. As in the case of the Spaniards,
most of the Arabic-speaking immigrants who landed in Argentina before
1908 came from wealthier regions of Greater Syria, such as Zahle and Homs,
and were better off than those who remained, in both material and educational terms.5 By the 1890s emigrants began returning home to procure a
43
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Chapter 2
bride, visit family, and display the wealth gained in the Americas. The overseas possibilities attracted men and women from all religious groups in
Greater Syria. By 1912 the Syrian colony in Argentina numbered more than
fifty thousand. Emir Emin Arslan, the first consul general of the Ottoman
Empire in Buenos Aires, reported that 80 percent of the immigrant group
were Christians, 15 percent were Muslims, and 5 percent were Jews. Within
the Christian community “the Eastern Orthodox seemed prevalent whereas,
according to the Maronites, it [was] they who constituted the most numerous
community.”6 There was a shift in the composition of the Syrian colony in
the second decade of the twentieth century. In Argentina Muslims accounted
for 40 percent of the immigrants coming from Greater Syria in 1909. There
was a similar spike of non-Catholic Ottoman immigrants entering into Santos, Brazil, at this moment. Between the years 1908 and 1913, non-Catholic
Ottomans accounted for 49 percent of the annual average of 3,330 immigrants.7 As the community’s population doubled between 1910 and 1915, the
composition of the labor force changed. Although the number of peddlers
remained constant, they became a smaller percentage of the workforce as the
number of general laborers grew. Migration from Greater Syria became a
“widespread fever, a massive habit” that led to more arrivals per annum with
weaker social networks, which helped solidify a multiclass structure in the
Syrian colony. This evolution of the immigrant composition compares with
the Spanish example.8
An anti-immigrant sentiment emerged in Argentina during the late 1880s,
as a response to the economic crash and urban unrest, and intensified during
the first two decades of the twentieth century. As the government of Miguel
Juárez Celman sold state assets to service the public debt in late 1889 and
early 1890, unemployment grew, real wages depreciated, and new immigrants became the worry of civic groups, newspapers, and political leaders.
Concerned citizens criticized Argentina’s immigration policy, questioning
whether or not the immigrants’ idiosyncrasies and customs could directly
help the country’s progress or permit the transformation of these people into
citizens of a modern nation. The financial and commercial breakdown coupled with dissension among the political elites led to the abortive 1890 revolution and the ultimate fall of the Juárez Celman government.9 The first
Argentine elite perceptions of the Syrian colony were articulated in the press
during this era of socioeconomic distress and political turbulence. In the
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
initial years of immigration to Argentina, two negative stereotypes of the
Syrian colony emerged among Argentines, namely the mercachifle, or ambulatory peddler, and the mendicant. The porteño newspaper El Diario ran a
series of critical articles in 1889 examining the phenomenon of shiftless and
impoverished Syrian immigrants.10
Such anti-immigrant discourses circulated throughout the Americas,
particularly in Argentina, Brazil, Canada, and the United States up to the
Second World War. These attitudes would have a direct effect on policy. As
popular, violent expressions marked this time period, the Argentine congress passed the Residency Law (1902) and the Law of Social Defense (1910)
to expel troublesome immigrants, primarily Spanish and Italian anarchists. Providing a model for other receiving countries, the United States
initiated its much more restrictive quota system in 1921 in order to control
the number of undesirable immigrants. In Argentina, officials had long
sought immigrants who would be productive members of the nation, such
as agriculturalists. This preference was made policy in 1923, and in 1924 the
Argentine Foreign Ministry directed its consuls to give preference to farmers and to discourage settlement in the cities.11 Brazilian intellectuals and
politicians, prodded by local merchants, criticized urban immigrants
working in commerce. These political attacks evolved in 1930 into state
policy restricting immigration solely to agricultural workers.12
As the size of the Syrian colony in Argentina swelled, the local political
elite began to comment on society in general and the Arabic-speaking community in particular. The director of the National Directorate of Migration,
Juan B. Alsina, wrote in his department’s 1899 annual report that the Syrian
colony possessed “definite qualities.” For Alsina, there was little positive
about Arabic speakers. He viewed Syrians’ decisions to forgo state assistance
programs as symptomatic of disrespect for Argentine law. The economic
activity of peddling did little for the national economy and only threatened
small business owners. Perhaps most suggestive, these characteristics illustrated that this immigrant group would never adapt and fully integrate into
the host society.13 The enduring perception of the ubiquitous Syrian itinerant
peddler captivated the Argentine imagination, and commentaries by officials
such as Alsina were important for establishing this immigrant group’s
stereotype. The image was powerful. In 1902 the Buenos Aires weekly Caras
y Caretas, a journal targeting the burgeoning middle class, published an
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article entitled “Los Turcos en Buenos Aires” (The Turks in Buenos Aires),
arguing that this immigrant group was an “irritant” that offered “detrimental examples for a working people.”14 The local newspaper criticized itinerant
peddlers and small shopkeepers residing in the northwestern province of
Salta at the turn of the century: “A plague of Turkish peddlers has appeared,
worse than if they were locusts. The police must prevent them from continuing to commit such abuse.”15 While a strong prejudicial discourse against the
Arabic-speaking immigrants circulated throughout Argentina, the Syrian
colony did have important supporters, such as agricultural minister Damián
Torino and national senator and founder of the University of La Plata,
Joaquín V. González.16 Arabic-speaking cultural elites also challenged and
modified these narratives.17
Commentary by Alsina and other publications led to a program in 1903
spearheaded by brothers Wadi and Alejandro Schamún, publishers of the
Buenos Aires–based periodical Assalam, to draft recent arrivals from Greater
Syria to work on an agricultural colony in Santa Fe—an effort that continued
for a decade and was appreciated by local politicians and observers.18 The
attempted agricultural colony for Syrians was an attempt to mollify public
and government opinion. Moving more Arabic speakers into the agricultural
sector was also a primary task for the newly arrived Ottoman consul general
in late 1910.19 This strategy corresponded with the agricultural economic
boom Argentina experienced after it had renegotiated debt repayment with
Baring Brothers in 1893. Despite these efforts and modest successes, nothing
comparable to the Jewish agricultural colonies ever took root.20 By 1909 only
5,300 Arabic-speaking immigrants, or roughly 10 percent of the community,
worked in the agricultural sector. This number increased to 12,000 in 1917.21
While there was an anti-immigrant discourse circulating throughout Argentina, it is clear that Syrian immigrants could and did adjust to local labor
markets and economic niches.
An important gap existed between social realities experienced by Syrian
immigrants and the prejudicial discourses and deepening caricatures targeting them. All immigrant groups suffered particular criticism and stereotyping; however, the prevailing evidence indicates that in quotidian encounters
and transactions Arabic speakers and other groups utilized state institutions
and interacted in an atmosphere that was neither oppressive nor entirely
welcoming. In other words, immigrants got on with it. Prejudice in most
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instances was latent; however, it would manifest in important, and at times
violent, ways in moments of crisis. Yet, this is far different from a notion of
debilitating prejudice that would have prevented integration into local
Argentine communities.22
The stereotype of Syrians thus fit into the ebbs and flows of popular views
on the merit and worth of immigration. In the nineteenth century Argentina’s liberal elites accepted Argentinidad (ideas of what it meant to be an
Argentine) based upon immigrants’ qualities as citizens and loyalty to state
institutions and the constitution, which encouraged naturalization. One’s
confessional and ethnic identity mattered much less, comparable to Jeffersonian ideas in the United States.23 The era of mass migration, however, challenged this inclusive understanding of political community, insisting on
“new essentialist understandings of nationality.”24 Many immigrants chose
not to naturalize, forsaking certain political rights for the security of not
having to perform obligatory military duty. Consequently, former president
Domingo Sarmiento and national deputy and future foreign minister Estanislao Zeballos created the Patriotic Committee in 1887 to design projects to
increase immigrant naturalization rates. A state-developed, patriotic education curriculum for the public schools became another response to these
concerns. Elected officials and leaders of immigrant associations also partnered in celebrating key Argentine holidays in public festivities. This pluralistic patriotism, in which the base was loyalty to institutions, yielded to a
newer generation of nationalists advocating and developing ideas about an
essential Argentine race. The composition of a reified racial identity based
upon a unitary set of cultural symbols, however, was ever-evolving because
officials and intellectual elites continued to view immigration as necessary.25
Mass media helped create a set of shared national cultural registers, such as
the tango, while hardening socioeconomic class divisions.26 The rise of Juan
Domingo Perón in 1946 became the critical moment for minority and immigrant communities as he became the first national leader to legitimate the
“mosaic of identities of distinct ethnic groups” in the country.27
Settling in Tucumán and the Northwest
The Argentine Northwest, which includes the provinces of Catamarca, Jujuy,
La Rioja, Salta, Santiago del Estero, and Tucumán, held only one-eighth of
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the nation’s population and immigrants made up only 8 percent of the
region’s populace. This area contrasted sharply with the capital and littoral
provinces because the foreign-born made up a far smaller percentage of its
population. For instance, in 1914 the city of Buenos Aires accounted for onefifth of the national population and immigrants numbered nearly half of the
municipality’s population. In the Northwest, Syrians concentrated in three
particular provinces—Salta, Santiago del Estero, and Tucumán— that hosted
more than four-fifths of these immigrants. Furthermore, Syrians in these
provinces made up a larger percentage of the foreign-born than their compatriots elsewhere, measuring 7 percent, 18 percent, and 13 percent of the
immigrant pool in Salta, Santiago del Estero, and Tucumán respectively on
the eve of World War I.28
Tucumán experienced differently the integration into the global economy
that transformed the city of Buenos Aires into one of the most populous and
cosmopolitan cities in the world. The export bonanza of agro-pastoral
goods, such as wheat, linseed oil, and beef from which the littoral provinces
of Buenos Aires and Santa Fe benefited largely bypassed Tucumán. Rather,
with the arrival of the railroad, there was a steady expansion of the sugar
industry, which serviced the domestic market. The land devoted to cultivating sugarcane rose significantly from 12,000 hectares in 1884 to 40,606 in
1895. Despite this economic performance and the achievement of political
and economic unity of the country, not all was well in the Northwest. Sugar
industrialists influenced the passing of federal legislation that created
“bounties,” incentives to export ever larger percentages of annual production. Yet, the independent cane planter, the renter, and the laborer neither
enjoyed the spoils of the bounties nor held any extensive economic or political privileges because they did not have sugar to sell. Furthermore, the
agricultural sector—the actual growing of sugarcane—benefited the least
from the technological advances that revolutionized the manufacture of
sugar. Nevertheless, the sugar industry—from cultivation to processing—
provided direct economic support for nearly seventy thousand people, most
of whom were unskilled laborers, illiterate, and poor. Any down cycle in the
industry affected workers most deeply because these people and their families depended on the wages earned in the four-month harvest season to
sustain them for an entire year.29
The sugar industry featured two trends that helped complicate the
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persistent problem of overproduction. A quirk about the sugar industry is
that cane growers’ land tended to be small in size and large in number. In
fact, 80 percent of growers struggled to survive on plots of seven to eight
hectares, and many on even smaller parcels. At the same time, there was a
concentration in owners of sugar factories. For instance, the Tucumán
Sugar Company (CAT) bought out the owners of three factories in 1895. The
CAT then produced a quarter of all sugar out of Tucumán by 1901. Key to
this process was securing cheap labor. Industrialists and cane growers relied
on contractual labor, which inevitably led to acute polarization. In fact, to
help ameliorate the worst aspects of sugar overproduction, the provincial
legislature repealed the coercive conchabo labor law (formal labor bonding)
in 1896 and passed the Machete law in July 1902. The latter implemented a
quota system to control production, but with devastating effects. The intent
of the law was to reduce production by one-third, meaning less cane had to
be cut, which meant in practice that many laborers reliant on harvest work
lost their jobs.30
Mass immigration and labor unrest in the city of Buenos Aires led social
reformers and federal and provincial state institutions to pay closer attention
to laborers’ issues. For social reformers, workers embodied the very ills of the
modern world, particularly alcoholism, idleness, and licentiousness. Labor
reformers, such as federal senator Joaquín V. González, tried to modernize
labor law at the national level; however, he failed to push through any meaningful legislation. At the same time, a lasting consequence of these efforts
was that the debate placed the state as a mediator between capital and labor,
expressed in the creation of the Department of Labor and the emergence of
concern for the life conditions of workers as a component of political discourse. Surprisingly active, increasingly organized, and volatile urban labor
forces emerged in the first decade of the twentieth century in Tucumán. In
1902 the Socialist-led Cosmopolitan Center held a solidarity strike for those
protesting in Buenos Aires, marking the first time the local Tucumán press
noted that a column of workers marched in the streets with banners. The following year, the center opened an office in sugarcane country, spreading
information about better work conditions in neighboring provinces and the
use of worker-led strikes in other parts of Argentina. In June 1904 groups of
factory workers and planters initiated a strike that was suppressed, and many
workers and their families were expelled from factory-provided housing as a
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consequence. The net result was that the strike became a tool to fight for better wages and forced the entrance of the provincial state into mediating disputes of economic actors. The labor agitation that followed was perhaps best
exemplified in the sharp increase in arrests, especially between 1907 and 1913.
The city of Tucumán was intimately tied to its agricultural hinterlands, and
rises in arrests for violent crime usually corresponded with rural conflicts,
urban strikes, and political instability.31
It was in this context of rising labor agitation and subsequent responses
by the state that Syrians began to increase in significant numbers and pursue
certain sectors of the labor market in Tucumán and elsewhere in the Northwest. A massive wave of Syrian immigrants into Tucumán in the immediate
years before World War I overwhelmed established interpersonal networks
that had previously absorbed new arrivals and facilitated adaptation. The
population of the colony in the provincial capital quadrupled between 1909
and 1914, tripling province-wide in the same period. The contours of the
residential pattern shifted too, as half of the colony resided in the provincial
capital and only two-fifths remained in the sugarcane districts. Recurrent
crises in the sugar-based regional economy adversely affected seasonal
labor— jobs grew scarce and unreliable—likely influencing this change. As
a result, a multiclass structure solidified, further fragmenting this immigrant colony. Unskilled and menial laborers were more susceptible to the
ebbs and flows of the regional economy, and thus experienced a precarious
life marked by violence, arrest, and a variety of strategies to ameliorate their
situation, such as marrying into local Argentine families.32
Social stratification within the Syrian colony as well as higher rates of
arrest for specific felonies resulted from characteristics of the local economy,
the types of economic activity pursued, the imperfect nature of the labor
market, the weak immigrant social networks, and the inability to organize
lasting mutual aid institutions. For instance, one-third of the labor force
worked in unskilled and menial jobs, including Arabic-speaking immigrant
women working as washerwomen, clothes ironers, and domestic servants.
Itinerant peddlers accounted for two-thirds of this labor sector. Interestingly,
Arabic-speaking immigrants were more than three times more likely than
the average immigrant to be bakers, suggesting access to capital beyond the
realm of dry goods commerce. It is important to note that the laborers from
the Syrian colony were underrepresented as day laborers, shoemakers, and
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carpenters.33 More than half of the Syrian labor force in Tucumán worked in
the commercial sector, and a Syrian immigrant was more than eight times
more likely to be a peddler than the average immigrant. Some worked as
clerks for businesses and employees for state institutions such as the local
police force. Yet, recent arrivals had to navigate the insecurity of being an
immigrant with insufficient or nonexistent social networks to help deal with
their new surroundings. As a result, many found menial work in the urban
economy. A Syrian, for example, was more than five times as likely as the
average immigrant to be a shoe shiner.34 Many others labored as field hands
in cane fields.
Arabic-speaking immigrants were overrepresented in the arrest rates for
felony aggravated assault and larceny between 1900 and 1914. Members of the
Syrian colony were more than twice as likely to be arrested for aggravated
assault as a Spaniard, and one and a half times as likely as an Italian. Arabic
speakers were twice as likely as the average immigrant to be arrested for larceny, more than three times as likely as a Spaniard, and four times more
likely than an Italian. A portion of the arrests might have been a result of
targeting by local police forces; however, this cannot be the sole causative
factor. It is probable that recent arrivals with a poor understanding of Spanish and who peddled or sought work in the cane fields found themselves in
dangerous situations that led to violent altercations. Furthermore, high rates
of larceny, which suggest a sense of desperation, are likely linked to the poverty of the perpetrators and could have been a survival strategy.35 Criminality thus was another expression of personal insecurity associated with the
vagaries of a faltering economy, tenuous housing, and scarce jobs. Giving
further credence to the sense of insecurity and desperation felt by more vulnerable sectors of the Syrian colony, Arabic-speaking immigrants were modestly more likely to be arrested for public intoxication and more than two
times more likely to be arrested for the illegal discharge of a firearm than the
average immigrant in the decade before World War I.
Living in Tucumán
Syrian immigrants in the Northwest had a wide variety of experiences that
ranged from suffering an individual tragedy to achieving financial wealth.
The contingent and deeply personal experiences were as much the result of
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chance as they were of the skills and capital an immigrant brought to their
new surroundings. These events reveal much about the opportunities and
limitations that Arabic speakers found upon arrival in Tucumán and elsewhere. In addition, the interactions of the early immigrants with local society and among themselves affected community formation as much as how
local society viewed this colony.
It was a busy morning at the finca of Juan Pedro López, an immigrant
from Mount Lebanon. It was New Year’s Eve 1893 and his peasant workers
were outside his home receiving their pay from the majordomo. One of his
employees, Aníbal Bazan, decided to go inside and ask if he could borrow
López’s shotgun to go hunting in the fields around this village nestled in the
foothills of the Andes mountains. López agreed, but asked Bazan to wash the
firearm first because it was dirty, since it had not been used in some time.
Bazan happily did so, bringing the weapon back to López for approval. Juan
Pedro López then walked into a small storage room with an interior window
and loaded the shotgun. Bazan and the majordomo, José Aguilar, followed
him into the room. As he was about to hand the firearm to Bazan, López
noticed a last bit of grime. Bazan and Aguilar watched intensely as their
employer worked assiduously to get the elusive piece of dirt.36
Outside on the patio, López’s eighteen-year-old cousin José Nacusse was
speaking with Bazan’s mother when he decided to grab some cookies to give
to the workers waiting for their pay. He entered the house and moved to the
box storing the cookies, which happened to be next to the door entering into
the storeroom. The three men, distracted by the shotgun, did not see Juan
Nacusse poke his head up to look through the window at them. Suddenly the
weapon discharged. López screamed, running out of the room to see what
happened. Despite the smoke emanating from the entry wound in his head
on this crisp morning, José Nacusse’s limp body somehow remained mostly
upright. His right arm was wedged into the large box containing the cookies
and his head was resting on top of the lid trapping the limb. Bazan and
Aguilar grabbed the arms of López, who immediately descended into a state
of despair. After López regained some composure, Aguilar lifted the box top
and Nacusse’s lifeless body fell to the floor. After three hours, a despondent
Juan Pedro López walked to the police station and turned himself in.37
The police immediately arrested him and the following day asked the
judge, given the grave nature of the accident, to incarcerate him for the
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
duration of the trial. In the investigation, the three witnesses—Bazan; his
mother, Paula Villafañe; and José Aguilar—all attested to the event as being
an accident and denied that there was any trouble between López and
Nacusse—in fact, they said that the two cousins were indeed very close. On
January 27, 1894, the presiding judge remanded López into police custody.
On February 1 the accused petitioned for release per bail payment. In the
request López argued that he was “an honorable and hardworking man, with
property of some consideration that finds itself nearly abandoned because of
this prison” sentence. The judge denied his request, yet allowed López to
appoint Aguilar to watch over his property.38
In late March López again asked to be released, arguing that all evidence
showed the homicide to be a tragic accident and that his personal and financial interests were being prejudiced. Provided he could secure a bail payment
of 1,000 pesos, the judge would approve his liberation from the local jail.
López was freed the same day. The following morning, however, Nacusse’s
brother Pedro Antonio Nacusse saw Juan Pedro López walking in the streets
of the provincial capital. Incensed, Nacusse initiated a request to the judge
to retake his brother’s killer back into custody, a request that was denied.
Nearly one year after the tragic events, Tucumán’s provincial prosecutor
asked the judge to dismiss the case because the death had been an accident.
The jurist finally did so in early April 1896, by which time López could no
longer afford an attorney and was represented by a public defender.39
In the town of Tafi Viejo “various Turks and Arabs” met at Mustafa Isin’s
house in April 1912 and initiated a card game. Money was at stake. Ismael
Reyep—a married, twenty-five-year-old Ottoman immigrant from Albania
and day laborer—entered the house and looked over the table. He then
bought into the game with a ten-peso note. Shortly thereafter, Reyep had lost
eight pesos. Frustrated, he pushed away from the table, removing himself
from the game, yet remaining close to the players still competing. Ismael
Reyep then asked to be let back into the game, given that he had two pesos
in his account. The players at the table refused this request. This was the last
perceived insult Reyep would stand; he grabbed his revolver and announced
to the men at the card table that he was shutting down the game.40
Everyone in the house—card players and observers—protested Ismael
Reyep’s behavior. The hosts next informed Reyep that he could take his leave.
Enraged by yet another perceived insult, Reyep cocked his firearm, aimed it
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at the players, and fired the weapon, striking Mustafa Isin. Reyep fired a second shot, hitting no one. The other attendees then overwhelmed Reyep. Mustafa Isin’s brother and another immigrant began to shove and yell at Ismael
Reyep. As order returned, these men forcibly escorted Reyep to the train
station and turned him over to the police. The authorities then took Reyep’s
confession and arrested him.41
The cases of Juan Pedro López and Ismael Reyep are important for several
reasons. First, the cases highlight that the immigrant experience was fraught
with danger, ranging from arrest for public intoxication to fights over a game
of cards, from unemployment to tragic accidents. While the myth of the
Syrian-Lebanese immigrant is one of commercial ingenuity and financial
success, the reality for many if not most of these people was something quite
different. The examples also highlight the relevance of chain migration and
the dissemination of information. López had been in this village for at least
three years and his cousin José Nacusse had arrived only two weeks before
his death. They had at least a third family member in the provincial capital.
In Tafi Viejo the brother of Mustafa Isin attacked Ismael Reyep following the
gunshot. The economic activities of the litigants reveal too the various
endeavors pursued by these migrants. In addition to hiring peasants, López
also operated a dry goods store, whereas Reyep was a day laborer. The
encounter at Mustafa Isin’s house on that fall evening reveals several important aspects of immigrant life. A broad understanding of community was
present, considering that Reyep, an Albanian, was invited to a card game that
featured Arabs and other Ottomans. The lines of association may have had a
political identity, a confessional one, a class solidarity, or all three. This is
particularly intriguing because, at the time, the Ottoman Empire was mired
in a civil war in which Balkan nationalists were attempting to separate from
Constantinople. Second, despite the violent event, it was in such spaces
where immigrants attempted to understand their place in local society, discuss important issues with peers, seek emotional sustenance from compatriots, and enjoy an evening of camaraderie. Finally, the cases of López and
Reyep demonstrate how immigrants intersected with state institutions at
various levels.
A key moment in the evolution of an immigrant colony is the establishment of community institutions such as mutual aid societies, cultural associations, and the press. The earliest recorded attempt to organize the Syrian
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
community in Tucumán was the formation of the Sociedad Turco-Argentina
(Turkish-Argentine Society) in 1898. This group, a collection of traders and
peddlers who attempted to use their numbers to secure lower prices by purchasing goods in bulk from wholesalers, consisted primarily of Maronites
from Mount Lebanon. Personal rivalries, however, ultimately caused its dissolution. On June 10, 1898, the Tucumán daily El Orden published a letter
signed by thirteen members of the society, including two vice presidents. The
missive attacked the sitting president, Manuel Malcún, for his actions against
the society’s interests. Declaring that the president was a debtor to the organization, the signatories announced that Malcún had been expelled from the
organization and that any debt he might have contracted in the society’s
name after May 30 would not be honored.42
This public broadside publicized an internal conflict for power and set off
a series of legal proceedings in which Malcún attempted to clear his name
and punish his accusers. On June 23 nineteen members of the society, including four signatories of the original letter, published a note in El Orden protesting the June 10 denunciation of Malcún.43 The authors denounced the
accusation that Malcún had been deposed from the position of president and
recognized his honor and competence on behalf of the association. The letter
further argued that the June 10 declaration was the work of two or three displeased members who had deceived fellow members into signing something
they could not read. The authors concluded by proclaiming that those
responsible would receive the justice they deserved.44 On August 18 the judge
ruled in favor of Malcún and condemned Julian Llumplat and eight others
to six months in prison and a 250-peso fine. On August 22 the defendants
appeared before the judge and offered to submit a written retraction of the
original accusations in exchange for the dismissal of the court case. Manuel
Malcún agreed to the arrangement provided that the retraction was published in both of Tucumán’s newspapers, to which the defendants agreed. The
judge then dismissed the case, ordering the defendants to pay court fees and
Malcún’s attorney costs.45
In July 1899 Manuel Malcún initiated another criminal proceeding that
accused Julian Llumplat and Antonio Yaya of giving false testimony during
a civil trial between Manuel Malcún and Domingo Kairuz, a wealthy and
prominent Arabic-speaking merchant based in Buenos Aires who was married to the sister of Julian Llumplat’s wife. Malcún had sued Domingo Kairuz
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for nonpayment related to the delivery of goods to Llumplat on behalf of
Kairuz. Julian Llumplat argued that he had received the goods in question,
but that he had paid Malcún in full. Manuel Malcún argued that he never
received compensation for the delivered products.46
The case centered on whether or not the goods in question had been delivered to Kairuz in payment for the debt that Malcún owed. In May 1898 Malcún had been declared bankrupt after the initiation of a court proceeding by
his creditors, including Domingo Kairuz. By October 1898 Malcún made
arrangements with his creditors for repayment. At this moment, Malcún
distributed goods to his creditors and settled his arrears.47 According to
court testimony, Domingo Kairuz and Manuel Malcún agreed to terms,
signed recibos (bills of receipt), and then passed Kairuz’s goods to Llumplat
for further distribution on consignment to Syrian peddlers. Additional testimony attested to the bitter relationship between Malcún and Llumplat that
emerged from the 1898 court case as well as other unspecified altercations.48
As the court case proceeded it is likely that other members from the Syrian
colony intervened in the dispute and mediated between the feuding parties.
Manuel Malcún arrived before the judge on March 29, 1900, renouncing his
accusations and requesting the dismissal of the criminal case. The parties
agreed to pay their respective court fees, and the judge closed the case and
lifted the embargo on Llumplat’s and Yaya’s property.
The internal strife and subsequent actions by Manuel Malcún illustrate the
volatile, contentious, and fragile nature of social networks among immigrant
groups, especially between competing elites. A primary function of social
networks is to arbitrate and mediate conflict within the community; however,
in these two cases this mechanism initially failed. Llumplat and his allies utilized an Argentine periodical to attack Malcún, making public an internal
contest for power. Malcún, in turn, employed Argentine state institutions to
seek redress and inflict punishment against his enemies. Ultimately, it seems
that internal mediation within the immigrant group convinced the disputants to settle their differences in order to prevent imprisonment of fellow
compatriots. In the aftermath of the Malcún and Llumplat-Kairuz feud, the
Sociedad Turco-Argentina dissolved. No other broad-based Syrian association emerged until the 1920s.
The number of Syrian merchants and their collective wealth in the province of Tucumán continued to grow even with these difficulties. Sugar
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production tripled between 1900 and 1914, but was fraught with difficulties
from overproduction and arguments over taxation and quotas on production. With the expansion of the provincial economy, San Miguel de
Tucumán—whose population more than doubled between 1895 and 1913—
became a pole of attraction for many Arabic speakers. In addition, servicing
the company towns that emerged next to the sugar factories became a niche
market for enterprising Syrian merchants. Nevertheless, down cycles of the
sugar industry had a direct impact on the province’s merchants. For instance,
the number of Arabic-speaking merchants declined by nearly one-quarter
between 1902 and 1904.49
Despite the persistent difficulties associated with the sugar industry, the
overall number of Arabic-speaking merchants in the province grew from 97
in 1899 to 438 in 1913, a fourfold increase. In that same time period, the wealth
of Syrian merchants—measured primarily in real estate, inventory, and
cash—increased nearly twentyfold.50 Of the 108 merchants who enrolled
with the Registro Público de Comercio (Public register of commerce), 73
were based in the provincial capital. By 1913 a Syrian immigrant in San
Miguel de Tucumán was more than three times more likely than the average
immigrant to be a merchant. Following the abolition of company stores in
1903, Syrian merchants began to establish stores in towns adjacent to sugar
mills and throughout the sugarcane region. This change in provincial law
would have a direct impact on the growth and increasing wealth of the Syrian merchant community, as several of these firms would ultimately become
sole providers for certain mills.51 Commerce was the lifeblood of the swelling, yet fragmented, Syrian colony.
In 1911 a series of fraudulent bankruptcies in Tucumán by a group of
Arabic-speaking immigrants thrust the Syrian colony and its commercial
elite into a vulnerable social position. The initial investigation focused on
four Arabic-speaking immigrants—Amado Caram, Julian Debes, Alberto
Fagre, and Fortunato Solis—and their connection to a “shadowy” organization called the Unión de Bazún (Bazoun Union) whose program augmented
members’ wealth via fraudulent bankruptcies, accidental fires, or simply
absconding in the dead of night.52 El Orden led the crusade to uncover this
secret society by interviewing Julian A. Chaya, the association’s president.
With Felipe Nazar acting as a translator, Julian Chaya explained that the
Bazoun Union was a transnational organization consisting of members who
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hailed from this small village in northern Mount Lebanon, with branches in
Salta, Rosario, Buenos Aires, and North America. Their purported fundamental objective, which circulated throughout the émigré communities in
the Americas via the Arabic press, was to raise money to build a school in
their home village. Chaya admitted that Debes, Solis, and Caram were members of the association; however, he challenged the implication that the
actions of these individuals could permit blame to be placed on all of the
society’s members. In regard to the police investigation, Julian Chaya conceded that all of the merchants from the Syrian colony were aggrieved by the
accusations and found themselves in an endlessly uncomfortable situation.
Chaya confessed that the accused Caram had cheated him too.53
The perceived vulnerability was such that Syrian merchants asked
Assalam’s Alejandro Schamún to write an article defending the colony in
Tucumán.54 Writing in El Orden, Schamún challenged several myths about
Arabic speakers in Argentina without mentioning the activities of Caram and
his conspirators. He dismissed the notion that the average Syrian was a temporary immigrant who came to accumulate money and then return to his
homeland. Schamún pointed out that according to official statistics more than
80 percent of the 60,345 Syrians who had entered Argentina since 1890 had
settled permanently in the country. Schamún then apologized for the persistent figure of the itinerant peddler, but emphasized that their numbers dwindled as more and more members of the Syrian colony found work in the
agricultural sector, including agricultural colonies in neighboring provinces.
Alejandro Schamún concluded by encouraging Argentine industrial and
agricultural companies to hire Syrian workers because these immigrants were
“sober, obedient, unpretentious” and purportedly avoided the anarchists.55 In
an environment with a broad and heightened anti-immigrant sentiment, the
Syrian merchant elite were rightly concerned about their place in local society
as many had made important connections with local social and cultural elite
institutions, such as by becoming members of the Sociedad Sarmiento.56 The
exploits of Amado Caram and his crew threatened to undermine the social
and financial advances that many merchants had achieved during the previous fifteen years. The evidence from Tucumán presents a complicated relationship between the state and the Syrian colony. Provincial state institutions
actively protected the interests and property of Arabic-speaking immigrants
in certain situations as it surely did with its other residents.
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
On the morning of December 7, 1901, Intendente Ramón González of
Bella Vista, a small town south of Tucumán’s provincial capital, San Miguel,
was summoned to the home of Jorge Fiad, an Arabic-speaking Ottoman subject from Mount Lebanon and local merchant. According to the local official,
Fiad’s strange and loud behavior “seemed demented” because he had torn up
a certain amount of money and thrown more down the well on his property.
The concerned official and Fiad’s neighbors had him interned at a local infirmary where the stricken merchant was diagnosed with enajenación mental,
or insanity, caused by a virus. Intendente González collected the remaining
cash in sight, called for a physician from San Miguel, and designated a local
Argentine merchant as guardian of Fiad’s money with the power to cover
Fiad’s expenses, such as medical fees, with the sealed funds. Intendente
González also made arrangements to deposit the funds in the Provincial
Bank and commissioned the justice of the peace to conduct an inventory of
Fiad’s shop. The merchandise was then placed under the protection of
another local merchant, Miguel Salazar.57
In January 1902 local authorities transferred Jorge Fiad to a hospice in San
Miguel de Tucumán and requested that a guardian ad litem be assigned to
safeguard the ill immigrant’s interests. In April the judge decided to sell
Fiad’s furniture to help pay for costs, such as the rent for his shop in Bella
Vista. On May 10 the guardian ad litem requested a delay in the auction of
Fiad’s items.58 Jorge Fiad was pronounced healthy in early July and then
appeared before the judge requesting his property and money that had been
held on his behalf. The judge complied and released Fiad’s goods and money,
which he received in August.
Following the sudden illness of a resident of the province, the legal code
compelled local officials and institutions to establish a variety of arrangements to maintain and safeguard the interests of the incapacitated merchant.
Any expenditure of the registered wealth had to be supported by a receipt
and approved by a judge. The fact that the law was implemented for an immigrant sheds light on how state institutions were, at times, guarantors for one’s
wealth and well-being, regardless of citizenship.
In another instance, on the morning of November 2, 1907, Pedro Jorrat
informed the justice of the peace of Pozo del Alto, Tucumán, that his cousin
Julian had died of acute encephalitis three days earlier in the provincial
capital. Pedro admitted that his cousin had not left a will, thus prompting
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the call for an inventory of Julian Jorrat’s assets. The inventory included
tools and animals used in the cultivation of sugarcane as well as furniture
and housewares on a sizeable property that Julian had leased since 1899. In
addition, Pedro testified that his cousin Julian had nearly 30,000 pesos in
the bank in San Miguel.59 The presiding judge assigned guardians to protect Jorrat’s estate and cash assets. In early April 1908 Elias Jorrat
approached the provincial government on behalf of the lone heir to Julian’s
estate— his mother Nefnefe—who lived in his home village of El Mrouj,
Mount Lebanon. In order to prove jurisdiction, Elias submitted Julian’s
baptismal records from the Maronite Diocese of Mercedes in “Lebanon,
Turkey.”60
During the succession hearings, a creditor objected to the judge’s declaration naming Nefnefe sole heir to her son’s estate, which forced the provincial
supreme court to weigh in. The court ultimately decided in favor of Nefnefe
and her local representative Elias Jorrat. The baptismal documents proving
maternity were submitted in both Arabic and French and were certified by
the French consulate in Beirut and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Buenos
Aires.61 The most important aspect of these proceedings was the protection
of Jorrat’s estate by the state institutions. Without apparent heir or citizenship, Julian Jorrat’s assets were protected by the law until all vested parties
could file their claims before a judge. In addition, the court recognized the
Arabic-language baptismal record as a legitimate document to decide the fate
of Jorrat’s estate.
These examples illustrate that, contrary to the previous studies on Syrians
in Latin America, the state was neither entirely prejudicial nor uninterested
in the affairs of Arabic-speaking immigrants. In fact, the Argentine state
could stand in the place of social networks and protect the interests of an
immigrant, whether ill or dead. Furthermore, these social networks tapped
into the legal system. In terms of property, many Syrian immigrants trusted
the system to function transparently and fairly. The colony of Tucumán,
however, remained unorganized in comparison to their compatriots elsewhere in Argentina. For instance, the community in the capital city of Buenos Aires had created three benevolent aid societies, including one named El
Paraíso de los Pobres (Paradise of the Poor), to tend to poor immigrants.62
The Schamún brothers, under the aegis of their periodical Assalam, had
opened a free legal and medical clinic for their poor compatriots.63 The
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
Syrian elite in Tucumán, however, were unable to create similar institutions
to help recent arrivals of meager means as had the Spaniards and Italians.
Syrian Immigrants and Politics of the Homeland
The Syrians living in northwestern Argentina also had to contend with
intense political transformations in the old country. Settled immigrants in
Argentina had petitioned the Ottoman state since 1890 to establish diplomatic relations with Buenos Aires.64 In fact, a delegation of émigrés living in
Buenos Aires met with Sultan Abdul Hamid II in Istanbul, lobbying to establish diplomatic relations with Argentina and to found a consulate in Buenos
Aires.65 The Arabic-speaking communities in the Americas possessed “close
and friendly contact” with Istanbul in spite of pockets of political dissidence
among these communities.66 Before the outbreak of World War I the Syrian
colony shared an Ottoman political identity that acted as a unifying factor
across broad sections of this immigrant community, and demonstrated public support for the Ottoman state through expressive culture and public celebrations. Similar sentiments emerged among Syrian immigrants in the
United States and Venezuela.67
Syrian immigrants in Argentina organized large public events and published several periodicals that pledged and celebrated their loyalty to the
Ottoman state, especially in the wake of the Young Turk Revolution. The
restoration of the Ottoman constitution and the return to democratic governance provided a heady elixir of communal identification and a source of
pride that was commemorated by the Syrian colonies throughout Argentina.68 For the Arabic-speaking communities in northwestern Argentina, the
events in Istanbul elicited genuine patriotic sentiment that was expressed in
a variety of platforms, ranging from oral poetry to large banquets. In addition, the restoration of the Ottoman constitution gave opportunity for the
leading and most financially successful Syrians to further tether themselves
to local societies. The colony in Salta provides an exemplary case in point.
In the wake of the constitution’s reinstatement, the “sons of Turkey”
resident in Salta city organized an entity called the Syrian Association of
Ottomans, further creating a subgroup entitled the Syrian Celebrations
Committee to oversee a large banquet celebrating the return to democratic
governance in Constantinople. Nicolás Amado presided over the group,
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and they appointed Augustín Usandivaras—provincial legislator, future
mayor of Salta, newspaper publisher, and federal legislator—as the committee’s honorary president. The organizers secured the grand salon of the
posh Club 20 de Febrero for the event’s location, scheduled for October 22
and deemed a “good idea” by the local press. In order to announce the
event, Amado published an open letter in the local newspapers formally
asking for Usandivaras’s participation as well as his help in securing the
salon at the Club 20 de Febrero and the attendance of the local political
establishment.69
In preparation for the banquet, the Syrian Association of Ottomans
arranged a dinner, which some observers viewed as “a very important act that
does honor to the dignified colony.” 70 Prominent Syrian merchant Domingo
Chain and other “Turkish gentlemen” organized the event to celebrate the
political independence of Turkey—or more accurately the return to constitutional rule. The dinner, which was held in the fancy Gran Hotel, featured the
most important political and social figures from Salta’s society and a “select
group” of Ottoman subjects. The room was decorated elegantly and the fine
silverware on the dinner tables shined. The Argentine and Ottoman flags fluttered in “fraternal union” above the congregants. The dignitaries included the
provincial governor, his chief minister, the treasury minister, the mayor, the
police chief, the presidents of each house of the provincial legislature, the editors in chief of the three local newspapers, and other distinguished members
of local society. The police band provided the entertainment.71
As dinner progressed to the toast, Syrian immigrant Elias Abecassis
rose to speak in the name of the organizing committee. He directed his
initial comments to Governor Linares, praising his government “in clear
and gallant form” for the prestige they gave to the party by virtue of their
attendance. Abecassis continued, thanking the other distinguished attendees. Provincial Treasury Minister José Saravia responded on behalf of the
provincial administration, noting the “satisfaction with which the government and the people of Salta had received the splendid news that the sultan
had agreed to the political liberty of Turkey.” Local intellectual Moises J.
Oliva’s “beautiful speech” received great applause and concluded the act.
In the discourse, Oliva gave a “brilliant synthesis harmonizing the history,
the customs, and the seductions of the women with black eyes from the
Orient.” Perhaps most important, Oliva and the rest in attendance gave
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
their affirmation to the “entrance of the old empire into the concert of free
peoples.” 72
Momentum continued to build toward the larger banquet. The local
press could hardly contain its excitement on the eve of the event, assuring
readers that the dinner would be brilliant because of the yeoman efforts put
forth by society president Nicolás Amado. The press further asserted,
“when the patriotic fire burns, the fatuous fires of selfishness and of partisanship fade and those united celebrate the glories of the absent country.” 73
It was in this environment of enthusiasm that attendees arrived on the
evening of October 22, 1908. The grand salon was decorated “in splendid
taste” with a variety of flowers. Portraits of the author of the Ottoman constitution Midhat Pasha, Sultan Abdul Hamid II, Argentine President
Figueroa Alcorta, and Salta Governor Linares figured at the head of the
room. Above the congregants were Argentine and Ottoman flags. An
orchestra composed of twelve music professors opened the event with the
national anthems of both countries, followed by a suite of Mozart and then
some presumably Ottoman pieces, notably Beethoven’s “The Turkish
March.” 74 The setting and selection of music are notable. The organizers
clearly wanted to draw connections between the two nations. The portraits
of the heads of state and the performance of the anthems placed each
nation on equal footing. The inclusion of Midhat Pasha pointed attention
to each nation’s liberal constitution, a document in which Argentines took
great pride. Great care went into crafting a setting that emphasized the
commonalities between the two societies and thus added to the legitimacy
and familiarity of this immigrant colony in Salta.
The provincial governor, his ministers, presidents of the legislative chambers, a federal judge, ranking officers of the local military garrison, editors
in chief of the local press, local Salta social elites, and Syrian immigrants
made up those in attendance, numbering more than one hundred people.
Organizing committee president Nicolás Amado opened the event with a
speech full of “true patriotic fire,” offered a toast with champagne, and then
introduced the keynote speaker, Augustín Usandivaras.75 His address began
by noting the “splendid assembly of patriotism” before him. He lauded Salta’s
Syrian colony and their country now experiencing the “seductive caress of
liberty.” After listing a series of benefits the Ottoman Empire gave to the
world, Usandivaras harangued the rule of Sultan Abdul Hamid II, describing
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it as a “government of caciquismo” as capricious and autocratic as that of
Louis XIV. Yet, he continued, the bravery of the Young Turks compelled the
sultan to restore the constitution, thus returning liberty and popular sovereignty to the empire. Usandivaras then compared the supposed leaders of the
Young Turk movement to the heroes of Argentine independence, mentioning
in particular Midhat Pasha; Abdul Hamid II, whose “detachment and patriotism” avoided a bloody civil war; and Cavid Bey, who hailed from a Salonica
Dönmeh family and served as economy minister for the CUP.76 Usandivaras
then declared all the various ethnic and cultural groups—including the
Armenians, Greeks, Bulgarians, Jews, and Arabs—a “cosmopolitanism of
races [that] bring into line a single and identical sentiment . . . celebrating
like we celebrate the triumphs of a country that immortalizes itself in the
history of humanity and incorporates itself . . . into civilization and progress.”77 He concluded, “Gentlemen: I toast this flag that today, free and grand,
embraces his brothers of the world; for the prosperity of the Ottoman
Empire, for the Syrian colony resident in Salta that very honorably celebrates
the greatest day of the beloved country, for peace, honor and the integrity of
Turkey.” 78
The speech was met with a great ovation, and the local press later described
his presentation as “a brilliant speech historicizing and synthesizing the tradition” of the Ottoman Empire.79 Next, Chief Minister Santiago M. López
spoke on behalf of the provincial administration, expressing the province’s
satisfaction with the Ottoman Empire’s opening the era of liberty. Both
speeches received intense applause from the audience. José Sansón followed
Minister López. Beginning by apologizing to Governor Linares, Sansón gave
a speech in Arabic, which generated much excitement from his fellow Syrians.80 Fellow immigrant Salomón Miguel then sent the room into rapturous
delight as he concluded his speech: “From no other than this glorious Argentine province, where we live and work in the charitable shadow of its laws,
which allow us to meet today under its aid and protection, we salute a free
Turkey, we pay tribute with a respectful affectionate homage to our motherland . . . . We toast our dear Turkey, for the Sultan’s personal happiness, and
as patriots and good citizens we unite our voices to give a Viva to the Argentine Republic.” 81
The crowd erupted in euphoric applause. After the last of the speakers
finished, the attendees escorted the governor to his residence. Then Augustín
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
Usandivaras and Nicolás Amado led a group of Syrian and local gentlemen
to the Hotel Salteño, during which shouts of viva to the Ottoman Empire, to
the Argentine Republic, to Salta, and to the governor broke the still of the
night. At the hotel, an impromptu party materialized and “champagne
reigned.” During this party men performed impromptu speeches and offered
vivas to Governor Linares and to Usandivaras as the revelry carried on into
the early morning.82
The Syrian colony in Tucumán also participated in those sorts of events,
if not as well reported on as that of their peers in Salta. For instance, Syrians
dispatched a telegram to the Syrian-Ottoman Commission in Buenos Aires
in September 1908, expressing the “great ardor” produced by this newfound
liberty and the immense pride residents in Tucumán experienced knowing
their compatriots were celebrating the “greatest and solemnest event that our
country will have, to be declared constituted with the most extensive liberties.” 83 Activists organized an “important Syrian-Ottoman assembly” later
that month, which was held at the home of the prominent merchant Manuel
Malcún. More than 150 Syrian merchants gathered together to enjoy a
“patriotic tribute” to the Ottoman constitution and the Young Turk revolutionaries. Nagib Baaclini, an immigrant from Zahle, Mount Lebanon,
and a graduate of the Jesuit-run University of Saint Joseph in Beirut, opened
the event, speaking about the importance of the revolution for the Syrian
people, for which he received enthusiastic applause. Subsequent speakers,
including leading Syrian merchants Emilio Albaca and Jorge Schedan, reinforced the themes introduced by Baaclini, earning them much applause
too.84 In more intimate settings, immigrants such as Elias Turbay, a merchant based in the small Tucumán town of Río Seco, circulated a poem entitled “How Beautiful Is Freedom and the Constitutional Country.” 85
The activities in Salta and Tucumán represented both a public expression
of patriotic sentiments by Ottoman subjects and a deliberate attempt by Syrians to further weave themselves into the local social fabric. Certainly, the
transformative events of July 1908 served as an immense point of pride for
these people, who could now claim to be part of the liberal world in which
individual rights guarded by a constitution reigned supreme. In addition, it
was a moment to join together as a community and celebrate a common
political identity that transcended class and religious lines. The platforms to
publicly express support for these events were critically important to Syrians
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too. The rhetoric deployed by these immigrants and published in the local
press in Salta and Tucumán attempted to use language and concepts Argentines were familiar with and understood, such as the primacy of the constitution, rule of law, democratic governance, and notions of liberty. All of this
rhetoric gave greater points of connection with local Argentine society. In
addition, the events in Salta gave Syrians access to the political, social, and
economic elite and an even footing. Within three weeks the provincial governor, his ministers, provincial legislators, military officers, editors in chief,
and members of high society twice celebrated events that transpired thousands of miles away. This affirmation by local Salta society was a most surprising achievement considering that just a decade earlier Syrians had been
equated with locusts and the biblical plague as the colony grew in numbers.
This affirmation is further exemplified in the use of the terms “civilized” and
“civilization” in the press accounts and public speeches, which suggest how
local society may have viewed particular immigrants. Classifying specific
groups as uncivilized equated to being an undesired feature of the local community. Certainly, the Salta elite viewed themselves as members of the elite
global club of liberal democracies on the march of progress, or simply civilized. Syrian immigrants such as Nicolás Amado, Domingo Chain, and
Nagib Baaclini understood this and utilized rhetoric to create these connections. In other words, the celebration of the Young Turk Revolution was as
much about the situation in the Argentine Northwest as it was about events
unfolding in Constantinople.
Conclusion
The pioneer generation of Arabic-speaking immigrants from Greater Syria
featured a disproportionate number of people who arrived with skills, capital, and merchandise to peddle. These attributes allowed for the accumulation of capital and the establishment of shops that serviced new tastes and
desires and acted as nodes for chain migrants. A shift in the immigrant composition at the end of the first decade of the twentieth century sent a greater
percentage of people with less capital, less education, and fewer skills. Many
Syrians in Argentina identified strongly with the Ottoman Empire, accepted
it as their political identity, and adroitly used it to tether themselves to local
societies.
“The Charitable Shadow of Its Laws”
In northwestern Argentina, infighting among the elites of the Syrian colony fractured the immigrant group and prevented the formation of sustained community organizations. This inability to coalesce coupled with the
massive immigration into Tucumán to prevent the formal organization of
the community. In spite of this institutional void, Syrian merchants became
an economic power in the province of Tucumán as the number of merchants
and their accumulated wealth grew impressively. Despite attempts by community leaders in Buenos Aires and the Ottoman consul general to discourage peddling, many immigrants continued to choose this vocation as a way
to earn capital. Perhaps most important, life as an immigrant was burdened
with hazards and risks that were the product as much of chance as of local
prejudice and weak labor markets.
The fragmentation of the Syrian immigrant community was further
exacerbated by the multiclass structure that emerged as a consequence of
the local economy, based on seasonal labor servicing the cultivation of
sugarcane. Those immigrants who arrived with weak or nonexistent social
networks had to fend for themselves and search for scarce jobs. Many faced
the likelihood of arrest for aggravated assault or larceny. At times, state
institutions intervened into the lives of immigrants and replaced social networks that were inadequate to handle the situation. The global shocks of
World War I and the fall of the Ottoman Empire would be a difficult time
for the Syrian colony in Tucumán as resources to alleviate the stress of surviving a depression were scarce. In addition, the shared Ottoman political
identity shattered as novel politicized identities emerged and threatened to
implode the community.
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Syrians in the Time of Depression, War,
and Emergent Nationalism, 1914–1922
The global shocks of World War I and the collapse of the Ottoman
Empire had a direct and immediate impact on the Arabic-speaking communities in the northwestern provinces. The outbreak of conflict in Europe provoked a depression in Argentina that deepened the economic malaise of the
province of Tucumán. The ascension to the governorship by the Radical
Party (Unión Cívica Radical) in 1917 and subsequent political instability
combined with increasingly intense labor unrest. Syrian immigrants utilized
a variety of strategies to contend with a fluid socioeconomic and political
environment that featured rising crime and unemployment. World War I
and the ultimate fall of the government in Constantinople, however, provoked a dilemma for a mutual political Ottoman identity as shared senses of
place and association dissolved. This existential crisis forced immigrants to
grapple with the question of community and with whether there was indeed
one. In this space, nationalist ideologies politicized ethnoregional identities
in new ways and led to a novel, racialized political identity: a fellowship
founded on the Arab race. These ideologies created new fault lines within the
Syrian colony in Argentina, principally among the politically active cultural
elite. As the drama in the homelands played out, a distinctly local, elite-led
immigrant identity emerged in the early 1920s—the Syrian-Lebanese
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(colonia siriolibanesa)—that attempted to mitigate the divisiveness caused by
the politics of the homeland and to act as the voice of the community.
Distinct social groups within the Syrian colonies living in Tucumán
began to solidify based on vocation by the outbreak of World War I. Merchants and itinerant peddlers equaled 53 percent of the Arabic-speaking
labor force in San Miguel de Tucumán, yet there was great disparity in wealth
among this group of traders. The commercial houses within the Syrian colony ranged from wholesalers to small shopkeepers. This emergence as a powerful and coherent commercial force also had important consequences for
local Argentine society. Certain members from the immigrant community
contributed to elite social organizations and joined local cultural institutions. For example, Asis and Nallib Nadra—Antiochian Orthodox Christians from Homs— started donating money to the Sociedad de Beneficencia
de Tucumán by 1921.1 In addition, a small number of Syrians in Tucumán
began joining key cultural institutions such as the Sociedad Sarmiento in the
provincial capital and the Biblioteca Mitre in Monteros, a town in the heart
of the sugarcane zone. An average of six Syrians were members of the Sociedad Sarmiento between 1914 and 1917, compared to 84 Spaniards, 43 Italians,
and 642 Argentines in the same period. Syrians averaged 11 members of Biblioteca Mitre between 1914 and 1917, contrasting with 27 Spaniards, 8 Italians,
and 159 Argentines.2 These societies were important nodes of sociability and,
in the case of the Sociedad Sarmiento, of opportunities to associate with
provincial political and cultural elites.3 While it is unclear who exactly from
the Syrian colony joined these institutions, it is certain that these institutions
provided Arabic-speaking immigrants with access to important people.
Since these institutions required dues, it is likely that merchants or those
who had a professional job were the ones who associated with these organizations.
The contraction of the economy amplified the social dislocation experienced by many immigrants as they suffered due to weak microsocial networks, a lack of immigrant social aid institutions, and a dearth of state
welfare programs. The resulting economic distress exacerbated class disparities within the community. Less successful merchants and more vulnerable members of the colony, such as peddlers, washerwomen, day laborers,
and farm hands, occupied a precarious position in local society. Adding
housewives, students, and those not having a profession, this group of
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
people represented more than 50 percent of the Syrian colony.4 In an environment of economic instability and personal insecurity, many committed
crimes and fell victims to them. Indeed, police forces arrested Syrian immigrants at rates much higher than the provincial average or that for Spaniards and Italians. In the quinquenniums 1910–1914 and 1925–1929, one of
the two primary reasons for seeking medical attention by Arabic speakers
was “accidents, poisonings, and violence.”5 Peddling in the interior of
Tucumán was also a dangerous enterprise as a reported 131 people disappeared on the road, many disappearances resulting from violent encounters.6 In addition, commercial enterprises folded and itinerant peddlers lost
access to goods on consignment, forcing them to compete for jobs in the
cane fields.
The Syrian literary elite in Tucumán organized themselves in the wake of
the Young Turk Revolution of July 1908, producing the first Arabic-language
periodical in Tucumán on December 1, 1913.7 This publication marked the
emergence of a group of public intellectuals that would play an important
role in defending the community, defining the boundaries of acceptable
behavior, creating internal divisions based upon political transformations in
the old country, and formulating a Syrian-Lebanese identity that was recognized by Argentines. These intellectuals formed part of a larger network—a
transnational Arabophone Republic of Letters—connecting them to peers in
São Paulo, New York, Dakar, Paris, Cairo, Beirut, and Damascus through the
exchange of periodicals and personal correspondence. Many waged debates
in the Arabic press across the Americas as new fault lines over the future of
their homelands emerged during World War I.
A bourgeois elite from the Syrian colony arose in this chaos to become the
wealthiest national commercial group in the province in 1920. Despite their
economic success, the local Arabic-speaking elites were always concerned
with their position in local society. In 1916 they were confronted by a group
of non-elite compatriots who possessed distinctly different notions of politics. The instability in Tucumán illustrated cleavages within the community
based upon socioeconomic status. Hence, members of the merchant and cultural elite pleaded for their working-class compatriots to abstain from the
social and political unrest burdening the province.
World War I furthered the internal distress of the Syrian colony in
Tucumán. The famine that ravaged Syria and Lebanon during the war
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inspired the organization of benevolent aid societies that collected donations
and made arrangements for the aid to be delivered in the old country. During
the war and especially in the wake of Ottoman disintegration, competing
visions and nationalisms surfaced as the Arabic-speaking community
debated and fought among themselves over the future of their homelands
and how to participate in life in Argentina. Syrian intellectuals in Tucumán
participated in the debates raging in Buenos Aires and elsewhere in the
Americas. The empire’s demise engendered several responses in the Arabiclanguage press. International political concerns created new fault lines of
division within the community in Tucumán that ranged from supporting
Lebanese independence to championing an Arab Islamic caliphate. Like
those of the Young Turk Revolution, some Syrian immigrants used the war
to further tie themselves to Argentina. These divisive debates ultimately led
to the formation in 1921 of a cultural association that advocated a politics of
Arab culture.
Politics, Economy, and Crime in Tucumán, 1914–1920
The economy in Tucumán, now subservient to the monoculture system of
sugarcane production, experienced a banner year for sugarcane production
in 1913; however, the monoculture system also had the adverse effect of driving down prices. This combined with structural problems of the industry,
principally low sucrose yields, the destructive impact of frost and heavy
rains, the inefficiencies of the small-size production facilities, the lack of
modern techniques and technology, and the general poverty of the independent planters known as cañeros. Furthermore, freight fees and distance from
seaports drove up transaction costs, thus influencing the nature of an industry serving the domestic market. The immediate consequence of bumper
crops was disaster for planters and field hands. Then, during World War I,
sugarcane farmers suffered a series of bad harvests, which led the national
legislature to lower the tariffs on imported sugar. Furthermore, this happened in an environment of sector industrialization and intensifying labor
activism that destroyed historic modes of communication and organization
of relationships between field hands and sugar industrialists, evidenced
through acts of sabotage and subsequent police reports. At the same time,
the provincial state had evolved into a complex set of institutions with a
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
mandate and set of tools designed to mediate between the various actors in
the sugar industry. As noted by María Celia Bravo, the relationship between
sugar farmers and industrialists oscillated between alliance and conflict. The
price of the raw material (sugarcane) sold to the sugar factories was the central tension between independent planters and industrialists; however, these
two groups shared concerns about rising labor costs, unrest, and protecting
the industry at large. Part of these concerns stemmed from the fact that cañeros controlled 49 percent of cultivated sugarcane, and because of their
importance the small- and medium-sized planters consolidated themselves
in the countryside. Despite a return to prosperity for Argentina as a whole,
sugar planters and industrialists never resolved the outstanding issues into
the 1920s.8
In the early years of the war, a steady stream of poor people flocking into
San Miguel de Tucumán caused a population surge. The provincial government pursued fiscal austerity at the expense of public welfare programs. A
nongovernment committee formed to help protect the poor from merchant
profiteering while the administration of Governor Ernesto Padilla attempted
to create make-work projects to offset the human misery. This new reality
merged with an increasingly active and confident urban labor sector, led by
the anarchist bakers’ syndicate, to create a sense of disorder in the provincial
capital. The period between 1914 and 1922 witnessed an increase in labor
unrest in the cities and sporadic disturbances in the countryside as
Tucumán’s economy struggled to gain footing. Furthermore, the pre–World
War I cañero activism created support from rural folk and urban groups in
San Miguel de Tucumán that were linked to the state bureaucracy. For
instance, two massive strikes happened in July 1917 as a result of rampant
inflation, one led by the railroad workers at the maintenance center in Tafi
Viejo and the other featuring the sugarcane harvesters at the sugar factory
in Bella Vista, Monteros district. Worker activism was not solely a phenomenon in Tucumán. Rather, laborers throughout Argentina and Latin America
began to strike with greater frequency after the end of 1916, with the size and
strength continuing to grow until the massive general strike in January 1919
and the violent “Tragic Week,” which marked the sacking of Jewish neighborhoods in Buenos Aires and the violent repression of workers. While not
at the same scale as in January 1919, worker unrest continued throughout the
country into 1921. Concomitantly, in Tucumán there was an increase in
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arrests for property crimes and violent altercations, including larceny, homicide, and aggravated assault. Citations for public drunkenness and disorderly
conduct soared.9
Economic instability and labor unrest intersected with the transformation of the political system, as the 1912 national voting reform (Saenz Peña
Law) led to a resounding victory for Radical presidential candidate Hipólito
Yrigoyen in 1916 and Radical gubernatorial candidate for Tucumán Juan
Bautista Bascary in 1917. The rise of Radicals at the national level undercut
the influence of the sugar industrialists on federal policy as they lost influence and access in Buenos Aires to the executive branch. Indeed, one of the
first acts carried out by President Yrigoyen was a decree allowing for seventyfive thousand tons of imported sugar at reduced tariff.10 The crop disasters
of 1915 and 1916 and the new federal sugar policy led to the founding of
Cañero Center in 1918, which larger independent planters came to dominate.
Yet, between 1914 and 1922 the oscillation between crop failures and overproduction led small- and medium-size planters to pursue three strategies. First,
they lobbied provincial and national governments to protect against the concentration of land ownership. Second, they explored the formation of a producers’ cooperative to mill independently cultivated cane, thus freeing them
from reliance on the industrialists. Third, they left the Cañero Center and
joined the Argentine Agrarian Federation (FAA), which was a more classbased organization.11
The ascension of Bascary to the provincial governorship coincided with
adjustments in cane production, as many independent farmers lost their
plantations due to a disease affecting the local variety of sugarcane. Industrialists bought up this newly available land and planted the newly acquired
territories with the Java type of sugarcane. By 1919 the sugar mills had converted more than 90 percent of their cane fields to Java cane whereas the
cañeros had only changed one-third of their collective holdings. Large planters were able to move to the Java species at a higher percentage because Java
cane was too costly for many small and medium planters who survived the
cane plague. Thus their livelihood was threatened. The Bascary administration stepped in and ordered the sale of Java to planters at half of the market
cost. Bascary also paid an indemnity to planters who suffered crop failures
by raising taxes. He increased the budget of the provincial government and
opened soup kitchens in the cities to sustain the unemployed. These acts
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
infuriated sugar industrialists and conservatives, who asserted that the soup
kitchen was a gateway to idleness and vice. At the national level, the combination of the rise in cost of living, the crisis of sugarcane plantations, and the
growth of Socialist representation in the city of Buenos Aires influenced
Yrigoyen’s sugar policies. A key outcome was that sugar came to be seen as a
regional issue and thus influenced Radical politics in Tucumán, which was
approaching armed conflict as Governor Bascary antagonized his enemies,
including members of his own party; expelled the provincial senate president
León Rougés for treason; and prohibited all meetings of both chambers. The
tension continued to build, culminating in the deposing of Governor Juan
Bautista Bascary on Boxing Day in 1920 by federal intervention.12
As work in the cane fields disappeared, nonfelony violent crime in San
Miguel de Tucumán climbed to seven times the level of that in Buenos Aires.
Homicides also increased between 1917 and 1920.13 The local press alternated
between demands for increased police vigilance and resignation at the dismal state of personal security as a general sense of disorder deepened. For
instance, in the winter of 1915 the editors of the Tucumán daily El Orden
declared yet again the need to increase the police budget to put more officers
on the streets of the provincial capital.14 Thugs committed acts of robbery
with impunity in the city’s most central neighborhoods. Underscoring the
prevailing criminal audacity, thieves stole the legislator’s badges (medallas
de diputado) of provincial deputies Antonio Correa and Juan Brígido Terán
while they were wearing them.15
Rates of arrest for felony and misdemeanor offenses—such as aggravated
assault, larceny, and disorderly conduct—illuminate how larger economic,
political, and social processes affected local communities and particular
individuals. Increases in crime often leads to certain groups being labeled
as the source of aberrant behavior, which in turn helps to shape the stereotypes attached to them—such as the belief in Buenos Aires that Italian
immigrants were the primary perpetrators of crime in the years leading up
to World War I.16 The criminal arrest rates of Syrians were significantly
higher than the provincial average between 1914 and 1922, due more to the
circumstances within which these immigrants operated than to local prejudice, although the latter certainly was present.
Syrians in Tucumán province were arrested for larceny at a rate of 265 per
10,000 people between 1914 and 1922. Arrests for larceny of Argentines,
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Italians, and Spaniards numbered 106, 25, and 67 per 10,000 respectively.
Arrest rates for aggravated assault during the same period of time are
greater. Argentines, Italians, and Spaniards averaged 260, 198, and 185 arrests,
whereas Syrians counted 457. The numbers are startling in that for a small
group of immigrants, encounters with law enforcement far exceeded those
of other sizable émigré colonies and the average Argentine in the province.
Unfortunately, assessing the victims of these crimes is not possible with
the data from the statistical annuals. Police forces arrested Syrians for the
crime of larceny at nearly three times the provincial average between 1914
and 1916—a period of considerable social and economic unrest. The arrest
rate fell in the years between 1918 and 1922 to a level just above the provincial
mean.
While many Syrians did achieve wealth and upward mobility through
commerce, many more worked in precarious conditions in which criminal
behavior and violence were prevalent. For instance, Manuel Tigre was
shocked to discover that the lock to his room in San Miguel de Tucumán had
been broken while he was in the countryside peddling in August 1916. Ten
days later, Tigre was walking around one of Tucumán’s principal train stations when he ran into the “Arab” José Abraham and noticed that Abraham
was wearing one of his stolen shirts. Tigre then went to the police and formally accused José Abraham of stealing money and clothing worth around
400 pesos. In addition, he turned over to the police an iron rod and the broken lock, after which the authorities arrested Abraham, who then confessed
to the crime. Despite the pleas from his defense attorney decrying the harsh
sentence, eighteen-year-old José Abraham, a shoe shiner, received a prison
sentence of four years and six months.17 In another instance, Fernando Iza,
who lived in the sugarcane department of Monteros, alleged that his compatriot Alejandro José robbed him of clothes and money, valued at 113 pesos.18
Elsewhere, Moises Dahan, a Syrian Jew and local merchant in San Miguel de
Tucumán, accused his servant Carmen Ponce of stealing some fabric from
Dahan’s store. Police later seized several more pieces of fabric from Ponce’s
living quarters and arrested her. At the end of the criminal proceedings the
court absolved fifteen-year-old Carmen Ponce of the crime because it was
believed she was too young to fully discern what she was doing.19 While each
case represented small sums of cash—considering the economic situation of
Tucumán—resources, such as the pilfered items, obviously were dearer in
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
this moment and the aggrieved used Argentine state institutions to seek
redress.
Syrians were also arrested at a 50 percent higher rate than the average
person residing in the province for aggravated assault between 1914 and 1916.
This arrest rate surged between 1918 and 1922; during this time period,
authorities detained Arabic speakers at more than double the provincial rate.
In general terms, arrest rates for assault between 1914 and 1922 rose sharply
province wide in contrast to the period between 1908 and 1913, moving from
a rate of fourteen arrests per ten thousand to twenty-one arrests per ten
thousand. At the same time, the increase among Syrians was significantly
steeper, rising from eight arrests per ten thousand to forty in the latter
period. In even starker terms, the difference between the principal immigrant groups suggests more difficult adjustment to local conditions for Syrians than for Spaniards and Italians. In the years from 1908 to 1913, Syrians
suffered arrest for aggravated assault at lower rate than Italians, but at a
higher rate than Spaniards. Authorities took into custody Arabic speakers at
almost three times the rate of Spaniards and Italians between 1914 and 1922.
While the general economic milieu created an environment for aberrant
behavior, the situations were particular. For instance, Salvador José brutally
assaulted the Argentine José Lorenzo Guzman over an alleged debt. On
June 8, 1916, Salvador José went to Guzman’s house to confront him about the
owed money, an accusation Guzman denied. Threatening words were then
exchanged, and José apparently departed. Sometime later, Guzman left his
home, entering the street where he was attacked “by the Arab.” Allegedly,
Salvador José used a club, violently striking the victim in the head and
knocking him to the ground. Salvador José continued the assault, causing
“various considerable injuries.” The police soon intervened, arresting Salvador José and transporting Guzman to the local hospital.20
At the same time, Syrians could be targeted for assault, in many cases
arising out of an attempted robbery. Such was the fate of Fortunato Lajud
while he was peddling in the department of Burruyacú, northeast of the provincial capital, in early November 1916. While riding on horseback through
a forest, an assailant shot Lajud in the back with a shotgun. Police were summoned, arranged medical transport for Lajud to a hospital in the provincial
capital, and initiated a criminal investigation. After two days, authorities
detained the Argentine Jesus Benigno Peralta, who confessed to the crime,
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saying his intent was to rob Lajud. Peralta also declared that he fled because
he thought he missed Lajud and figured the victim was bound to return fire.
The Syrian later died in a local sanatorium. Jesus Benigno Peralta received a
five-year prison sentence as a result.21 In another instance, itinerant peddler
Salvador Amado was lured into a field outside of Villa Quinteros, south of
the provincial capital and deep in the heart of sugarcane country, by field
hand José Modesto Díaz (hijo) with the promise of payment for an outstanding debt. Out of view of the hamlet’s residents, Díaz attacked Amado, killing
him after meting out several blows with a wooden club.22 The same fate befell
Juan Antonio Neme, who died at the hands of Segundo Telesforo Aguilar
and José Pilar González during an attempted robbery.23
El Orden continued to lament the bloody occurrences afflicting the entire
province. The editorial board asserted that the majority of the perpetrators
committed violent crimes while under the influence of alcohol. Alcohol, for
El Orden’s editors, was “the most terrible enemy of society.”24 One incident
that shook the province took place the evening of February 21, 1916, in Luisiana, a company town next to a sugar factory in the department of Alderetes,
which lay on the eastern border of the provincial capital. Abraham Marón
went to the store owned by his compatriot Jorge Saad and struck up a conversation. While conversing with Saad, Sante Di Santolo, an Italian immigrant who was drunk at the time, entered the store, approached Abraham
Marón, and joined the conversation. Di Santolo asked Marón whether he
knew anything about soccer. The young Syrian merchant responded that he
was searching for someone to teach him the game. No further words were
exchanged. Di Santolo unsheathed a “knife of great dimensions” and stabbed
Abraham in the abdomen. The assailant cleaved off Marón’s thumb as the
Syrian tried to defend himself. The victim fell to the ground. Collected by his
family, Abraham Marón was transported to San Miguel de Tucumán where
he later died in the hospital.25 Di Santolo received twenty years in prison for
the murder of Abraham Marón.26
As described by the newspaper, Abraham Marón was an honorable and
prestigious merchant, who—in spite of his youth and at the cost of great sacrifice and effort—had achieved a comfortable lifestyle. The local population
held him in general esteem. The discourse utilized by El Orden is significant.
Despite prejudicial discourses targeting Syrian immigrants, the newspaper
in this instance spoke sympathetically of the deceased’s respectable position
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
in local society and in the realm of commerce.27 It was clear that Marón had
achieved a level of integration that challenges the myth of an Argentine
nationalism preventing so-called undesirable immigrants from pathways of
belonging. Indeed, this was in many ways a shared immigrant experience
where day-to-day interactions forced people on the ground to come to terms
with difference.28 Rather, the larger environment of economic instability and
political unrest created the conditions for violent altercations for Syrians and
others in the province.
Police also incarcerated Syrian immigrants at much higher rates for disorderly conduct, ranging from four times the provincial average between
1914 and 1917 and then lowering to a mere two and one-half times between
1918 and 1922. For the whole period under discussion, Syrians suffered arrest
more than three times the provincial average. By contrast, Italians and Spaniards experienced incarceration for disorderly conduct at rates lower than the
provincial average. This category of misdemeanor suggests that at some level
institutional prejudice existed against the Syrian colonies dispersed throughout Tucumán province. Citation and arrest for disorderly conduct were left
to the discretion of the police officer on the scene and, as such, these statistics
do suggest that prejudice in times of crisis had material consequences. Several additional reasons explain the overrepresentation of the Syrian colony
in arrests for disorderly conduct. First, in comparison to the French, Italian,
and Spanish colonies, Syrians were recent arrivals in Tucumán and had not
yet had members integrate into the local elite. Second, they were not organized and were segmented along socioeconomic class lines. Third, the lack
of social institutions and weak or nonexistent microsocial networks, coupled
with a local environment of scarce jobs, rising costs, and social unrest, created situations in which theft, among other criminalized activities, could
become a survival strategy. For those immigrants whose interpersonal associations were tenuous or lacking, economic instability left many exposed.
Non-Elite Politics and Elite Responses
Crop failures, such as the one in 1916, and the corresponding social unrest
demonstrated the delicate nature of the regional economy. A central feature
of the sugar industry was its reliance on contractual labor, which in times of
economic distress provoked “acute social polarization.”29 During the war
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jobs were scarce. Arabic-speaking immigrants who were not established
commercially had to fight for work as credit lines dried up. As such, many
sought temporary work in the cane fields while their more successful countrymen attempted to ride out the economic situation. In the winter of 1916,
more than five hundred Syrian immigrants from Tucumán agreed to contractual terms to work in cane fields at Ledesma in northern Jujuy province.
On the afternoon of June 12, these workers initiated a labor strike against the
cane factory for breach of contract and dodgy business practices. Laborers in
Ledesma earned 1.50 to 1.80 pesos per 1,000 kilograms (kg) of cut and peeled
cane by 1910. According to testimony, the 1916 contract, which covered seven
hundred laborers, “mostly Arabs,” promised each worker would receive $1.80
for every 1,000 kg.30 The workers accused the management of underweighing
the cut cane. The harvesters also felt aggrieved by the firm’s rule requiring
them to use vales, or coupons, as currency in the general stores on the plantation in place of legal tender, a practice outlawed a decade earlier in
Tucumán. As such, the workers demanded their wages up to that point and
sought to renegotiate the work contract for higher wages. Otherwise, they
would not travel to the fields and cut cane. The facility’s manager, Arthur
Bodewig, was incensed. He yelled at the workers, claiming he had done them
a favor by bringing them from Tucumán where they had been starving.31
According to worker testimony, Bodewig promised the workers he would
return shortly with a satisfactory solution. He arrived a quarter of an hour
later, after having organized a group of irregular security forces armed with
Mauser rifles. He demanded that the laborers quit the sugar fields. The workers, realizing the seriousness of the situation, asked to settle accounts because
they had no money for the train fare to Tucumán and did not want to leave
until they received their earned wages. Upon Bodewig’s command the security forces opened fire on the protesting immigrants, instantly killing four.
The remaining workers scrambled to the train station, where they spent the
night awaiting transport out of Ledesma.32
As the news of the events began to emerge, the governor of Jujuy deployed
the Argentine infantry’s 20th Regiment to reestablish order and dispatched an
investigative judge from the Superior Tribunal de Justicia to conduct an investigation. The incident made national headlines in both the Spanish- and
Arabic-language press and provoked calls for labor reforms from leading politicians. Leaders from the Radical and Socialist parties, in addition to Syrian
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
immigrant elites in Buenos Aires, sent telegrams to the federal Ministry of the
Interior demanding an investigation. The acting Ottoman consul general also
demanded an official inquiry. In response to the public outcry and political
pressure, the Ministry of the Interior intervened and sent an investigator from
the National Department of Labor to assay the situation.33 During a massive
rally held in San Salvador, Jujuy’s capital, Syrian immigrant Arif Yapur gave a
speech in Spanish, which was much applauded by the assembled crowd, condemning the aggression against the workers and calling for the responsible to
be held accountable. The official reports about the bloody events in Ledesma,
however, lay blame squarely on the workers. The archival and print materials
show that no resolution was reached, and progressive labor regulations in Jujuy
did not emerge until the 1920s.34 The labor strike by Arabic-speaking workers
was not part of a larger labor movement. Rather, it was a spontaneous, ephemeral event, a product of specific local circumstances. Nevertheless, the activism
of Arif Yapur marks one of the first examples of formal political activism by a
member of this collectivity in northwestern Argentina.
Throughout the remainder of the war and into the immediate postwar
period, Tucumán experienced tremendous social and political instability.
The year 1917 alone witnessed the ascension to the governorship by Juan Bautista Bascary of the Radical Party, his subsequent closing of the provincial
legislature, his removal from office by federal intervention, and finally his
return to office following a final report by the interventor (the legal term for
the federally appointed head of local government). In addition, Bascary’s
period of rule also transpired in a climate of difficult social problems: abject
poverty marked by frequent strikes and class conflicts.35 The fluid situation
provoked Nagib Baaclini, publisher of the new bilingual newspaper entitled
El Eco de Oriente/Sada al-Sharq, to encourage a clear delineation between
commerce and politics. He reminded merchants from the Syrian colony that
men of many different political opinions and persuasions formed their clientele and that it was impossible to please everyone. Baaclini concluded that the
best policy was to avoid upheaval at all cost.36
Social Networks and Commerce in a Time of Economic Uncertainty
Syrians in northwestern Argentina attempted to adapt to the collapsing economy, evaporating jobs, and spikes in interpersonal violence and property
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crime, as well as to confront the future of their homelands in light of the Ottoman Empire’s participation in the Great War on the side of the Central Powers. In such times of distress, microsocial networks were indispensable for
securing necessities and surviving periods of unrest. These informal interpersonal associations were imbued with power relations and created relationships of dependency. The shaykhs (secular leaders) were critical actors.
According to oral testimony, most members of the colony recognized a group
of early Syrian immigrants in Tucumán as shaykhs. It was these merchants,
many located on the third block of Maipu Street, who offered goods on consignment, floated loans, and acted as intermediaries with the larger society. It
is likely that this phenomenon was not simply a transposition of the social
order from the old country, but rather recognition of the material success,
economic power, and social rank enjoyed by these successful merchants.
While some immigrants cultivated relationships with these shaykhs and
accrued some social cachet among their peers, shaykhs could activate these
networks to punish a compatriot for perceived transgressions such as theft.37
Social networks in times of distress were strongest and most useful among
the established merchant elite. Abraham Budeguer had migrated with his
wife, Juana, to Tucumán near the turn of the century. Before his death in July
1917, his network included Jorge Llobril, Antonio Apud, and Davíd Canz.
These men had known Budeguer and his wife while in Mount Lebanon—
even attending their wedding in 1890—and were merchants based in San
Miguel de Tucumán.38 Abraham Budeguer had cultivated a friendship with
his neighbor José C. Posse, a provincial senator who, after Budeguer’s passing, served as provisional administrator of the Budeguer estate until May
1918.39 Abraham Budeguer initially worked as a merchant and later purchased land in Cruz Alta department bordering the provincial capital and
began to grow cane for the local ingenio (sugar factory). He died with many
debts outstanding, principally to the firms of Galip y Eleas, Albaca Hermanos, and Antonio di Lella. Galip y Eleas and Albaca Hermanos were firms
founded by Arabic-speaking immigrants (the former was established in
December 1912 and the latter formed in April 1906).40
The judge declared that the Llobril, Apud, and Canz witnesses would suffice to confirm Juana’s position as widow because “Mount Lebanon, Turkey
. . . currently found itself in war,” and thus it was unrealistic to compel Juana
to secure her marriage certificate. The court subsequently confirmed Juana
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
Budeguer as legal administrator of his estate, and the family attempted to
repay his debts.41 After an inventory of property and valuables was completed, Juana petitioned to sell the sugarcane to cover court costs, past debts,
and the officials’ fees who participated in the proceedings. Yet, covering all
debts in full proved difficult and led to further court proceedings from creditors. In August 1919 Davíd Canz intervened on behalf of the Budeguer family, citing the disastrous results of the sugarcane harvest, and offered to pay
the remaining debts. Canz was a merchant in Tucumán who had a personal
relationship with the firm Galip y Eleas. He was formally a partner with
Salomon Galip, a company that also included Antonio Apud and Jorge Llobril as partners. The judge authorized the request, and Canz, who used one
of the Budeguer properties as collateral, paid off everything by the end of the
month.42 The informal social connections Abraham Budeguer had enjoyed
in life saved his family from financial disaster after his death.
Social networks also could work in a punitive fashion. The firm José Dantur y Hermano accused twenty-five-year-old married merchant Julian Tarraf
of stealing merchandise belonging to it. The Danturs were a powerful merchant family based in Buenos Aires that had opened up a branch office in
Tucumán just before the outbreak of World War I. They thus became prominent members of the Syrian colony’s merchant elite in the province. In
December 1916 the police seized goods at Tarraf’s house and placed him in
detention. The investigators accused Tarraf of taking less than one hundred
pesos, the threshold for a more severe penalty if found guilty. The Danturs
were not satisfied and insisted that Tarraf had intended to steal more than
one hundred pesos worth of merchandise. Tarraf countered that the Danturs
gave the goods on consignment to him. The Dantur brothers provided eight
additional witnesses from the Syrian colony to testify against their compatriot. In response, the defense accused these witnesses of giving false testimony. The court convicted Julian Tarraf, and he served seven months and
fifteen days in prison.43 Alejandro Meir received one year in prison for
defrauding his compatriot Felipe Alejandro of supplies for Meir’s confitería
on Catamarca Street in November 1915. In the court proceedings, fellow Syrian immigrants José Dip, Shukri Barudi, and Alejandro José testified in support of Felipe Alejandro.44
The Dantur brothers and Felipe Alejandro had four options to pursue a
resolution—one internal to immigrants and three external. The disputes
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between Julian Tarraf and the Danturs and between Meir and Alejandro
could not be resolved through internal arbitration. The three external options
involved the Argentine court system. Two possibilities entailed utilizing the
commercial courts to compel payment. The final alternative involved the
criminal court system. The Danturs and Felipe Alejandro chose to pursue a
criminal proceeding, and they activated their informal associations to punish Julian Tarraf and Alejandro Meir. It is likely the Danturs utilized their
standing to compel peers to testify against Tarraf. In this instance, the court
proved to be an arena of disputation that might have been as much about
internal power concerns as it was about stolen merchandise. The giving of
goods on consignment and the extension of credit to smaller merchants was
a long-standing practice among merchants from Greater Syria.45 The actions
of Julian Tarraf and Alejandro Meir antagonized their creditors to choose
the most extreme course of action in seeking a resolution.
Syrian merchants became the wealthiest commercial group in the province in 1920 by exploiting the underdeveloped markets of company towns,
and in certain cases they acted as the catalyst for urban development. For
instance, by 1917 the Saad Brothers were key suppliers for the Luisiana
sugar mill, and Guetas Chebaia provisioned the Lastenia cane factory and
its workers. The Saads relocated to San Miguel de Tucumán in 1919 and
would become one of the largest wholesalers in the province and a vendor
for the Argentine military.46 In 1912 the Fiad brothers opened a branch
store near Quilmes, Leales department, at the train station Palá-Palá,
located not far from land the brothers owned. There the Fiads grew sugarcane and corn. Their commercial house became the primary distributor for
the department. This shop was so successful that the Fiads moved their
headquarters from Bella Vista, Famaillá department. A nucleus of people
had settled around the Fiads’ store and, as a consequence, the small town
of Villa Fiad was born.47
These merchants also supplied loans to fellow compatriots to purchase
real estate. For instance, the firm Albaca Hermanos provided a loan before
1911 to José and Miguel Turbey for the purchase of a building in Villa Alberdi,
Juan B. Alberdi department, located in the sugarcane zone.48 This general
relationship between Syrian merchants and peddlers was critical to the continual rise of this commercial group. In many cases these social networks
had a distinct economic function that provided wholesalers with merchants
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
in search of goods.49 The extension of the railroad and the spur lines to the
agricultural zones and sugar mills made Tucumán the center of the regional
economy and a locus for seasonal labor migration. As a result, the evolution
of this merchant group and their extensive trade links throughout northwestern Argentina increased their importance in the distribution of goods
throughout the region. In fact, the largest merchant houses in the first half
of the twentieth century became the point of reception and distribution of
imported goods for the region.50 Syrian merchants grappled with local realities and attempted to achieve goals, meet needs, and accumulate wealth;
some Syrian merchants did this very well.
The Ottoman Collapse and the Rise of the Syrian-Lebanese
Cultural Elite in Tucumán
For Arabic-speaking immigrants in Argentina, the competing loyalties of
regional identification, national loyalty, religious affinity, and village origin
created intense strains during the transformative events of World War I.
During the war, Greater Syria suffered a prolonged famine (1915–1918), witnessed the Great Arab Revolt (1916–1918), and experienced the fall of Jerusalem (1917) and Damascus (1918). The famine that devastated Greater Syria
during the war provoked a mobilization of Syrian immigrant communities
in Argentina as they collected monies to remit to the old country in the
hope of helping the victims of war and deprivation. With the taking of
Damascus, Faisal—the son of Hussein, the sharif of Mecca, and the leader
of the Great Arab Revolt—was installed as king on October 1, 1918. The next
two years were spent fighting European imperial designs; however, the Versailles Conference (1919) granted France a mandate over Greater Syria.
France militarily rolled through Beirut on the way to Damascus, winning
the ultimate battle against Faisal’s troops at Maysaloun (July 1920).
King Faisal was deposed, relocated to Baghdad, and sworn in as king of
Iraq to the sounds of “God Save the King.” France’s mandate over Syria and
Lebanon was ratified by the League of Nations in 1922.51 These events provoked a fluid environment in the River Plate, where symbols took on new,
at times fleeting, meanings as Syrians in Argentina struggled to come to
terms with the severe circumstances affecting their homeland. The
emergence of competing nationalisms among the Syrian cultural elite
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throughout the Americas initiated a visceral debate, including within the
communities in Argentina.52
The transformations that were playing out in the old country coincided
with the emergence of an organized Syrian cultural elite in Tucumán. These
intellectuals used new technologies and services, such as the telegraph and the
recently standardized international mail service, to create shared frames of
reference and a sense of interconnectivity that were readapted and reformulated in particular local contexts, while fostering a sense of a pan–Arabicspeaking community. Many Syrian intellectuals were personally invested in
the debates surrounding the homeland and became defenders of the community, using their periodicals to condemn mistreatment as well as to define and
disseminate a set of acceptable behaviors for their compatriots.
In April 1913 Elias Turbay, a merchant and self-styled poet based in the
small town of Río Seco, Tucumán province, invited Simón Hamati to move
his family to Tucumán from Buenos Aires with the promise of a printing
press to support his writing.53 Hamati had been working as a journalist and
editor of Arabic periodicals in the federal capital since at least 1912. Turbay,
al-Nasr’s distributor and authorized agent (wakīl) in northern Argentina,
promised start-up capital of 15,000 pesos to finance the relocation.54 Hamati
suspended publication and made the move north.
Upon Simón Hamati’s arrival, Elias Turbay met him and his family at the
train station, apologizing because he had not been able to arrange the delivery of the printing press yet. Turbay explained that the key figure in the venture, Nagib Baaclini, had been away on business. Now back in San Miguel,
Baaclini had to secure the proprietor’s signature of the firm for which he
worked—Getar Hermanos y Compañía—to release the investment capital
for the printing press. Baaclini spent 12,000 pesos for start-up costs, procuring a large number of Arabic letters, a big printing press, a smaller machine
for printing bulletins, roman letters of different typesets, and paper, among
other things. Simón Hamati remembered Baaclini’s efforts as a “noble work,”
a service to the community, and linked directly to the welfare and success of
the Syrian colony.55 In addition to the publications of Arabic-language periodicals in Tucumán, which began in 1913, the lettered elite was involved in
various forms of literary and cultural activities. By 1920 the Syrian intellectuals in Tucumán, through its body the Lajna T‘azīz al-Sahāfa
(Journalistic
.
Stimulus Commission), called for the establishment of the al-Rābita
.
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
al-Adabiyya al-Tūkūmāniyya (Tucumán Literary League) to encourage and
cultivate the arts and journalistic endeavors. Most members of the commission were important merchants within the Syrian colony of Tucumán, but
also included at least one merchant from Jujuy province. The members consisted of Muslims and Christians. These efforts initiated an impressive period
of cultural flourishing that by 1922 yielded nine periodicals, seasons of theatrical performances, and poetry recitals.56
During World War I two main schools of thought dominated the Syrian
émigrés in Argentina and the Americas more broadly. One advocated
remaining a part of the Ottoman Empire with a federal constitution, and
the other lobbied to leave it and create a large Arab confederated nation.
Following the establishment of the French Mandate in Greater Syria in 1920,
however, the question of Lebanon became the crucial issue that divided the
Syrian colony in Tucumán and throughout the Americas.57 The Syrian lettered elite in Tucumán were intimately involved in the debates circulating
throughout the Americas and engaged them on all fronts. Critical to the
propagation of these competing ideologies in northern Argentina was control of the Arabic printing press. In May 1914 the provincial government
seized the Hamati-Turbay printing press during the estate proceedings of
Andrés Getar, who had died in 1910 and had been a silent partner in the firm
Getar Hermanos y Compañía. The intervention was an attempt to safeguard
the inheritance of Getar’s heirs because the firm was being investigated on
the suspicion of fraudulent bookkeeping.58 The firm was a victim of the
nationwide calamity plaguing the financial markets that began in 1913. In
the process the police incarcerated Simón Hamati and Elias Turbay for ten
days. A year later they were exonerated after the case finally reached
Tucumán’s superior court. Miguel Hadle, a prominent Syrian merchant in
Tucumán, bought the press and then turned over editorial management of
the periodical to José Khoueiry, a Lebanese nationalist and member of the
Lebanese Union (an independence organization founded in Buenos Aires).
José Khoueiry renamed the publication al-Watan (The nation) and began
publishing in September 1915. Simón Hamati accused Khoueiry of possessing an “infatuation” for all things French because of France’s historic role as
protector of Maronite Catholics. Not everyone agreed with his positions and
this apparently led to a decline in readership and advertising receipts.59
Antonio Eleas, a Maronite immigrant living in Tucumán, wrote a
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controversial essay in response to al-Watan in October 1915. A well-educated
merchant and son of an Ottoman official from Banias, Syria, Eleas was also
an important member of the Syrian cultural elite. He would produce four
books on linguistics positing that Arabic was the “universal language from
which all other languages developed.” 60 His two-part essay in the Tucumán
daily La Gaceta, titled “El Líbano” (Lebanon), was disseminated throughout
the Syrian colonies in Argentina and, in testimony to its importance, was
republished in Nagib Baaclini’s Sada al-Sharq (El Eco de Oriente) in late
1917—a publication that Eleas wrote for over the years. Eleas argued that
Mount Lebanon had been condemned to uncertainty and poverty by poor
governance and retarded economic development. Nevertheless, the creation
of a network of schools in the nineteenth century had given Mount Lebanon’s inhabitants access to education and “free ideas.” The limitations of
sericulture (raising silk worms for silk production) partly inspired massive
emigration from Mount Lebanon, principally to the Americas. France, in
this moment, was viewed as Mount Lebanon’s savior. The 1908 Young Turk
Revolution, however, changed the dynamic. The reopening of the Ottoman
parliament, complete with politicians from Mount Lebanon, was tantamount to the renunciation of the autonomous privileges that the area had
enjoyed since 1861. Eleas pointed out that various men from prominent families of Mount Lebanon—such as Emir Emin Arslan, who served as Ottoman
consul to Argentina from 1910 to 1915—saw their world as part of the Ottoman state.61 In the most controversial passage, Antonio Eleas proclaimed
unequivocally that Lebanon was an integral part of Syria, and Syria that of
the empire. He further critiqued the emphasis on religion as a point of division among people of the same Arab race.62
Antonio Eleas’s declaration is important for a number of reasons. First, he
dismissed the notion that Mount Lebanon constituted a separate entity from
Greater Syria, and, by extension, that the inhabitants there were different from
their compatriots in Beirut, Damascus, or Syria’s Valley of the Christians. Second, the author directly challenged the platform of José Khoueiry’s al-Watan
by arguing that Mount Lebanon was a part of the Ottoman Empire. These
sentiments, which were strongest among Syrians in Argentina during the years
shortly after the Young Turk Revolution, faded away as the war played out and
famine gripped the homeland. Nevertheless, many Syrians desired to remain
a part of the Ottoman Empire; a position that transcended religious
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
differences. Third, Antonio Eleas forwarded the notion of a solidarity based
upon the idea of a shared Arab race that superseded religious identities. It
seems likely that Eleas was influenced by the positivist writings circulating
through Argentina at the time. This is one of the earliest instances of a racialist
notion of Arab identity filtering through the community. Finally, Antonio
Eleas’s comments remark upon the increasing politicization of religious identities. The politics of belonging among émigrés was based upon shared cultural
norms and socioeconomic status. Religion was one variable among many, but
not a fault line of separation. Nevertheless, the emergence of al-Watan and
Antonio Eleas’s essay ushered the politics of home and World War I into the
daily discussion of Tucumán’s Syrian colony.
At certain moments the internal politics of the Syrian colony intersected
with Argentine public political sentiments. Under President Hipólito
Yrigoyen Argentina maintained a policy of strict neutrality during World
War I in order to facilitate trade with all belligerents. Imperial Germany’s
campaign of unrestricted submarine warfare led to the sinking of the Argentine merchant ship Monte Protegido on April 4, 1917.63 Prominent Tucumanos Rafael Padilla, David Schiaffino, Juan Carlos Lanza Colombres, and
Francisco Dumont planned a large march for April 15 to demonstrate against
the German assault on the Argentine vessel in front of the government house
in San Miguel de Tucumán. Activists in Buenos Aires, Cordoba, and Salta
carried out similar public acts. The morning of the event, the editors of
al-Watan distributed an Arabic-language circular summoning support for
the event later in the day. Calling on the “Syrian colony of Tucumán,” the
editors declared that the community had to close ranks with the “hospitable
country” of Argentina and join the “patriotic demonstration against Germany.” Furthermore, al-Watan argued that the calm of the colony would be
insulted if it did not demonstrate its profound indignation toward Germany
and the Ottoman Empire. The circular concluded that if the world felt offended
by the Central Powers’ actions, how could Syrians feel indifferent while their
families in the old country were “barbarously martyred by hunger.”64
Residents of Tucumán, which included Argentines and members from the
French, Belgian, Italian, and Syrian immigrant colonies, opened the event by
marching through city streets on the way to Independence Plaza. An audience
estimated at three thousand people paused in front of the Casa Histórica
where Argentina’s declaration of independence had been signed in 1816. There
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they sang the national anthem. As the crowd moved on to the government
house, more than ten thousand attendees listened in rapt attention to
co-organizer Rafael Padilla, heir to the Mercedes sugar factory, speak about
the German assault on the sovereignty of Argentina. As he concluded his
comments, Padilla recognized a note he received from the Syrian colony
expressing its support for the demonstration.65 Rafael Padilla then introduced
Nagib Baaclini, who gave a speech in Spanish on behalf of the Syrians in
Argentina. Declaring that he and his compatriots were “oppressed by the barbarous Turks,” Baaclini harangued the Ottoman Empire (Germany’s ally in
the war effort). He commented on the despotism of Sultan Abdul Hamid II
and on the failure of the Young Turk Revolution.66 He then declared that the
Syrians residing in Argentina were ready to fight side by side with Argentines
in the event of a declaration of war against Germany.67 Nagib Baaclini further
announced that the Arabs had “arisen from their deep slumber,” led by their
king, Hussein the sharif of Mecca, and rejected the attribution of Syrians to
the “murderous Turk” Abdul Hamid. He concluded, “Down with the Turks!
Long live the Arab Caliphate!” 68
Nagib Baaclini was a Maronite Catholic from Zahle, Lebanon, who had
studied at the Jesuit University of Saint Joseph in Beirut.69 The idea of establishing an Arab caliphate in the place of the Ottoman variety appealed to
many Syrians in Argentina. Religious identities began to be politicized
unlike anything previously experienced within the colony; however, it would
be a mistake to believe that religious identity alone could predict the political
ideologies and movements to which one adhered. The politics of belonging
in the diaspora did not divide necessarily along religious lines before the
seminal event of World War I, and as a result, many Syrian Christians in
Argentina supported the idea of a kingdom led by Hussein. Equally fascinating is the venue chosen by Nagib Baaclini. Like Antonio Eleas, Baaclini chose
an Argentine forum to engage an internal debate of the Syrian colony. Claiming to speak for the colony at large, Baaclini denounced the Ottoman state
and, by proxy, those within the immigrant community still supporting the
government in Istanbul before thousands of Argentines. By declaring a
shared enemy in the sultan, Baaclini was also bonding the Syrian colony with
local society.
The debate that Nagib Baaclini stirred in this public manner was contentious and provoked violent confrontations. Similar to discussions in the
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
Arabic press in the United States, where “talk of compromise turned to talk
of confrontation, separation, and full-fledged independence,” the debates over
the political future of the Levant reached a fever pitch in Buenos Aires and
Tucumán as the war proceeded apace.70 The editorial board of al-‘Alam
al-‘Uthmāni (The Ottoman standard) in Buenos Aires argued on February 28,
1917, “We are Arabs. But we are Ottomans before anything else. Our [position]
is related . . . [to] the principles of the Ottoman Constitution.” 71 Clashes
between the directors of al-Mursal, al-‘Alam al-‘Uthmāni, al-Shams (The sun),
and Simón Hamati’s al-Nasr became acerbic in tone and also involved Arab
nationalists in São Paulo, Brazil.72
These political movements amplified the sectarian differences within the
Syrian colonies as Christians were referred to as disloyal and enemies of
Islam. Complaints surfaced denouncing Istanbul for preferencing Turkish
Muslims for plum governmental positions at the expense of all other Ottomans.73 This critique, which was based on perceived policy decisions of the
Young Turk regime known as the Turkification of the Ottoman state, is strikingly similar to the future critique by Yubran Massuh, who was based in
Tucumán, in 1925. Massuh recollected that it was ultimately bad policy that
never allowed the Arab populations to produce “national feelings” for the
Ottoman Empire. In response, La Bandera Otomana proclaimed on June 19,
1917, “the separatist savages are immersed in complete ignorance. They oppose
the current government, a government that is formed by the most valiant men
of the East.” 74 The conflict in the papers manifested in violence on the street.
In July Lebanese nationalists participated in the Bastille Day celebrations in
Buenos Aires, which included the blessing of the Lebanese flag. The following
day, members of the Lebanese Union publicly unveiled the society’s blessed
flag featuring the famous cedar of Lebanon, hanging it alongside the Argentine standard on the stoops of their residences and businesses in the downtown district of Socorro. In addition, the Lebanese Union and its supporters
joined thousands of other pro-France advocates at the massive rally in the
Plaza de los Congresos, occupying several blocks on their own.75
These brazen acts of public insubordination, if not treason, drew the ire
of the Sublime Port’s supporters and heavy criticism and commentary in
pro-Ottoman Arabic-language press in Buenos Aires. Almost immediately,
caustic disagreements that had largely remained at the rhetorical level
devolved into two weeks of public manifestations and violent confrontations
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between competing groups. Rodolfo Bobrik, the acting Ottoman consul,
thus demanded the intervention of the Argentine authorities, observing that
the flying of this “separatist” and “fantastical” insignia by “a small group of
lost compatriots” wounded the “patriotic sentiments” of the Ottoman colony.
Since Mount Lebanon remained a province of the empire, Bobrik further
claimed that neither Argentine law nor international precedent gave the right
to raise this flag in place of the Ottoman crescent moon.76 The confrontations
in the newspapers and at street rallies ultimately led the pro-Ottoman community to quit the “barrio de los turcos” and relocate to Calle Venezuela.77
While homeland politics were creating crises within the Syrian colonies
across Argentina, Jamil Mardam (a Muslim from Damascus and future Syrian prime minister) and Dr. César Lakah (a Melkite Greek Catholic Syrian
and French citizen) led a recruiting mission for the Paris-based Syrian Central Commission, arriving in Argentina in November 1917. This organization
was made up of Syrians living in Paris, received state funds from France, and
sought the liberation of Syria under French protection. It successfully pursued
donations and volunteers from the Syrian émigré communities in the Americas in Brazil and Uruguay. The mission, however, did not achieve the same
success in Argentina. The envoys met immediate resistance from the Lebanese Union in Buenos Aires, which opposed the goal of a unified Syria under
the aegis of France, bristled at the absence of a Maronite on the mission, and
launched a propaganda campaign against the envoys. In a report to French
Foreign Minister Stéphen Pichon, Dr. Lakah observed that the Syrian colony
in Argentina was heterogeneous and divided. Mardam and Lakah also
attempted to work the colonies in the Argentine interior; however, the leaders
of the Lebanese Union tapped their commercial agents in the interior to spoil
Lakah and Mardim’s recruitment efforts.78
In this political maelstrom, Syrian intellectuals in Tucumán established
new periodicals. Said Estofan joined Simón Hamati, who had begun to publish al-Nasr again in April 1917, in forming a business that would buy the
press from Miguel Hadle. Along with Nagib Baaclini, the three bought the
printing press from Hadle for 4,500 pesos and shortly thereafter launched
the influential bilingual periodical Sada al-Sharq/El Eco de Oriente in October 1917.79 As El Eco de Oriente began to solidify its position in the colony,
Nagib Baaclini and Simón Hamati hired the young José Rechmani, an
immigrant from Mount Lebanon who had previously resided in San Pedro
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
de Jujuy. Rechmani originally moved to Tucumán to work as a hairdresser;
however, he quickly moved into printing and would publish at least four
different periodicals before his untimely death in 1936 from typhoid fever.80
In addition to battles waged in the Arabic-language newspapers in Argentina, individuals and groups utilized several strategies to support their communities in the old country. The Lajna I‘ana Mankūbī Suriyya wa Lubnān
(Committee for Aid to the Victims in Syria and Lebanon), which was headquartered in Buenos Aires and headed by Antonio Arida,81 secured in June
1917 an arrangement with the Spanish government to remit money to their
homelands. The Spanish monarchy agreed to send money from the Spanish
embassy in Buenos Aires to either the Spanish embassy in Istanbul or its
consulate in Jerusalem.82
Syrians in the northwestern provinces also raised and collected relief
money for family and friends in the old country. Merchants in Catamarca
established a branch office and sent 300 pesos to the central office in Buenos
Aires for remittance to the old country.83 In Tucumán the Syria Commission
had raised more than 6,000 pesos by April 1916, due in large part to the efforts
of Esber Nasīf and Nakhla Asad al-Helu who had raised funds from compatriots in the interior of Tucumán.84 In addition, merchants in San Pedro de
Jujuy organized a benevolent aid society.85 As late as 1919 the Lebanese Society
for Mutual Aid, located in the province of San Juan, still remitted money to
the Maronite Church for further aid distribution.86 Despite the economic
instability in Argentina and competing nationalisms circulating throughout
the Syrian colonies, many merchants had the resources and connections to
raise relief funds and seemingly secure their transfer. This emphasis on politics in the homeland and the welfare of distant family members came at the
expense of the welfare of the poorest and most vulnerable members of the
Syrian colony in Tucumán. Unlike the community in Buenos Aires, which
had established three benevolent aid societies and arranged free legal and
medical clinics for poor and recently arrived immigrants before World War I,
the Arabic-speaking merchant elite in Tucumán did not create similar institutions. This lack of communal aid associations would provide an entry point
for Syrian women to create charity organizations by the middle of the 1920s.
These organizations would provide a space for women to engage in internal
community deliberations and solidify linkages to larger Tucumán society.87
The beginning of the new decade witnessed the collapse of the Ottoman
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Empire and the fall of King Faisal in Damascus. The 1920s were volatile for
those immigrants who kept close watch over the events in their homelands.
For Arab nationalists, the short-lived monarchy of Faisal I in Damascus
began as the realization of their dreams and political activities in Argentina
and ended in failure and occupation. France’s forceful deposing of Faisal in
July 1920 and the subsequent creation of the State of Greater Lebanon, which
would become the French-dependent Republic of Lebanon in 1926, were critical events for Lebanese nationalists. In addition, Argentina received dissident intellectuals from these newly formed states during the early years of
the French Mandate, which was ratified by the League of Nations in 1922.
In spite of all the political identities that emerged, Syrians in Argentina
began to establish organizations and periodicals that shied away from the
issues that divided the community. For instance, young intellectuals formed
the al-Shabība al-Muttahida (United Youth) in San Miguel de Tucumán on
June 4, 1921. This group held public events, published a newspaper, and staged
plays. Members of the United Youth utilized the printing press to further
their mission. In January 1922 Gabriel Candalaft and Wadi Hadle, after
speaking with and receiving the collaboration of Nagib Baaclini, launched
the monthly literary review al-Hadīqa (The garden). In the opening editorial,
the directors declared:
When all the American mahjar newspapers harped on politics, especially
religion and politics, each newspaper considered a policy to be the
correct one for the nation and the homeland (al-Umma wa al-Watan),
.
[and supported it] with proofs and evidence. Then, [each newspaper]
announced its opinion to the people. [One newspaper] proclaims
that Lebanon must be completely independent, another will proclaim
that Lebanon should join Syria and unite the two countries, another
supports occupation, and many others [support] right and wrong ideas
about religion and politics. . . . as a result, both Syrians and Lebanese
floundered together in darkness, confused about which policy to listen to
and which one to join.88
The editors suggested that the inability to coalesce around a policy that would
be satisfying to all concerned was a product of poor national education. As a
pedagogical tool, the editors viewed novels as the “first school” and the “true
way to reach the summit of civilization.” 89 In short, the editors proposed to
Depression, War, and Emergent Nationalism
publish literature to inspire love for the homeland and evade the realm of
divisive politics.90 The presence of Baaclini on the editorial board is interesting because he would become a supporter of France and its mission in Lebanon. Nevertheless, his call for cooling down the political rhetoric within the
colony must have carried some weight and at the very least exemplifies the
concerns of leaders of the Arabic-speaking collective in Tucumán.
Within a year of its founding, the United Youth began publishing an
Arabic-language periodical titled al-Shabība al-Muttahida. In the inaugural
edition, the editors declared unequivocally that they would neither “enter
the doors of politics” nor “plunge into the ‘religious’ issues.”91 These leaders,
instead, would focus on the issues that weakened the unity and solidarity of
those in Tucumán. The periodical featured articles on literature, history,
society, and research on commercial issues for the general benefit of the
community.92 The intentional avoidance of religion and nationalist politics
provides a glimpse into the internal debates surrounding the politics of
belonging and the stresses that threatened to fragment the Syrian colony.
Conclusion
The global shocks of World War I and the fall of the Ottoman Empire inflamed
the worsening economic situation in Argentina. In Tucumán, Syrians contended with the contraction of the sugar industry, evaporating jobs, acute
social unrest, and intense personal insecurity. Immigrants responded in a variety of ways to achieve goals and meet needs based upon the strength of their
social networks and class identity. The merchant class grew in size and wealth,
and by 1920 Syrian merchants were collectively the richest in the province. In
addition, Syrian merchants and intellectuals joined key Argentine cultural
institutions that provided important linkages to Argentine social elites.
Vocational and class identities informed the strategies of survival in this
period of economic turbulence, social unrest, and political instability. The
immigrants with less secure social networks were left exposed to the vagaries of local conditions. The social networks for many Syrian immigrants
were underdeveloped or weak and could not perform the roles necessary to
ameliorate the situation in a turbulent historical moment. In addition, the
merchant and cultural elites were faced with a group of non-elites who
increasingly had different notions of political participation, which were
exacerbated by their concern with homeland politics and welfare.
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World War I and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire provoked an existential crisis for the Syrian colony, leading to the dissolution of a shared sense
of community. The emergence of politicized ethnoregional and racialized
identities among the Syrian colonies in Argentina was brought about by
transformations in the home country. Indeed, the sultan’s subjects in Argentina had shared a broad-based Ottoman political identity; however, the war
created a space in which Syrian intellectuals in Tucumán and Buenos Aires
published periodicals disseminating competing nationalist discourses and
separatist movements. These debates, which occasioned internecine violence
in Argentina, situated Syrians in an Arabophone Republic of Letters that
connected them to peers throughout the Americas and in the homeland.
This shared imagined space gave immigrants in Argentina a stake in the
destiny of their homeland and the opportunity to fashion anew a sense of
place and community in Argentina. In addition, wealthier Syrians in Argentina mobilized the community to raise relief funds for those in Greater Syria
suffering from famine, seemingly at the expense of attending to and caring
for their compatriots struggling in Tucumán.
By the 1922 election of Radical Octaviano Vera to Tucumán’s governorship, the Syrian colony had emerged as a key merchant force and a growing
political power. In addition, new links to the provincial state would emerge
and certain Syrian immigrants would contest for public office. The Great
Syrian Revolt (1925–1927) would again thrust the politics of home into the
internal debates of the community. In the middle of the decade the Syrian
colony, now increasingly referred to as the Syrian-Lebanese colony (colonia
siriolibanesa), in San Miguel de Tucumán finally organized itself with the
establishment of the Sociedad Siriolibanesa de Tucumán (Syrian-Lebanese
Society). The Syrian lettered elite continued to publish periodicals, defend
the community, and set out to establish a set of behavioral norms for their
countrymen. For a good portion of Syrian-Lebanese immigrants, the focus
moved toward securing gainful employment, opening a shop of one’s own,
and raising families—all of which were carried out in the context of attempting to fully integrate into local society. Yet the idea of a coherent, organized
immigrant community was one almost exclusively fulfilled at the rhetorical
level, which further cemented the stratified nature of these immigrant colonies in northwestern Argentina, in particular in Tucumán.
Chapter 4
Building Families, Building Communities, 1920–1940
The years between 1920 and 1940 proved to be vital in the development
of a recognizable Syrian-Lebanese ethnic identity and community in northwestern Argentina. It was in this period that many immigrants who arrived
prior to World War I reached their peak economic years, formed families,
and joined organizations dedicated to a particular religious group or broad
cultural association. Inasmuch as Syrians and Lebanese set out to create a
sense of community and thus a group identity, how Argentines viewed these
people factored in the fashioning of communal norms and intersected with
the way certain immigrant intellectuals attempted to present the colony to
local society. Syrians and Lebanese drew upon a repertoire of cultural artifacts to interpret the world within which they lived. Arabic-speaking immigrants utilized community events, such as haflas (gatherings or parties) and
weddings, and expressive culture, in particular poetry, to mark, reflect upon,
and debate issues relating to life in Argentina. It was in these spaces, largely
hidden in plain view from local society by virtue of the Arabic language, that
immigrants fleshed out personal and group identities. Whereas many of the
community institutions—whether religious or secular—were bourgeois in
nature, events such as weddings, religious feast days, and wakes created
opportunities for broader participation. Thus Syrian-Lebanese cultural production is a critical window to better understand some of the issues faced
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and how immigrants interpreted them. These assessments took place in an
environment of increasing personal insecurity, insults, and violence that
touched many families, while social and cultural elites moved to create a set
of behaviors and roles for family members. While oral poetry, which in many
cases subsequently appeared in print, served to facilitate an internal discussion, Syrian-Lebanese intellectuals used a variety of artistic forms, such as
plays, to explore shared concerns between immigrants and a broader
Tucumán audience. The religiously diverse Syrian-Lebanese colony established a variety of institutions based upon confessional identities. Despite the
nature of churches to serve the faithful regardless of social class, lay sodalities that emerged showed limited ability to galvanize and serve the community with the exceptions of religious feast days. In fact, these religious-based
organizations were as bourgeois as the secular cultural institutions emerging
later. Nevertheless, immigrant cultural production, the organizations established, and the sacred spaces erected exemplify the many ways in which
immigrants sought to give meaning to their lives and to make sense of their
place in northwestern Argentina.
Tucumán’s Political Economy, 1920–1940
Economic instability resulting from sugar overproduction and increasing
agrarian unrest proved challenging for a good number of newly fashioned
Syrians and Lebanese. While Argentina in general experienced economic
expansion in the 1920s, enjoying its best success since before World War I, the
sugar industries of the Northwest, in particular Tucumán, did not share in the
prosperity. Industrialists and cañeros expanded and modernized their facilities, but these improvements earned them massive losses. Costs accelerated as
prices fell. Between 1920 and 1930 world sugar prices plummeted 90 percent.
Nagging sugar crises unified all interested parties around the need for tariff
protection. By 1925 Argentina had the third lowest tariff of any major sugar
consumer. Foreign sugar flooded the market, depressing prices and plunging
an already-struggling industry servicing the domestic market into economic
depression.1
Persistent economic crisis stoked the political instability and social disorder
throughout the decade. Tucumán had three Radical governors in the 1920s;
however, only Miguel Campero served his entire term. Governor Octaviano
Building Families, Building Communities
Vera (r. 1922–1923) of the Radical Party came to power in a decisive victory and
promptly passed legislation guaranteeing a minimum wage and eight-hour
workdays for laborers. Vera also increased existing taxes on the sugar industry
and promulgated new ones. Industrialists fumed and violent strikes manifested in 1923 as workers demanded even better wages at sugar factories
throughout the province. As the countryside quaked, Vera lost control of the
political arena; his party supporters deserted him; and the federal government
deposed him in October 1923. His elected successor, Radical Miguel Campero
(r. 1924–1928), struggled to undo the financial mess left by the sugar crisis and
Vera. The countryside erupted again as cane farmers initiated increasingly violent strikes, climaxing in a march on the capital in June 1927 by thirty thousand people. This prompted the mediation by President Marcelo T. de Alvear
between the cañeros and the industrialists, culminating in the Laudo Alvear,
which guaranteed the price of cane sold to the factories.2 Despite the agreement, cañeros and industrialists continued to bicker.
Radical Governor José G. Sortheix (r. 1928–1930) entered office with the
economy still stagnant and the problem of overproduction still unresolved.
The conflict between cañeros and industrialists intensified again over the
price of cane sold to factories. The onset of the world depression exacerbated the worsening economic situation in Tucumán. The provincial government desperately tried to deal with the economy as well as intense social
unrest during the 1920s. Sugar production in Tucumán fell one-third
between 1926 and 1929, while prices for refined sugar tumbled more than
one-quarter from January 1928 to April 1930.3 The economy abandoned the
most vulnerable residents to the whims of the labor market. In 1929 the
sugar crisis threatened to force “the closure of many factories and the abandonment of many hectares of farmland, leaving thousands of laborers
without any immediate means of daily subsistence” as prices for food and
housing surged.4
The result was a significant contraction of the labor market for workers
and increased financial losses for planters and industrialists.5 El Orden in
January 1930 described the state of affairs caused by rampant inflation. Exasperated, the editors declared, “now the government must act.”6 The dismal
economy provoked social disturbances, which then influenced the political
arena. Politically, Governor Sortheix felt threatened by the mayor of the provincial capital, Juan Luis Nougués of the newly created Bandera Blanca
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(White Flag) Party. Nougués, the scion of a prominent sugar industrialist,
became wildly popular because he created welfare programs to serve the
urban poor. At the governor’s request, the provincial legislature deposed the
mayor in May 1930, prompting a public demonstration by fourteen thousand
people protesting the intervention. Increasing numbers of actors protested
the ineffectual government of Governor Sortheix, and the sense of a move
against the national government grew. The military coup in Buenos Aires in
September 1930 led immediately to the deposing of Sortheix and an armyestablished interim administration in Tucumán. Civilian rule did not return
until February 1932 when former mayor Nougués won the gubernatorial
election. Nougués and his political party, the Bandera Blanca, won the provincial elections of November 1931 thanks in large part to the local Radical
Party’s following the national policy of abstaining in elections in protest of
the September 1930 coup.7 Little, however, had improved by 1932 for those
dependent upon the seasonal labor of the sugarcane harvest as “cities of misery” emerged in the suburbs, while violent strikes and demonstrations
rocked provincial hamlets.8 The debt-ridden government tried unsuccessfully to mediate between sugarcane planters and industrialists to stem overproduction while endeavoring to rein in the debt, create public welfare programs, and pass pro-labor legislation—such as the English Saturday and
the “ley de la silla” that required seats to be made available at all factories
in the province in December 1932. Perhaps more important, in February
1933 the government levied a new tax on the sugar industry for 1933–1935
harvests to pay down the public debt (90 percent) and augment medical and
social assistance (10 percent). The government also established the Permanent Fund for Public Works and Social and Medical Assistance in June 1933.
The economic and social initiatives rankled the industrialists.9
These initiatives coupled with a growing sense of social malaise and
rampant crime led to another federal intervention that deposed Nougués
in June 1934. Abandoning the National Committee’s abstentionist policy
for elections, the local Radical Party competed in and won the 1934 elections to replace the fallen Nougués, bringing Miguel Campero back to the
governorship. Campero’s administration reorganized the province’s
finances and marked a determined course to arrest the economic slide
experienced since the depression earlier in the decade. The provincial government initiated a sustained series of public works between 1935 and 1939
Building Families, Building Communities
to develop infrastructure and provide much-needed jobs. In addition to
these efforts, planters produced more cane to take advantage of the Laudo
Alvear price guarantee, which meant more jobs for rural workers, increasing 30 percent between 1934 and 1936. Salaries also improved slowly, equaling 1930 wages by 1940. This return of the sugar industry also marked a
moment when rural workers began to establish syndicates to represent
their interests. This phenomenon, which was in many ways new in the
Tucumán countryside, mirrored the national trend of labor organization
that would assist the rise of Juan Domingo Perón a decade later.10 In 1937
Governor Campero proclaimed that public services, principally medical
and social assistance, education, and police security, had been augmented
and the problem of unemployment had finally been resolved. The provincial legislature passed a minimum wage hike for workers in 1939, complementing the executive branch’s policies and confirming Radical support
for laborers.11
The Immigrant Family, Expressive Culture, and Social Insecurity
As the increasing number of Syrian-Lebanese immigrants started families
throughout northwestern Argentina, anxiety over how to raise children
became a central concern. This decade also witnessed the formation of
enduring social institutions that organized a portion of the community
and likely provided an additional layer of protection for immigrants who
had access. Recent scholarship has investigated the formation and maintenance of immigrant families and transformations of notions of family and
models of kinship. Nancy Foner defines the family as “a place where there
is a dynamic interplay between structure, culture, and agency—where creative culture-building takes place in the context of external social and economic forces as well as immigrants’ pre-migration cultural frameworks.”12
The central tension lay between the attempts to shape ideas of the family in
a manner to achieve the opportunities found in the host society and immigrants’ cultural conceptions and symbolic understandings of family.
Gender and generation also played a critical role. Foner points out that
immigrants reformulated what they understood to be cultural traditions
when faced with the stresses of integration into a foreign society. In the
case of the Syrian-Lebanese colony, Argentines and other immigrants
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occasionally acted against them in a hostile manner. Understandings of
family formed the central component to this self-positioning within the
colony and within the local society.
Akram Khater examines the contested process of communal and individual identity formation among Lebanese immigrants in the United States
in the first quarter of the twentieth century. For the author, the “most immediately relevant set of social signifiers was embodied in the family,” and the
family was thus more important than religious or political identities. Thus,
family was “a set of social relations whose depth and thickness were subject
to historical change brought about by internal tensions and external pressures.” The Lebanese in North America “encountered a hegemonic middleclass culture bent on transforming them from Old World peasants to a New
World working class.” Some Lebanese immigrants focused on the family as
a “heightened source of authentic identity,” whereas others “accepted [American] bourgeois notions of family” in an attempt to gain acceptance into local
society.13
Foner and Khater provide perceptive observations into the formation of
immigrant families, the issues surrounding understandings of them by
immigrants themselves, and how internal and external processes prompt
constant reevaluation. A series of factors influencing family transformation
included the role of premigration; family, marriage, and kinship beliefs and
practices; the demographic composition of the immigrant group; the sex and
age ratios in each group affecting marriage and family patterns; the economic conditions and opportunities in the host society; the access to governmental welfare programs; the cultural beliefs and values of the host value
circulated by media institutions, schools, and other media; and the legal
codes.14 At the same time, internal class dynamics affected notions of family
among the immigrant community. In addition, internal perceptions of exogamous marriage are a necessary variable in understanding how immigrant
families associated with each other and shared spaces of sociability. Also,
immigrant social and cultural institutions are an important feature throughout the Americas. The requirements for joining these institutions linked
directly to material concerns as well as to considerations of what constituted
a proper family. For poorer immigrants, such considerations may have been
mere luxuries.
Syrian-Lebanese immigrants in Argentina confronted compelling issues
Building Families, Building Communities
surrounding notions of family and identity, in many cases through expressive culture, especially oral poetry. In many instances, poets declaimed
verse at parties to contemplate and contend with the issues of life in Argentina. Poets in the Arab world remain important figures in society, and they
possessed this prominence in immigrant communities throughout the
Americas too. As social critics who enjoyed enormous social capital among
their peers, poets and the power of their words had the potential to create
discussion, inform debates pertaining to the sociopolitical context, and
incite rebuttals for and against themselves. As active members of their particular social setting (and not necessarily spokespersons for it) and influenced by the specific historical moment, their poetic manifestations
reflected topics relating to the society within which they lived. Emir Emin
Arslan, the first Ottoman consul general in Buenos Aires, published a book
on Arab literature and legends in 1941, which was designed to present this
rich tradition of Arab cultural life to the Argentine public.15 In it, Arslan
covered the importance of poetry, asserting with a measure of exaggeration
that “it’s rare [to find] an Arab of average culture, whatever his profession,
who does not know how to compose verses. Those in the [rural] village also
do it, but in another meter.”16 After giving a history on the development of
Arabic poetry, Arslan concluded, “poetry continued being cultivated by all
those who spoke the Arabic language. Diplomats, governors, physicians,
astronomers, nearly all are poets too.”17
Recent work on literary production by Arabic-speaking immigrants in
South America observes that the major themes discussed by these writers
included issues of identity and nostalgia for and the nature of the home they
had left. Christina Civantos examines how Argentine Orientalism, shaped
by writers such as Domingo Sarmiento and Leopoldo Lugones, fed into
stereotypes and informed targeted discrimination of Syrian immigrants. At
the same time, authors from the Arabic-speaking colonies utilized these
tropes as well as prevailing understandings of moral rectitude and concerns
about the “modern woman” in novels, essays, and cultural studies to lay
claim to a place in the Argentine nation. Armando Vargas has documented
similar strategies and outcomes by writers from the Syrian-Lebanese colonies in Brazil.18 These observations are important to understanding the discursive frame within which Syrians and Lebanese pursued needs and goals,
and the manner in which intellectuals challenged and reformulated national
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narratives. Poetry and the performance of it before an audience in a variety
of settings also provided an important window into these people’s lived experiences. Many examples deal with the frustrations, anxieties, and joys of
immigrant life. Migration dislocated people from their familiar sociocultural
environment and provoked them to reformulate how they viewed themselves
and their role within the immigrant community and the host society. At the
collective level, local memory was constantly contested, readjusted, and
rewritten based upon the contingencies of life and goals of various actors.
These discussions and discourses were as much about their life in Argentina
as in the Middle East and found expression in poetry.
As active and integral members of society, poets provide a critical window
into internal debates and issues surrounding the migrant experience. For
instance, Jurj Assaf titled his first collection and referred to himself as the
19
Nāzih.
. The term translates as “emigrant,” but it also gives the connotation
of great distance, wandering, and displacement. Jurj Assaf migrated from
Mount Lebanon, where he studied old Arabic poetry from village poets, to
Buenos Aires in 1906, and worked as a journalist for the next forty years
while publishing two poetry collections. This choice of nāzih. is significant
because the term generally employed is muhājir, which also translates as
emigrant but has the connotation of dissociation, separation, and abandonment. Nāzih. implies a sense of alienation, but with a continued connection
to the homeland.
The question of reception by the poet’s audience is of equal importance.
Poetry serves as “one medium through which change is confronted” and the
way new understandings of change are presented to a group of peers for
reflection and discussion.20 Furthermore, Levantine poetics “are grounded
in social practices of production and reception.”21 This interplay between
poet and audience created a space within which to address the concerns
associated with life in Argentina. This interaction within émigré communities usually took place at a hafla. This forum was and continues to be a crucial
venue where identity is constructed, fleshed out, contested, and fashioned
anew.
Weddings were one such venue. Marriage for Syrians in Argentina created
a place of humanity and an opportunity for the community to gather
together and celebrate the union, especially the marriage of two immigrants.
It was in moments such as weddings where the Syrian colony in Argentina
Building Families, Building Communities
could celebrate the building of a home and recreate community. Oral poetry
featured prominently in these gatherings as some poets battled each other,
extemporizing in verse, while others lauded the newlyweds.22 For instance,
Elias Turbay composed the following poem in commemoration of the marriage between Nagib Baaclini and Amelia Hobeika (rendered in Argentina
as Albaca), both Maronite Catholics. Turbay declaimed,
Nagib, you enjoy the good grace of a young woman / No doubt she is the
firefly on your fingertip
A pretty girl that God has given her a love for / all knowledge and eloquence
•
She is yours
No doubt your luck is crowned with success / and your good fortune’s
snare caught an angel
Be in peace both of you in a radiant moon’s light / and drink of that happiness23
Turbay, in his short poem, alluded to some interesting characteristics of the
marriage. First, Baaclini’s bride, Amelia, was a well-educated woman who,
according to family history, had attended the Syrian Protestant College.
Indeed, she became a useful resource for his career as a journalist and publisher by providing an irregular column discussing the role of women in the
family. Second, and more humorously, Turbay consistently referred to Baaclini’s luck in marrying Amelia Hobeika and catching an angel. Most important, Turbay recited this poem at the wedding celebration, which was an
important space of sociability for Syrian immigrants in Argentina. In the
case of Baaclini and Hobeika, a Maronite Catholic priest conducted the ceremony. The ritual of marriage, which included poetics, helped reinforce
established cultural practices and thus the expression of a cultural identity
and a sense of community.
The birth of a child was another moment of celebration for Syrians and
Lebanese. Maronites and Orthodox held christening events to mark the
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entry of a newborn into the community of believers.24 Parents disseminated
news and distributed photos to friends and family in the old country and
throughout the diaspora. For many, it was a moment of great pride. Elias
Turbay expressed such sentiment in a poem rejoicing in the birth of a daughter of a compatriot residing in Uruguay. Turbay declaimed,
I record through her excellent picture a father / shaped by a morally
excellent upbringing
And a modest but noble mother, a family / from which nothing comes
but the culturally refined
And her father the “Intellectual” is rewarded and savors / naming her
“Made by the ‘Intellectual’ ”25
This short poem speaks to the gendered assumptions of the poet, and likely
the views of his peers regarding the proper attributes of good parents. For the
father, it is the outstanding formation based on a moral code—undefined in
the poem but likely understood by Turbay’s compatriots. The good mother
was at once modest and noble, the progenitor of the future and guardian of
the cultural heritage. Together, this couple had all the necessary requirements to raise a refined and modest person. The poem also teased the pride
of the new father, drawing attention to the paternal conceit of fathering a
child.
Raising children in Argentina, however, could cause distress for many
Syrian-Lebanese. For instance, Yousef Abdullah Wahbeh, an Arabic-speaking
immigrant living in Corrientes, the riverine capital of the province of the
same name, wrote a letter to the editor of the Arabic-language monthly
al-Ikhā’ (The brotherhood) published in San Miguel de Tucumán. Wahbeh
related an encounter with a local police officer. In the days before the May 25
Revolution independence celebration, the policeman approached the merchant and encouraged him to hang an Argentine flag and the flag of his
nation. Wahbeh responded affirmatively, but after the officer walked away,
Wahbeh wondered what flag and the colors of it belonged to his homeland, at
that time under the French Mandate. He wept. In the recounting of this story,
Wahbeh asked for the editor’s opinion. Editor Yubran Massuh, a Protestant
Building Families, Building Communities
from Hama, responded by giving a long treatise discussing how the Ottoman
Empire enacted a series of policies that never truly allowed the Arab populations to be a part of the nation. He continued by stating that the future of the
old country and its people would not benefit from developing under French
or British tutelage as designed by the mandates given by the League of
Nations. Massuh asserted that every country has a flag, and any standard for
their homelands should possess the color red, recognizing the blood spilt in
achieving independence. Massuh then shifted the discussion to the emigrant’s
different responsibility to the state, arguing that the immigrant’s country is
the country in which he or she resides. There they work, form families, and
raise their children. Immigrants must endeavor to ascend socially in the best
way possible through hard work and remaining on the rightful path. Yubran
Massuh concluded that it was not irreconcilable to maintain cultural aspects
of one’s home country while committing to life in Argentina, while emphasizing that the focus should be on their role in their new home country.26 Massuh’s comments are significant because he stressed the need for immigrants
to strive as best they can to be successful and to raise their families in their
new surroundings. At the same time, he asserted that after fifty years of emigration, the old country’s prospects of becoming a free nation like countries
in the Americas would be a difficult task, if not impossible.
The occasion of a Syrian’s death provided another opportunity for the
community to gather and celebrate the life of the fallen. Like a wedding ritual, burial ceremonies also presented the chance to express sentiments
through poetry. The case of Amin Hamdar is a revealing example. In the
wake of Amin’s murder, Elias Turbay, composing a poem at the funeral,
lamented the loss of his friend at the hand of a killer and the enduring lack
of justice. Then Turbay declared,
They have killed the generous, but they / have tasted what you have
tasted, but even more so
They were ignorant for not knowing that the lion leaves lions behind /
until your son showed them what dismays
He gave them the fire that you had been given / and achieved supreme
justice and rejoicing
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Your killer got the punishment / yes, the punishment for doing wrong
Rest in peace in your coffin / hearts have a love for you that will not be
buried
I will not forget you / I will always remember you, I am your poet
Your death has made every free soul / mourn and bleed sorrow for
“Hamdar”27
This powerful poem speaks to the tragedy that always lurked near migrants,
describing a sense of alienation as well as an understanding of an incomplete integration and acceptance into local society. More important are the
actions of the fallen’s son, who seemingly exacted a revenge killing in
response to his father’s murder. It is unclear what happened to the son, but
it is significant that Amin Hamdar’s son took matters into his own hands.
More a human and visceral response than a cultural disposition to violence
and revenge killings, the actions of Hamdar’s son speak to a perception of
vulnerability and lack of trust in Argentine institutions to achieve a satisfactory resolution.
The tone of the poem also suggests that poet Elias Turbay supported the
actions of the younger Hamdar in the killing of the man responsible for
Amin’s death. Given the public performance of this poem during the burial
ceremony, it would also suggest broad support for the revenge of Amin’s
death, or at the very least the willingness to debate the appropriateness of this
response. That Elias Turbay performed this poem in Arabic also gave the
Syrian community in the Tucumán an ability to discuss this tragedy and the
subsequent vengeance largely free of scrutiny from Argentine authorities.
The realities of life in the Northwest provoked a variety of strategies and
issues that these people confronted. Poetry served as one mechanism to better understand these processes and changes, to celebrate the birth of a child,
and to mourn the death of a loved one. While the forums and style of poetic
verse utilized by Arabic-speaking immigrants were cultural artifacts from
the old country, Syrians and Lebanese also utilized modern cultural forms,
in particular theatrical productions, to draw important linkages between
Argentine and eastern Mediterranean societies. Indeed, the Syrian-Lebanese
Building Families, Building Communities
had a tradition of performing Arabic-language plays in Tucumán, but did
increasingly shift to productions in Spanish.
Syrian-Lebanese Cultural Brokers and the Presentation of the Colony
An appreciation of Syrian-Lebanese cultural value to local Tucumán society
emerged at least by the late 1920s. Ramón Serrano, a Spanish playwright and
artist who formed a theatrical group that was an important cultural force in
Tucumán beginning in the late 1920s, asked José Guraieb to write a theatrical
work with an Eastern setting (de ambiente oriental) for presentation at the
posh Alberdi Theatre “to benefit the Syrian-Lebanese Society.”28 José
Guraieb, a Maronite Catholic, who arrived in Tucumán in 1913 shortly after
completing his baccalaureate in Arabic, French, and Ottoman Turkish. He
settled in the company town that surrounded the Santa Ana sugar factory in
the Río Chico department, eighty-five kilometers south of the provincial
capital, where a family member, likely his brother or cousin, ran a general
store. The following year José Guraieb published a Spanish translation of
Kahlil Gibran’s “The Life of Love,” an Arabic-language short story published
in his 1914 collection entitled Dam‘a wa Ibtisāma (A Tear and a Smile). This
publication marked the beginning of Guraieb’s acclaimed career of translating Gibran. In addition to reading the literary production of his peers in
North America and Brazil, Guraieb also kept abreast of the works coming
out of the Levant and Egypt. This devotion to literature ultimately led to his
faculty appointment at the National University of Córdoba, where he taught
Arabic and culture and served as the first chair of Oriental Studies.29
The example of José Guraieb demonstrates further the transnational
intellectual network and the aforementioned Arabophone Republic of Letters formed by Arabic speakers throughout the world. Guraieb’s wide reading of the literary works coming out of the Arab World led him to make an
interesting decision regarding the request from Serrano. In response to the
invitation to present a play set in the East, José Guraieb produced the play
entitled Ratiba, which was inspired by the Egyptian playwright Muhammad
Taymur’s al-Hāwiyya (The abyss). Muhammad Taymur was one of the most
active advocates and protagonists in the development of modern theater in
Egypt and the Levant. Taymur (1891–1921) came from a wealthy family of
Turkish origin that had many renowned members in the world of arts and
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letters. Educated in France during World War I, he actively attended the
French theater. Upon his return to Egypt, Taymur joined the acting group
Jam‘iyyat Ansār
. al-Tamthīl (Society for Promoting Acting) that translated
English plays for the Egyptian theater. Taymur wrote three plays and at least
forty articles assessing the history and development of French and Egyptian
drama and critical reviews of Egyptian playwrights and performers. He finished his last play, considered to be his best, al-Hāwiyya, in 1921, but died
before it was brought to the stage.30 Guraieb noted in the introduction to
Ratiba that he had read Taymur’s work in 1922 and, although he never
intended to read the play anew, the main argument “remained recorded in
[his] mind” and he was committed to adapting it to the “modern theatre.”
He admitted that his work was indebted to Taymur and his play, without
which he would not have been able to create Ratiba for a Spanish-speaking
audience.31
Ratiba is set in contemporary Cairo and focuses on the upper echelon of
Egypt and the generational divide in values and practices of a society in transition. The protagonists are Emín, an idealistic yet idle upper-class male who
views himself as the embodiment of modernity, and his wife, Ratiba Hanem,
who is from a lower-class family and the quintessence of her spouse’s progressive nature. These two interact with Emín’s mother and uncle, who
together attempt to prevent him from selling off his inheritance in property
to support his cocaine habit. The other two important characters are Emín’s
friends Mujdi Bey and Schafik Bey. Mujdi shares his friend’s cocaine addiction and proclivity for prostitutes. Schafik, however, attempts to fuel Emín’s
drug habit by fleecing him of his properties for pennies on the dollar while
designing an elaborate plan to seduce his wife, Ratiba. The play climaxes
with Emín, fueled by cocaine and the revelation of Schafik’s attempts on his
wife, suffocating Ratiba Hanem and then dying himself from an overdose.
The commissioning of the play Ratiba by Serrano, the dean of theater in
Tucumán, was evidence of an appreciation and respect for the Arabicspeaking cultural elite and their contribution to local artistic endeavors.
The Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán had staged plays, mostly in Arabic, since the end of the second decade of the twentieth century. In recognition of this community’s cultural vibrancy, Ramón Serrano was interested
in offering an opportunity to the colony to introduce its homelands to
Tucumán society on its own terms.
Building Families, Building Communities
The choice of adapting Taymur’s al-Hāwiyya connected the Levant and
Argentina in interesting ways. José Guraieb specifically chose a play that
concerned issues with which Argentines of similar sensibilities would identify immediately and directly. Social reformers in the eastern Mediterranean
and the South Atlantic were preoccupied with the perceived ills of modernity, such as the decadence of the upper classes, crime, migration, female
sexuality, and social change. Guraieb was educated at missionary schools in
Tartus (Syria) and Beirut.32 He was surely exposed to the positivist ideas
advocated by the American missionaries as well as to the writings of Jurji
Zaydan, an intellectual from Beirut who later moved to Cairo and founded
in 1892 the influential journal al-Hilāl. Zaydan argued that there were three
classes of people: the distinguished elite, the undistinguished general public,
and an emerging intellectual class—the latter being a critical agent of social
transformation.33 The appearance of new social groups (most of which Zaydan would have lumped in the general population class) in Beirut and the
surrounding mountain villages, such as refugees, “factory girls,” and return
migrants from the Americas, produced new gender roles, marriage patterns,
and life expectations, and increased women’s presence in the public sphere.34
In response to these new actors, intellectuals played an important part in
the emergence of a “discourse of urban sanitation that conflated cleanliness,
social behavior, and public hygiene,” with the creation of new institutions
used to intervene in the lives of urban dwellers on behalf of public health. As
Jens Hanssen observes, “up until the emergence on the scene of lower
middle-class nationalists in the 1930s, intellectuals [in Beirut] shared with
wealthy merchants and reform-minded notables certain perspectives on
urban life, lifestyles, social values, and pedagogies.”35 New professionals and
officials, such as public hygienists, thus materialized to contend with novel
social actors and the problems associated with them. For instance, these
hygienists (the “new face of French imperialism”) articulated a sexualized
discourse of the “Oriental” to explain the spread of tuberculosis.36 Women’s
sexuality increasingly came to be regarded as a public health concern, and as
a result prostitution was ultimately regulated in 1931.37
Argentina experienced similar troubles associated with this epoch. The
large influx of immigrants coincided with the increasing presence of women
in the public sphere, worker unrest, and rising crime rates, which produced
a variety of responses and discourses from social and political elites.38
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Indeed, Argentine intellectuals’ fear of active women gave rise to a number
of treatises denouncing women’s deviance. This fear also led to the emergence of the stock character of the prostitute in Argentine fiction that offered
“a body coterminous with the circulation of money,” thus commodifying the
female body.39 This literary discourse appeared at the same time that institutions and public health officials in Argentina received new mandates to
intrude in the lives of residents. As in Lebanon, officials concerned themselves with female sexuality and public morality and linked the vitality of the
nation to these issues.40 Several Syrian-Lebanese authors—writing in Spanish and setting their works in Europe or Argentina—used these themes of
modernity, changing values, nostalgia, and the place of women in society to
lay claim to membership in the nation or to challenge rigid notions of Argentine identity.41
Prostitution in Argentina was linked to milongas (cabarets) where people
danced the tango. These venues featured a novel social space in which people of various social and economic classes intermingled through music and
dance. A variety of consumers of sexual commerce, including upper-class
men in search of adventure and excitement, as well as urban laborers, sailors, and the like, were patrons of these entertainment houses. In fact, the
conflation of prostitution and these dance halls was so absolute that the city
of Buenos Aires banned women from working as servers in cafes, restaurants, and nightclubs. This underside to modernity produced the phenomenon of idling niños bien (upper-class youth perceived to indulge in the
excesses of modernity, such as sexual commerce and drug consumption).
For Muhammad Taymur, Emín was the Egyptian equivalent. Hence, the
preoccupation of José Guraieb’s play with the scourge of drug abuse, selfindulgent upper-class men, and wayward female sexuality would have been
immediately identifiable to audiences in Tucumán. Indeed, occasional editorials of local newspapers commented on scandalous acts featuring niños
bien and women of mal vivir (ill repute).42
Ratiba demonstrated how both the South Atlantic and the eastern Mediterranean connected to the transnational drug trade and global fears of
pandemic abuse. Cocaine had experienced a meteoric rise in the late nineteenth century as scientists discovered its use as an anesthetic for surgical
procedures and clever entrepreneurs created a variety of tonics, such as Vin
Mariani and Coca-Cola, designed to help people cope with the pace of
Building Families, Building Communities
modern life. Beginning in the first decade of the twentieth century, the
US government led a global crusade to ban cocaine because of its potential
for abuse by society. It is unclear how the illegal trafficking in cocaine
affected different areas of the world following 1920, when the drug was prohibited in the United States. The fears associated with it continued to inspire
artists and confirm the dread among those convinced of social decay. In
Egypt, the use of marijuana and cocaine was certainly the result of British
colonialism. Taymur’s play condemned cocaine consumption as an elite
delicacy that undermined an idyllic past perceived by educated Egyptians.
In Argentina, references to cocaine use abounded in tango lyrics, such as
“Maldito Tango” (1916), “Griseta” (1924), “Micifuz” (1927), “Noches de
Colón” (1926), “A media luz” (1925), and “Tiempos Viejos” (1926). The use of
cocaine as a metaphor asserted a variety of social uses of the drug. In certain
scenarios, cocaine was a drug showcasing refinement, as in “Griseta,” “Micifuz,” and “Noches de Colón.” In others, tangueros sang of cocaine as an
example of the ills of modern life and nostalgia for a bygone era when men
were men, such as “Tiempos Viejos.”43
Central to Taymur’s play and Guraieb’s retelling was the role of Ratiba
Hanem a metaphor for modern women and the primary example of a society
experiencing intense transformation. The differing fates of Ratiba in Taymur’s and Guraieb’s versions are striking. In Muhammad Taymur’s telling,
it is only Emín who tragically dies, whereas in Guraieb’s version both Ratiba
and Emín meet an untimely death. The discourse surrounding women in
Argentina and modern life probably affected Guraieb’s disposition. In fact,
in the second and third decades of the twentieth century, “the masculine
imagination [in Argentina] identified women with subversion.”44 Argentine
intellectuals such as Francisco Sicardi, Manuel Gálvez, and Roberto Arlt
wrote treatises and novels about independent women and the harmful effects
that they had on society. Although these writers represented a variety of
political opinions, they each possessed a pronounced fear of independent
women and observed a so-called inequality of male-female relationships in
contemporary Argentina.45 As a result, Argentine writers produced a new
morality, a respectability, which sought to reinforce elite notions of proper
behavior, “serve the needs of the state,” and sanction the “prominence of the
upper classes against the deleterious effects of women and working-class sectors.”46 Guraieb directly identified with this respectability in Argentina and
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its preoccupation with social decadence. Furthermore, this identification
allowed Guraieb to connect Argentine concerns with similar issues affecting his homeland in general and Egypt in particular, thus illustrating a
common ground among like-minded people. Guraieb also was speaking
indirectly to his immigrant community on what not to do and how not to
behave. The ills of modernity—illicit drugs and wayward women—were a
perceived threat to Syrian-Lebanese immigrants individually and communally. This attempt at outlining a set of acceptable behavioral norms through
tragedy was simply a continuation of actions Arabic-speaking elites had
been doing over the course of the previous three decades, primarily through
the immigrant press.
Institutional Life of Christians, Jews, and Muslims
Cultural productions like Guraieb’s Ratiba and institutions such as the
Arabic-language press attempted to present a positive image of Syrians and
Lebanese to Argentines while crafting a set of behavioral norms. In addition
to these efforts, immigrants themselves established organizations that were
based upon confessional identity, fashioning a sense of community for those
willing to participate. Indeed, the religious diversity of the Syrian-Lebanese
colony in Tucumán distinguishes itself from the others in the Northwest.
Among the religious groups the Maronites began establishing their religious
associations first, followed by Antiochian Orthodox Christians, Sephardic
Jews, and Muslims. The Maronite Catholics made up a critical element of the
Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán in particular and Argentina in general.
Maronites produced the most important periodicals and became some of the
wealthiest merchants, including Domingo Kairuz in Buenos Aires and Selim
Saad and Chaker Farah Apás in Tucumán. They also represented the largest
portion of the immigrant flow in the early years of this phenomenon, and as
such the Maronite patriarchate in Bkerke, Lebanon, began dispatching
priests to the River Plate by 1899. In 1901 the Lebanese Missionaries, an order
of priests, established a church and a school on Paraguay Street in the federal
capital. The Maronites radiated out into the Argentine interior, and priests
followed. Father José Chaya was the first Maronite priest in Tucumán, arriving in 1903 with orders from the Maronite patriarch and Pope León XIII.
Initially, Father Chaya and congregants celebrated Mass in the private homes
Building Families, Building Communities
of Maronites, but over time as the colony grew in size, adherents began advocating for the construction of a proper church.47
In 1916 Bishop Pablo Padilla y Barcena of Tucumán ceded a family home,
which had been donated to the Church by a wealthy local family upon the
death of the matriarch, to the Maronite community. The property was
located in the heart of what would become a recognizable neighborhood of
Syrian-Lebanese commerce and institutions. In the bequest, the Church
agreed to keep the name Nuestro Señor del Milagro (Our Lord of the Miracle), which had been the family’s private oratory honoring the Catholic feast
marking the miracle of ending the earthquakes afflicting Salta by parading
the image of Christ sent from Spain in the late sixteenth century. The bishop
then declared that the annual festivals for the patrons of the Church would
be every September. Maronites in Tucumán immediately formed a commission to raise funds and oversee construction of the church, which was inaugurated in 1924—just weeks before Father Chaya passed away.48
The church, named the Capilla del Nuestro Señor del Milagro y San
Marón (Chapel of Our Lord of the Miracle and Saint Maron), became a point
of sociability for Maronites and the broader Syrian-Lebanese colony in which
key community events, such as weddings and funerals, took place. Yet, like
the Orthodox colony, leading members of the Maronite community did not
always get along, thus prompting Father Nametalah Chelala, rector of the
chapel who succeeded Father Chaya, to create the Comisión de Caballeros
Maronitas (Committee of Maronite Gentlemen) to serve as a base to unify,
orient, and direct the spiritual activities of this religious group. According to
José Rechmani, editor of the bilingual newspaper al-Mahyar (Emigration),
the cultured Father Chelala was able to “harmonize the internal differences
between our Maronite compatriots that one day threatened its collective
integrity.”49
The committee’s board of directors visited Maronites throughout the
province, receiving confirmation of new members and intending the use of
members’ dues to sustain the church. In recounting the efforts of this new
group, Rechmani criticized the local Roman Catholic hierarchy for not turning the chapel into a parish for the Maronites—something he believed was
merited based on the size of the colony. In the account, Rechmani gave special recognition to local merchant José B. Chaya, a cousin of the deceased
priest, for his hard work. His peers recognized these efforts too by electing
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him to the organization’s position with the “greatest moral responsibility”:
the presidency. The author also noted the efforts of Father Chelala, who was
a “dignified example of dedication to the sacred function he performs.” For
Rechmani, the activism of Maronite Gentlemen benefited the good name of
the colony in general and the Maronites in particular.50
The Maronites’ connection to the Roman Catholic Church gave them a
link to Argentine society that Orthodox Christians, Sephardic Jews, and
Muslims simply did not have. This fact would manifest itself in particular
ways that allowed the Maronites to bind themselves as a polity to local state
and society. For instance, the annual procession of Our Lord of the Miracle
and Saint Maron coincided with the Eucharistic Congress, held in Tucumán
in late September 1933. On the day of the procession, Monsignor Bernabé
Piedrabuena, titular bishop of Callinico (Santiago del Estero), celebrated an
early morning Mass at the Maronite chapel, which was followed by a second
Mass, presided over by the vicar general of the Tucumán diocese, Monsignor
Abraham Aráoz. Father Gelat, director of the Colegio Saleciano (Salesian
High School), gave the homily to a chapel completely filled with Maronite
faithful.51
Following the Masses, the invited dignitaries— including the mayor, the
titular bishop of Tucumán, the superior of the Mercedarians, members of
the Committee of Maronite Gentlemen, and some of the most distinguished
members of the colony—moved to the rectory for hot chocolate, which was
prepared by the Young Ladies of Saint Maron Committee. The visiting dignitaries complimented the pastoral work of Father Chelala and enjoyed conversing through lunch. In the afternoon, a massive procession celebrating
Our Lord of the Miracle worked its way through the major streets of the
capital. At the end of the procession, the superior of the Mercedarians
addressed the assembled crowd, lauding the “Catholic action” of the
Maronites. The superior also commended the Ladies’ Committee for organizing the events, a celebration that was viewed by many Maronites as the
most successful to date.52 Connecting to the Catholic hierarchy certainly
gave Maronites a level of social capital distinct from that of their compatriots of other confessions. Maronites received sanction and succor from the
local Catholic hierarchy, and the ranking figures of the local Church participated in their religious events.
While the Maronite Catholic community was populous, a large portion
Building Families, Building Communities
of the Syrian-Lebanese colonies in the Argentine northwest belonged to the
Antiochian Orthodox Christian Church, an ecclesiastically independent
Eastern rite church with its patriarchate in Damascus. The majority of these
Christians came from areas in current-day Syria, in particular the zones
between Homs and Hama including the Valley of the Christians; however, a
portion also came from regions of contemporary Lebanon. Like other religious minorities, this shared religious identity was important in organizing
elements of the community, fostering sociability among migrants, and creating institutions—such as churches—to service the faithful.
Over the course of the first two decades of the twentieth century, the
number of Orthodox Christians residing in Tucumán increased consistently.
In light of this fact, the patriarchate in Damascus dispatched Father Simón
Khoury to Tucumán, who arrived in 1914. Khoury established a parish in
1918, following the arrival from Buenos Aires of Monsignor Ignacio Aburrus
(the first patriarchal vicar of the Antiochian Orthodox Church presiding
over Argentina, Chile, Paraguay, and Uruguay from Buenos Aires). Father
Khoury rented a property where the Orthodox celebrated Mass. Father Pedro
Nasif Khoury succeeded his father upon his death in spring 1923 and initiated an ambitious and controversial campaign designed to build a church
and a mausoleum for the community. In conjunction with his efforts, wealthy
members of the colony established the Society of Orthodox Ladies of
Tucumán, which was designed to raise funds for church projects. By the end
of the 1920s more than two thousand Orthodox Christians lived in Tucumán,
a far cry from the more than six thousand in Santiago del Estero. Nevertheless, this Orthodox community lived throughout the province, many of
whom became important merchants in the provincial capital as well as in
rural towns.
While the church must have been a space of solace and comfort, the members of the Orthodox Church, especially those who took leadership roles, had
great difficulty getting along. Internal strife became so great that the president
of the Syrian-Lebanese Society got involved and the Tucumán daily El Norte
Argentino ran a series of articles critical of Father Khoury. In the views of Antonio Bichara, editor of the local bilingual periodical al-Hurriyya, El Norte Argentino led an unnecessary and punitive campaign against Father Pedro Khoury
and supported a group of Orthodox Christians that questioned the religious
merit of Father Khoury’s acts. Bichara also noted that the Syrian-Lebanese
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Society became involved to act as a mediator between the two factions within
the Orthodox community. Bichara stressed that the Syrian-Lebanese Society
would not cover up for anyone, as insinuated by El Norte Argentino, because
such an act would damage the reputation of the institution.53
Little could be done to stop the internal strife afflicting the Orthodox
community, but several of the faithful met at the Syrian-Lebanese Society
to hash out the problems. The attendees elected a committee of four people
of “ample intelligence” to partner with prominent Maronite merchant Said
Madkur in visiting the local newspapers to correct the erroneous information published in El Norte Argentino. After this group finished its task,
several Orthodox faithful began a whisper campaign impugning the committee. This struck Bichara as ridiculous, and he claimed that the campaign was the primary reason why he was so adamant in his defense of his
peer Madkur, the former president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society.54
The conflict intensified, infiltrating the internal deliberations of the SyrianLebanese Society. President Rafael Bestani demanded a no-confidence vote
from his peers on the board of directors related to his actions in trying to
mediate a solution. The board unanimously voted to support Bestani. While
the Syrian-Lebanese leadership’s actions may have been acceptable, Father
Khoury’s were increasingly not. The divide within the Orthodox colony was so
great that by 1933 there were two discrete churches serving the faithful. Moreover, the behavior of Father Khoury led to scandalous accusations of theft and
thuggery from his neighbor, who begged for the benevolence of the “Orthodox
humanitarians” residing in the province to convince Khoury to stop his conduct, including his use of language unbecoming of a man of the cloth. Apparently the Antiochian Orthodox patriarch attempted to resolve the issue by
dispatching a second priest, Father Filippos Apud, but it is unclear what sort
of change resulted for Father Khoury and might have been the cause for the
emergence of two separate churches.55
The conflict climaxed on a spring afternoon in 1937 when competing factions brawled in the Boston Café, leading to the intervention of the police
and a visit to the hospital for three Orthodox men. The editors of El Eco de
Oriente declared this event an embarrassment that tarred not just the Orthodox community, but the Syrian-Lebanese colony at large. In testimony to the
anger and shame the editors felt, they decided not to recount the events of
the brawl in the Spanish section of the newspaper. Rather, the editors scolded
Building Families, Building Communities
the Orthodox men and said it was time for the patriarchate in Damascus to
respond to the numerous complaints from parishioners that had been sent
over a number of years. A detailed version of events appeared in the Arabic
section of the newspaper, including an account by Dergham Haddad, one of
the men involved in the fight.56
Orthodox immigrants from Rabah, a small village in the Valley of the
Christians near Homs, established an organization called al-Nahda
.
al-Adabiyya (Society of Moral Progress) during World War I. Over time, the
organization had accumulated quite a bit of money in its account through
member dues and donations. According to Haddad, Father Khoury asked for
a loan from the society on behalf of the Orthodox Ladies’ Commission. The
request came amid a change in the organization’s leadership, and Khoury
made the request to the outgoing president, Dayyūb Wahbe, who now acted
as the honorary president with no formal powers. The newly elected president, Antūniyūs
Saba‘, apparently intervened and declined to approve the
.
loan from the society’s coffers.57
The next morning a conversation between Dergham Haddad and Tanūs
al-Saba‘ in Café Boston descended into a verbal and then physical confrontation between these two men from the village of Rabah. Police were summoned and they broke up the fight. Later that day in Café Boston, Dergham
Haddad was talking with one of his friends when Fayyād. al-Saba‘ assaulted
him without warning. Butrus
al-A‘āzār immediately came to Haddad’s
.
defense, yet not before blows were delivered and a knife pulled. The three
bloodied men all had to go to the police station, and as the events settled,
Honorary President Wahba served four days in jail for his role. The editors
noted the increasingly common belief that Father Khoury was the instigator
that led to this conflict. Like the Spanish article, the editors called for the
Orthodox patriarch to intervene in order to bring peace to the Orthodox living in the province.58
Yet not all was strife and conflict in the Orthodox community. In fact, like
other Syrian-Lebanese institutions and those of other immigrant groups, the
Orthodox performed public acts designed specifically to attach themselves
to the host society. For instance, Father Filippos Apud participated in the
July 9 independence celebrations in Tucumán. Apud, the rector of the Saint
George Orthodox Church in Tucumán and former archbishop of Tyre and
Sidon, gave an effusive speech congratulating Argentina on its independence
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and thanking it for its generosity. At the same time, the Orthodox community maintained connections to the patriarchate in Damascus through the
visits of its representatives. For example, Monsignor Elías Dip, who had presided over the Orthodox communities in South America since his arrival in
Brazil in 1912, arrived in Argentina for a tour in February 1937, initially to
deal with problems afflicting the Orthodox Council, a male sodality responsible for raising funds for the Church’s upkeep, in Buenos Aires. Prior to
Dip’s arrival in Tucumán, he had visited the Orthodox communities in Entre
Rios, Santa Fe, Cordoba, and Santiago del Estero provinces. In Tucumán Dip
stayed with Father Apud in the rectory at St. George’s Church, receiving visits from the Orthodox ladies. The “most respectable” Orthodox gentlemen
also passed by to pay their respects.59
The Sephardic community in Tucumán also established an institution to
organize itself and to perpetuate cultural norms and religious traditions. In
comparison to the Christian and Muslim colonies from the Levant, the Sephardim were far less numerous. Within the Sephardic community in
Tucumán, Arabic-speaking Jews made up a minority of those coming from
Aleppo, Beirut, Damascus, and Jerusalem. The majority hailed from Smyrna,
a multicultural, cosmopolitan city and financial and administrative capital
of the Ottoman Empire, now in Turkey. As the number of Sephardic Jews
grew in the Northwest, they began making arrangements for burial rituals
and practicing important holidays. For instance, Sephardic Jews in Salta and
Tucumán signed an agreement in which coreligionists would be buried in an
assigned plot in the Cementerio del Norte in Tucumán. Sephardic Jews in
Tucumán celebrated Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur for the first time in
1914 in a rented building on 9 de Julio Street, and the community began to
have regular religious services. Interest thus began to build for the establishment of an association to organize the community’s activities and affairs.60
Several active Sephardic Jews attempted to establish the Sociedad Israelita
Otomana (Ottoman Jewish Society) in 1917, raising funds that led to the purchase of a property. The association, however, never got off the ground, and
the colony spent the next four years securing legal recognition and writing
statutes. These efforts climaxed in the creation of the Asociación Israelita
Sefardim de Beneficencia (Sephardic Jewish Association of Beneficence) in
October 1921. At the meeting, attendees elected officers, and the Syrian Moises Dahan becoming treasurer. The men also passed a resolution declaring
Building Families, Building Communities
the need to purchase or build a social hall.61 The organization immediately
began addressing concerns of the community, such as purchasing seven hundred kilograms of matza for Passover, reselling it to local Jewish families,
and donating some matza to needy families. In addition, the directors moved
to assist impoverished Sephardic families, including infirm coreligionists in
the hospital and families suffering food insecurity.62
During the 1920s the Sephardic community increased in size and the
association moved to meet the needs. In 1925 the directors secured the services of Dr. Julio Prebisch and Dr. Juan B. Ojeda to staff the medical clinic
for members and their families. At the same time, the influx of Sephardim
led some to venture into Tucumán’s interior and settle in rural towns in the
sugar zone, principally Monteros, Concepción, Acheral, and Villa Quinteros.
Apparently, the wealth achieved by some Sephardic merchants and a broader
sense of community in San Miguel de Tucumán was not replicated in the
interior as these Jews endured hardship and privation, distant from the rest
of the colony.63
The Sephardic colony was no less internally fragmented than their Christian compatriots. Very early in the society’s history, malcontents began to
publicly criticize the actions of the board of directors; some quit the association, and the organization’s leadership expelled others.64 The public criticism
struck a chord with the directors, and they accordingly attempted to mollify
their critics. One such instance featured a heated exchange at a board meeting between directors Marcos Ventura and José Altina. According to the
meeting minutes, Ventura showed up in an “abnormal state” and along with
Altina demanded in “indecorous terms” that the association donate money
for the grave of a deceased coreligionist. The directors replied that the society
had already donated thirty pesos. Ventura erupted in anger and began “to
articulate sentences that affected the good prestige of the Association.”
Altina, who was a founding member of the society and a former board member who recently had renounced his position, threatened that “if the Association does not contribute more money, the [Ladies’ Commission] will
reclaim all the money collected for charity.” While the directors informed
Altina that per statute no one had authority to take money allocated for charity, the issue was resolved and Altina continued acting as a leading member
of the organization, if not as a member of the board.65
Despite the internal wrangling, a vibrant social atmosphere did emerge for
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the most active members of the organized Sephardic community. These events
served to raise money for other community initiatives. Like their Christian
compatriots and the secular Syrian-Lebanese Society, the ladies of the
Sephardic colony organized the community dances and festivals. The money
raised through these events paid for the equipment, furniture, and other
expenses for the social hall. Such efforts combined with the financial support
of Sephardic Jews in Buenos Aires and the donation of building materials led
to the completion and inauguration of the building in September 1926.66
A key tradition to emerge was the annual picnic that helped raise funds
for other community initiatives, starting in 1925. This event grew in size and
popularity. In late spring 1936 Nagib Baaclini hosted Humberto Abalos, the
celebrated legal scholar, public intellectual, and politician from Santiago del
Estero. While driving him around San Miguel de Tucumán, Baaclini passed
by the annual picnic being held in a city park. They stopped and Baaclini
introduced Abalos to Sephardic leaders, including Association President
Marcos Maizel. Maizel informed the guests that the association currently
had three hundred members, which caused Baaclini to note that the
Sephardic organization was likely larger than the Syrian-Lebanese Society.
Baaclini and Abalos clearly enjoyed themselves, listening to Arabic and
Turkish songs and delighting themselves with a variety of food, sweets, and
drinks. Baaclini and Abalos’s experience at the picnic led the former to wonder in a recounting of the event about speaking with Musa Melhem, then
president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society, to organize something similar. The
idea to arrange a big event with singing and music that would allow the rich
and poor, big and small from the colony to celebrate a shared cultural heritage was very seductive. Nothing, however, ever seemed to come of it.67
The Sephardic community thus seemingly had little formal interaction
with other Syrian-Lebanese institutions. This lack of interaction likely
resulted from the fact that the majority of Tucumán’s Sephardim were from
Smyrna and thus did not possess shared frames of reference or a shared language, namely Arabic. While individuals such as Nissim Dahan participated
earlier in Syrian-Lebanese initiatives and Sephardic merchants certainly
interacted with other Syrian-Lebanese merchants that had shops on Maipu
Street, there is no evidence that Jews participated in leadership of the SyrianLebanese Society. This is more a reflection of concerns in Tucumán and less
of events happening in the old country regarding the role of Zionism.
Building Families, Building Communities
A unique characteristic of Tucumán’s Syrian-Lebanese colony was its large
Muslim population, which accelerated its institution-building in the 1930s.
Certainly the flagship organization was the Pan-Islamic Association established in 1929, and the ‘Alawite Mutual Aid Society opened the next year. Prior
to this creation, Muslims acted like their Christian compatriots by renting
rooms or buildings that acted as informal sacred and social space. For instance,
in the hamlet of Famaillá, an Orthodox Christian noted that there were only
four or five Orthodox families residing in this town and the rest of the SyrianLebanese community were Muslims. In the central plaza, across the street
from a bar, ‘Alawites rented a building to socialize and practice the faith.68 The
Pan-Islamic Association attracted an initial membership of more than five
hundred Muslims residing in the provincial capital, most of whom were
‘Alawites. On September 10, 1933, the Muslim community of the SyrianLebanese colony celebrated the completion of the Pan-Islamic Association’s
social hall with members from the highest levels of the provincial and municipal governments. Governor Juan Luis Nougués, provincial Interior Minister
José Luis Torres, the president of the Municipal Council, a representative from
the mayor’s office, and a delegation from the Syrian-Lebanese Society attended
the luncheon.69 The governor thanked the Muslim community for its cooperation and support of the government and noted that the Syrian-Lebanese
colony in general completely respected the laws and authorities of the province.70 In an effusive and metaphorical speech, Governor Nougués, recalling
the famous text by President Domingo Sarmiento, explicitly tied Muslims to
the truest of Argentines, the criollo gauchos (mestizo cowboys), citing their
shared affection for the horse, their mutual love for the knife, and an innate
weakness for their women. He further mentioned a fourth shared quality,
namely a “natural passivity that seems to be a negative virtue of our race allowing us to receive the blows of life with rare fatalism.”71 As Christina Civantos
has shown, this form of Argentine Orientalism was not a benign construct.
Instead, it informed the prejudicial discourse that targeted Arabic speakers in
the era of mass immigration by linking the notions of “barbarism” of the Rosas
era in the middle of the nineteenth century to the “savage” bedouins.72 Despite
the analogy’s baggage, the governor concluded his remarks by saying that the
addition of the Pan-Islamic Association’s social hall to the urban landscape
was equivalent to the beautiful arabesques of Moorish Spain and would
become an indelible addition to Tucumán’s cultural scene.
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Several other speakers declaimed poems, and one lectured on the glories
of the Islamic past. Miguel A. Yapur, speaking on behalf of the SyrianLebanese Society, referred to the pressing need for the union of all sectors
of the Arabic-speaking community in order to make this immigrant group
one of the most respected in the province. The directors of the SyrianLebanese Society were not the only ones concerned about the community’s
fragmentation. The institutional diversity, particularly the emergence of
the Pan-Islamic Association and the ‘Alawite Society, dismayed one
observer from the colony. The author, who chose the pen name “Street
Crossing,” pondered why one immigrant group would build three discrete
social institutions. In the writer’s view it was unnecessary to create additional associations that served a subset of the colony and only inhibited the
immigrant group’s supposed unity.73
The Pan-Islamic Association, nevertheless, helped organize Muslims and
deepen a sense of community. For example, Julian Dimani greeted a large
crowd on the steps of the Pan-Islamic Association on a summer afternoon in
1935. Shaking hands, communing together, and passing around bits of food,
Muslims in San Miguel de Tucumán marked iftar, or the breaking of the fast
carried out at dusk during the month of Ramadan. A small yet daily act such
as this again denoted an intent and belief that a Muslim community existed
and should be celebrated.74 The Ramadan celebration the following year
seemed to grow in size. Most of the province’s Muslims met at the PanIslamic Association social hall on December 14, 1936, to celebrate Eid al-Fitr,
marking the end of the holy month of fasting. A large dinner was followed
by speeches and Quranic recitation. Nagib Baaclini, director of El Eco de
Oriente, was an invited guest who gave a speech offering words of praise to
the institution and the province’s Muslim colony.75 An even larger celebration marked the important Eid al-Adha (Feast of the Sacrifice) in February
1937, commemorating Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his elder son. At the
event, the spacious social hall of the Pan-Islamic Association proved to be
insufficient to contain the “numerous believers of the faith of Muhammad”
that attended the event “with the discipline and solidarity that is characteristic of them.” In an approving tone, the editors of El Eco de Oriente concluded that the Muslims “demonstrated [they] maintain unscathed the
sacred fire of their rites and beliefs.” 76
Despite this being a religious event, the association’s president, As‘ad
Building Families, Building Communities
Kan‘ān, gave an intriguing speech. It included the usual exhortations encouraging his coreligionists to work hard for the progress of this “holy association”
and the good name of Muslims in Argentina. He then called for “Arab unity”
and support for Syrian President Hashim al-Atassi, the prominent Syrian
nationalist politicians Fakhri al-Barudi and Fares al-Khoury (a Christian), and
the other Syrian ministers. He concluded by asking his peers to support their
brothers in Damascus and their ‘Alawite brothers in Latakia.77 There was no
mention of Lebanese politicians or nationalists, a striking omission because of
the dearth of evidence related to old country politics playing out in Tucumán
in the 1930s. It may be a result of the fact that most of the Muslims residing in
Tucumán originated from Syria; however, this is speculation.
Finally, the critical mass of Muslims in the province, coupled with wealth
and the place of the Pan-Islamic Association, led to larger wedding celebrations. For instance, Elvira Elena Leila and Emilio Elías, whose birth name
was Mahmoud Muhammad, married in May 1935 to great fanfare. The wedding ceremony was held in El Bracho, a hamlet twenty-five kilometers south
of the capital and the location of Elías’s dry goods store. Two hundred families from the colony attended the early winter afternoon service. Following
its completion many attendees including the nuptials traveled in “a large
caravan of automobiles” to the Pan-Islamic Association’s social hall in San
Miguel de Tucumán. The organization’s board of directors awaited the party,
welcoming the newlyweds and their guests upon arrival and ushering them
inside. The reception featured a banquet consisting of a main course, “many
types of drinks and desserts,” and “an excellent orchestra.” As the merriment
continued, the crowd feted the newlyweds with toasts to their health and
happiness. Then the younger attendees “surrendered themselves to dance in
an animated gathering that lasted until late into the evening.” 78
The wedding of two Muslims in northwestern Argentina reveals a number of important realities about immigrants from the eastern Mediterranean. First, the size of the Muslim community in Tucumán specifically, and
the northwest generally, allowed not only the formation of institutions, but
more basically the opportunity to congress at important life moments such
as weddings. Second, integration was no less difficult for Muslims than it
was for immigrants from Europe, such as Italians. Emilio Elías was a recognized figure in his locale due to his work as a merchant provisioning goods
to the broader public. Elías’s activities also fit into a broader pattern of
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Syrian-Lebanese immigrants, chiefly the setting up of stores at railroad
nodes. El Bracho received a train station in 1910 to allow for the transport
of sugarcane to the factories. A good portion of Elias’s clientele must have
been the field workers who harvested the cane. Third, the banquet held at
the Pan-Islamic Association created a space of sociability for Tucumán’s
Muslim community to further celebrate the union of two coreligionists.
Here attendees expressed their identities—at once Muslim, immigrant, and
Argentine—through a wedding celebration, dinner, and dance party.
Finally, the event at the Pan-Islamic allowed Elias to show his financial
wealth as well as the sense of socioeconomic class by means of the attendees.
Certainly the renting of the hall, the dinner, and the band were not a small
expense. Those who could attend the service and wanted to make the reception required transportation, and this also demonstrated a level of wealth.
Conclusion
As the Syrian-Lebanese colony matured, immigrants pursued economic
opportunities, fell in love, started families, and sought to create notions of
community. Poets of all stripes and ability discussed many of these key life
events—birth and death, marriage and family—in intimate gatherings and
larger celebrations and commemorations. Poetry provided a cultural form and
shared register of meanings by which immigrants understood and assessed
events important and impactful in their lives. At the same time, the emergence
of the various cultural institutions created spaces of sociability for certain segments of the Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán. It was here where Christians, Jews, and Muslims erected sacred space, performed religious rituals, and
felt part of a larger community of believers. It also served as a connection to
their past and to their homelands. Yet the lay sodalities that emerged alongside
the churches were necessarily bourgeois and often wilted in the light of the
internal rivalries and intractable disagreements. Poorer segments of the colony
simply could not afford membership in the Committee of Maronite Gentlemen, but could attend Mass or weddings at the new churches, provided they
lived reasonably close. Yet it was these institutions that helped shape the
Syrian-Lebanese collectivity in the minds of the host society and other immigrant groups. Indeed, Tucumán society accepted these institutions as vital representatives of the larger immigrant group despite the internal wrangling and
general divisiveness among its active members.
127
Figure 1. Poster announcing celebration of Young Turk Revolution
in Istanbul, Buenos Aires, 1908.
Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de
Tucumán archive.
Figure 2. Lebanese immigrant in
his general store, Leales, Tucumán
province. Asociación Casa Libanesa
archive.
128
Figure 3. Lebanese immigrant in the
Tucumán countryside. Asociación Casa
Libanesa archive.
Figure 4. Officers of United Youth Organization (Jam‘iyya al-Shabība
al-Muttahida/Juventud
Unida), 1921. Asociación Casa Libanesa archive.
.
129
Figure 5. Young Syrian immigrant
woman Hamame Saleh Ale, Tucumán,
1925. Asociación Casa Libanesa
archive.
Figure 6. Tribute to Lebanese American author Kahlil Gibran, San Miguel de
Tucumán, 1930s. Asociación Casa Libanesa archive.
130
Figure 7. Annual procession for Lord of Miracles and Saint Maron, San Miguel de
Tucumán, 1930s. Asociación Casa Libanesa archive.
Figure 8. Feeding the unemployed at the soup kitchen. Alcira Maluf de Saad is in
the black jacket. July 31, 1932. Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
131
Figure 9. Inauguration banquet for the soup kitchen. Governor Juan Luis Nougués
is to Alcira’s left. July 31, 1932. Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
Figure 10. Community activity with children led by Alcira and the Ladies Committee. Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
132
Figure 11. Reputedly the last Syrian-Lebanese peddler in San Miguel de Tucumán,
1930s. Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
Chapter 5
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite, Community Politics,
and the Politics of Community, 1920–1940
The period between 1920 and 1940 solidified the place and strength of
the Syrian-Lebanese merchant elite in the Northwest. Certainly the stereotype of the itinerant peddler had filled the imaginations and popular culture
of Argentina and beyond since the first decade of the twentieth century, yet
this visage merged with the material reality of this group’s economic power.
The merchant elite was a group that closed ranks to defend their general prerogatives, but also was unafraid to sue each other or involve the police in
order to settle an outstanding issue. Syrian-Lebanese merchants evolved into
the most consequential commercial group in Tucumán and Santiago del
Estero provinces; however, it suffered from occasional bitter internal rivalries. It was from this position of relative collective strength that the colony’s
merchant and intellectual elite in Tucumán attempted to raise funds and
build a monument commemorating Argentina’s independence centennial.
While generally supported by the broader colony, the initiative sputtered for
three decades, provoking yet more internal discord and the intervention of
provincial authorities.
It was also in this period of general political instability and social unrest
that the Arabic-speaking immigrant community began referring to themselves as the Syrian-Lebanese colony— thus distinguishing, for the first time,
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Syrians from Lebanese in the sense of political national identity—and established an enduring secular cultural institution in 1925: the Syrian-Lebanese
Society in San Miguel de Tucumán. In fact, the 1920s witnessed the establishment of associations throughout the northwestern provinces, such as the
Syrian-Lebanese Union in Salta (1920) and the Syrian-Lebanese Society in
Jujuy (1926). These novel political identities remained unstable as debates
circulated around the utility and wisdom of French control over the nascent
states of Greater Lebanon and Syria. Hence, politics in the old country had a
direct impact on the formation and maintenance of community institutions
in the Americas. Merchant and intellectual elites of the colony attempted to
remove the various political discourses and nationalist ideologies seeping
into the daily discussions. Instead of advocating a particular political ideology, they advocated a politics of cultural unity that eschewed the divisions
of religion and novel political identities. Nevertheless, politics of the old
country and the seductive ideology of nationalism laid firm roots within the
colony, leading to permanent internal fragmentation.
The Syrian-Lebanese Society also became a central protagonist in the
effort to speak for the colony, if not serve it, to local Tucumán society. While
the Syrian-Lebanese elite there advocated a pan-Arab cultural organization,
they did little to incorporate the poorest and most vulnerable segments of
the colony. Socioeconomic class interests outweighed shared cultural identities, despite the rhetoric to the contrary, and the Syrian-Lebanese Society
effectively became a mercantile interest group. Ironically, local Tucumán
society came to recognize this institution within the broader community
and accepted its leaders as the de facto, if not de jure, leaders of the colony.
Many fellow Syrians and Lebanese also recognized the primacy of this institution and its leadership, even if they did not personally belong or agree with
its advocacy. At the same time, many politically engaged Syrian-Lebanese
made clarion calls for greater participation in local electoral campaigns as
well as urged colony members to run for office. In fact, the roads to political
power for Syrian-Lebanese activists lay in the countryside hamlets and not
in the provincial capital. In rural settings, the ubiquitous Syrian-Lebanese
dry goods stores served as centers of power for the upwardly mobile and
politically active. Hence, it was not a coincidence that the first SyrianLebanese elected to provincial office came from a small town in the heart of
sugar country.
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
The Rise of the Syrian-Lebanese Merchant Class
The Syrian-Lebanese merchant class prospered during the first half of the
1920s and maintained its status as the wealthiest immigrant commercial
group in the province until 1924. The second half of the decade, however,
proved to be quite difficult for many. The number of Syrian and Lebanese
merchants operating in the province contracted by one-fifth between 1929
and 1931. By 1935 the Syrian-Lebanese merchant class had returned to being
the second-wealthiest national group, and its number of merchants increased
by 40 percent. Moreover, the total wealth of this immigrant merchant colony
increased by more than 25 percent whereas the other national merchant
groups contracted. The depression, for example, decimated the Italian business community in Tucumán, whose size shrank by half and wealth plummeted 70 percent—a fatal decline from which the Italian merchants never
recovered. While the majority of the Syrian-Lebanese merchants’ wealth was
located in the provincial capital, their compatriots also dominated in the
province’s interior markets. From the 1930s, the sophistication of the commercial ventures in Tucumán increased, in terms of both type of commercial
activity and capital invested and rights of the firms’ principals.1
The general increase in prosperity among the Syrian-Lebanese merchants
did not necessarily translate into a general solidarity among this group.
Beginning in the early 1930s, the number of commercial suits filed by SyrianLebanese merchants in provincial courts increased noticeably, and the
majority of defendants were compatriots. This assertion is based on a sampling from the entry books of the third secretary (secretario) of the court of
common pleas (Primera Instancia) in San Miguel de Tucumán. At the time,
there were four judges based in this court, each of whom had two secretaries.
There were 237 entries registered between 1915 and 1942 featuring a SyrianLebanese plaintiff, defendant, or both. More than half of these filings were
entered between 1930 and 1939, and a full 31 percent (74) were registered
between 1936 and 1942.2 This phenomenon resulted from the complexity of
the commercial ventures as well as the economic uncertainty afflicting the
province for most of the 1930s. More important, the fragmentation of the
community that accelerated during the decade made it less attractive to pursue alternative, informal forms of dispute resolution for internal quarrels
among immigrants. The Syrian-Lebanese Society, which had always
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presented itself as the face of the immigrant community to Tucumán society
at large, struggled to maintain, let alone build, its member base. The society
had additional problems as it defended itself against accusations of fraud by
members of the immigrant community and its failure to pay taxes in 1935.3
Greed and economic collapse inspired a range of merchant strategies that
led to vicious court battles featuring leading members of the colony. Calim
Amdor embezzled 80,000 pesos from his employers, the large wholesale firm
Saad Hermanos, owned and operated by brothers Selim and Fortuna.4
Amdor had risen to become the firm’s accountant in 1928 and in the process
earned greater social capital within the colony, which culminated in his election as the assistant secretary of the Syrian-Lebanese Society in May 1930.5
Amdor allegedly began to steal money from the Saad brothers almost immediately, and his lavish spending caught the attention of his employers. For an
employee who earned a monthly salary of 350 pesos, Amdor purchased a car
a few months after his promotion and later employed a chauffeur. In addition, Amdor built a home, valued at 40,000 pesos, and opened a general
store, partnering with Eduardo Rodríguez, Amdor’s predecessor at Saad
Brothers. Calim Amdor, described as living the “life of a pacha,” aroused the
suspicions of the Saads.6
In early October 1930 the Saads accused their accountant of embezzlement and sought a preventive seizure (embargo preventivo) of Amdor’s assets,
which the court granted.7 In addition, Calim Amdor filed for a meeting of
creditors of his general store, only to find that Terán and Company had
seized his automobile through the same legal process.8 Amdor was seemingly prepared for the discovery of his criminal actions as he placed the
majority of his assets in his uncle’s name. After several years Calim Amdor
received legal recognition of his current impoverished state and petitioned
the judge to lift the preventive seizure placed on two bank accounts, worth
ten pesos, by Selim and Fortuna Saad.9 The brothers, who promised the court
to release their claim against the seized assets, seemed to have dragged their
feet and continued to punish Amdor for several months after his petition.10
While the actions by the Saad brothers were perhaps excessive, the end result
was the dissolution of the Saads’ firm and Selim Saad’s opening up his own
commodities brokerage firm.11
Merchant giants, such as the Saad brothers, were thus not immune to
financial challenges, poor management, and effects of a struggling economy.
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
The commercial suit between Domingo Kairuz and Chaker Farah Apás, two
goliaths of the Syrian-Lebanese merchant class, best exemplified the potentially contentious relationships among compatriots driven by economic need.
Domingo Kairuz, who was based in Buenos Aires, had deep roots in the colony in Tucumán and had been active in commercial life there since the end of
the nineteenth century. In addition, his daughter had opened her own store
in Tucumán in 1912. Kairuz possessed tremendous power within the SyrianLebanese colonies throughout Argentina, serving as the first president of the
Club Libanés de Buenos Aires that was founded in October 1936. He also had
great wealth. In 1929 he purchased the estancia of the nineteenth-century
caudillo and dictator Juan Manuel de Rosas, located in Matanzas, Buenos
Aires province. Kairuz also had access to the highest strata of Argentine political life. At the groundbreaking of the Syrian-Lebanese Hospital in Buenos
Aires in March 1937, Kairuz acted as one the sponsors (padrinos) along with
Argentine President Augustín P. Justo, the wife of the interior minister, and
Mercedes Marino de Ketlún (the wife of the prominent Syrian-Lebanese merchant Ragueb Ketlún).12
Chaker Farah Apás also achieved financial success and was well respected
in Tucumán. He arrived in northwestern Argentina in 1902 and initially
worked as an itinerant peddler. By 1920 Apás had established a wholesale
business in textiles and ultimately built one of the most luxurious buildings
in all of Tucumán in the heart of the Syrian-Lebanese commercial district
in San Miguel. In testimony to his prominence within the local SyrianLebanese colony, Apás was a founding member of the Syrian-Lebanese Society, a socio proprietario (an initial investor of the Society given additional
voting rights and prerogatives), and served as a member (vocal) on its first
board of directors. Yet Apás must have suffered during the difficult economic times of the 1930s, and as a result he contacted Domingo Kairuz to
arrange a loan in April 1935.
In a shock to the Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán and the broader
business community, a judge in the criminal justice court declared Chaker
Farah Apás bankrupt in June 1936, thus opening him to incarceration and
punitive damages. This decision, publicly announced in La Gaceta, El Orden,
and the provincial government’s Boletín Oficial, anguished certain sectors of
the colony. The editors of El Eco de Oriente, claiming to express the sentiments of the entire colony, detailed the life story of Chaker Farah Apás. His
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story was exemplary for a Syrian-Lebanese immigrant narrative based on
ideas of hard work and financial success that directly contributed to the development of Tucumán and the grandeur of Argentina. The tale included his rise
as a merchant and spoke of his influence within the colony, such as paying for
more than half of the construction materials for the Maronite chapel Nuestro
Señor del Milagro y San Marón. The newspaper lauded his early and vital role
in 1915 with the movement to raise funds for a monument from the colony
celebrating the Argentine independence centennial. In addition, Apás formed
the committee that raised the funds to refurbish the Syrian-Lebanese wing at
the public Padilla Hospital. This ward guaranteed space for injured and
invalid compatriots as well as ill Argentines. Apás himself donated all the
clothing and furniture used to stock the wing. Finally, the editors noted that
the judge’s declaration ran counter to everything Chaker Farah Apás had
done in his public and commercial life. It was an injustice.13 Fortunately for
Apás, the provincial supreme court revoked the lower court’s ruling promptly,
thus removing the specter of prison.14 Nevertheless, Domingo Kairuz sued
Chaker Farah Apás in October 1936 for defaulting on a loan of 125,000 pesos
contracted in April 1935.
The loan, which carried a 6 percent interest rate, detailed that interest had
to be paid during the first ten days of each quarter, and if there was no payment, the entirety of the loan plus interest came due. After five consecutive
quarters of nonpayment, Kairuz demanded enforcement of the stipulation.15
The judge determined that Apás owed the loan amount plus an additional
10,000 pesos. If he could not cover it with a cash payment, the judge threatened to place an embargo on Apás’s assets. The judge further demanded that
Chaker Farah Apás present himself before the court within twenty-four
hours lest he be declared in contempt of court.16 In addition, Kairuz
demanded that the court seize Apás’s building that was used as collateral and
schedule it for public auction. The judge complied and seized his assets. The
defendant asked for an extension, which was denied. Domingo Kairuz ultimately purchased the building for the value of the loan. The court ordered
the Apás family to vacate the premises, an order with which it complied by
the following October.17
The economic elite of the colony, not immune to the economic turmoil of
the 1930s, acted with great force to protect their interests. The loan agreement
of Apás and Kairuz is fascinating because they represented the most
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
financially successful of this colony. The loan arrangement confirms the
enduring networks that immigrants could tap in times of particular need, in
this case for a substantial amount of money. The loan also reflected a tight
credit market in Tucumán and the lack of institutions and resources available to merchants, farmers, and industrialists in the mid-1930s. Finally, the
agreement also demonstrated the limitations of these networks and how
these interpersonal associations could actually lead to the financial ruin of
immigrants. Chaker Farah Apás could neither pay his debt obligation nor
renegotiate terms with his compatriot Domingo Kairuz. Any attempt at
extrajudicial dispute resolution mediated by members of the Syrian-Lebanese
colony failed. Despite these rivalries and setbacks, the wealth of the SyrianLebanese merchant class rebounded during the decade, and they ranked as
the wealthiest ethnonational group in six of the province’s eleven departments and the second wealthiest in another four by 1937. Yet the wealth was
not evenly distributed and thus there was great disparity as more SyrianLebanese worked as day laborers or peddlers, or suffered long bouts of unemployment due to the labor insecurity plaguing the province.
The Monument Commission
Attempting to seize on their growing wealth and recognition in the province,
several merchants, in conjunction with members of the cultural elite,
attempted to raise funds to construct a monument commemorating the 1916
centennial of Argentine independence. These elite immigrant men organized
a monument commission (lajnat al-tamthāl). The group featured the prominent merchants of the colony representing all faiths—“our best merchants”
in the words of one Arabic-language periodical. Yet no issue greater exemplifies the colony’s characteristic of seemingly interminable internal squabbles
than this initiative, which ultimately stalled, creating controversy within the
colony and prompting the intervention of the provincial attorney general in
the early 1930s, which would drag on without resolution into the 1940s.18
According to Nagib Baaclini, he conceived the idea in 1916 and successfully helped organize the community to seek donations. Members of the
Syrian-Lebanese colony then agreed to form a provisional committee to
oversee the fund-raising, and once a certain threshold was met, a permanent committee would be formed or the group would abandon the effort.
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Due to instability and other factors—such as untimely deaths and a loss of
interest—during the early 1920s, little movement, if any, was made in pushing forward with the project. At this moment, Sucre Albaca, one of the
wealthiest Syrian-Lebanese merchants in Tucumán and Baaclini’s brotherin-law, remained the only original member of the provisional committee.
He then called several merchants to his office to explain his desire to move
his business to Buenos Aires and give an update of the accounts. At the same
meeting the attending merchants formed a committee to receive control of
the accounts from Albaca. During the changeover, Pedro A. Caram became
treasurer. This move prompted the immediate exodus of some key figures of
the colony, including Baaclini, merchant Said Madkur, and journalist José
Rechmani, among others, who protested Caram’s new role. Seizing the
opportunity, Caram replaced the dissenters with his own men. While this
new committee continued to raise funds without adhering to the original
timetable, Baaclini argued this new committee operated without authority
and wanted to erect a monument without the approval of a general assembly. Baaclini then begged for the intervention of the provincial government
to help resolve the issue.19
Other public intellectuals, through their newspapers, began critiquing
their compatriots who sat on the monument committee’s board of directors. For instance, Rechmani complained in 1932 that for fifteen years the
colony had discussed erecting a monument dedicated to Argentina’s independence; however, the current commission had failed to deliver despite
having 30,000 pesos for the effort.20 Rechmani’s al-Mahyar called for people to put aside “personal caprices” and erect a statue. The funds were there.
He also raised the unfinished issues working against the “well known interests of the collectivity,” specifically the need for an activity hall of the
Syrian-Lebanese Society and a mausoleum for Syrian-Lebanese in the local
cemetery. If the monument committee was unable to finish its lone project,
at least the Syrian-Lebanese Society could agree to approve its current projects and determine future directions.21
Nagib Baaclini was particularly disturbed by the inability to erect the
monument. In a long essay in Spanish he reminisced about the centennial
celebrations of 1916 that took place in the streets of Tucumán. He noted that
the immigrants in Argentina “love the land that gives fruit from its best trees
to its children, that opens its universities to them, gives them rights to open
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
their stores, to share in the hours of sadness and bounty.” He continued by
pointing out that Syrians and Lebanese, like many other immigrant groups,
worked hard, assimilated local customs, “had joined the destinies of this
people,” and were represented spiritually in 1916. Yet he simply could not support the current self-appointed leaders in their endeavor.22
The editors at El Eco de Oriente, which of course included the sentiments
of Baaclini, lampooned the provisional committee’s plan to erect a monument in the style of a minaret, suggesting it simply did not represent the true
measure of the contributions Syrians and Lebanese had done “in this generous land” that added to the “national grandeur.”23 The editorial board did not
stop with the architecture plans. After publicly haranguing the committee to
account for the raised funds, prominent merchant and commission board
member Merhi Satle, an ‘Alawite Muslim, visited the offices of El Eco de Oriente and delivered a report on the money raised for the monument and where
it was located, which happened to be in five different accounts spread out in
two banks. Despite Chaker Farah Apás, an ally of Baaclini and the editorial
board, serving as treasurer of the monument commission, their anger and
contempt was not assuaged—which may have resulted from Pedro Caram’s
role as vice president.24
Despite all the public criticism against the committee and the interest on
the part of the provincial administration, nothing came to pass. Indeed, Baaclini and the editors of El Eco de Oriente started a new campaign demanding
government intervention in the autumn of 1942, which finally came to pass
when Governor Miguel Critto’s administration dissolved the provisional
commission. Yet no monument was built by the time Juan Domingo Perón
ascended to the presidency in 1946.25
Homeland Politics, the Syrian-Lebanese Society,
and Nationalist Institutions
Syrian-Lebanese cultural elites promoted a politics of Arab cultural unity in
the face of competing nationalisms circulating throughout the émigré colonies in the Americas. The United Youth (al-Shabība al-Muttahida)
repre.
sented the first sustained effort to organize the Syrian-Lebanese colony in
Tucumán for some time. The goals of the organization, founded in June 1921
by fourteen young immigrants, included the promotion of the Arabic
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language within the colony through schooling and the performance of
plays.26 Members José Guraieb and Pedro N. Estofán produced plays and
fiction that explored the themes of love and free will.27 Although the settings
for these early works were in the old country, the issues explored certainly
would have resonated with an audience and readership of immigrants making their way through life in northwestern Argentina. In marking the first
anniversary of the association’s founding, the directors arranged a series of
celebrations, the third being a commemorative lunch at the French Society’s
social hall.28 One hundred fifty people attended the event, featuring leading
members of the Syrian-Lebanese colony and key political figures, including
Governor Octaviano Vera, his minister of government Celedonio Gutiérrez,
the president of the provincial house of deputies, the mayor, and two provincial deputies. A live band provided the entertainment. Pedro N. Estofán, a
second-generation immigrant who had completed his university studies in
Beirut, gave an impassioned speech lauding the labor and sacrifice of the
organization’s members in putting on plays and working for the moral and
material progress of the colony and the province. In a revealing moment,
Estofán declared, “It is an Argentine, gentlemen, who votes for the well-being
and progress of his country, an Argentine that has fine-tuned his character
in the mountains of Lebanon and the springs of Syria, and that feels happy
in this moment of influence to interpret the sentiments of the Syrian collectivity, and to give a ‘Viva’ to this new and glorious nation that is the Argentine Republic.”29 He continued, speaking on the necessity of associations to
unify the efforts, the determination, and the interests of a diverse group of
people. He also noted, in a nod to the attending government officials, that the
United Youth was able to carry out this mission under the “auspices and
protection” of the current provincial administration. Estofán concluded his
speech by challenging his compatriots to subsume personal passions to the
common good, “searching in this manner the betterment, the progress, and,
in a word, the ‘life’ of the Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán.”30
Two Syrian-Lebanese speakers followed Estofán, one of whom was Antonio Bichara, a budding journalist. Bichara, who gave his speech in Arabic,
called on his compatriots to establish a library filled with literary and scientific works, to set up a school teaching Arabic and other foreign languages,
and to purchase some land to build a cemetery for the colony at large.31 In
conjunction with these events, the United Youth performed in Arabic the
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
play The Bandits of the Forest—an adaptation of Friedrich Schiller’s The Robbers by the Beirut intellectual and dramaturge Assaf Bey Kfoury—later that
evening before a full house in the stylish Odeon Theater.32 The United Youth
next hosted a banquet a week later to “glorify the name of the association” in
the luxurious Hotel España. Fifty Syrian-Lebanese attended the dinner,
including José M. Kairuz, treasurer of the Buenos Aires–based Lebanese
Union (a nationalist, anti-French organization established during World
War I). Wadi Hadle, editor of the literary journal al-Hadīqa, produced a
much-applauded speech that spoke of “union” and “brotherhood,” of “noble
ideals” and “progressive education.”33
The following June, the United Youth hosted another anniversary luncheon at the Casa Francia that was attended again by Governor Vera. Like the
previous year, Pedro Estofán gave a speech reflecting on the year’s accomplishments but also offered new challenges. In the year that passed, Estofán
noted that the association received legal recognition from the state, giving it
some corporate benefits, the establishment of a weekly Arabic-language
newspaper, and the creation of an academy offering classes in Arabic and
French. Another of the speakers, Fares Saad, declaimed a poem dedicated to
the association’s newly unfurled flag, a performance that was interrupted on
several occasions by applause. Nagib Baaclini then spoke on the “civilizing
work performed by Syrians,” whether it was small or large, humble or grandiose.34 The editors of al-Shabība al-Muttahida
lauded Argentina, its “noble
.
people and the earnest and democratic works of its elected leaders.” They
further asserted that the hearts of the Syrian-Lebanese in Tucumán “beat
eternally a sign of thanks to this hospitable land, in which [Syrians and Lebanese] find [their] second mother country.”35
These events speak to the desire and the will of several activists within the
Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán as well as to common beliefs about
Argentina. First, the desire to forge an organization to unify and represent
the colony led these young men to pursue a cultural politics designed to
avoid nationalist desires and French colonial politics. Thus, these activists
established a newspaper and a school to promote Arab culture. Second, the
efforts and the rhetoric deployed by numerous members of the association
reveal a strong sense of connection to and reverence for Argentina. Estofán
was most explicit when describing an Argentine raised in Lebanon or Syria.
For this intellectual, the two identities meshed together symbiotically and
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one did not have to contradict the other. Rather, one strengthened the other.
Third, the attendance of Governor Vera, his ministers, and other political
elites spoke to the growing importance and local recognition of the SyrianLebanese colony. The editors of El Orden admitted as much, describing this
“hardworking colony” as a “decisive factor of progress.”36 At the same time,
the attendance of Vera and the others acted as confirmation of the SyrianLebanese colony’s place in the local social fabric. Finally, the celebrations and
rhetoric reveal the belief held by these activists and young intellectuals that
they were contributing to the civilization mission, to the development of
Argentina, and to the destiny of the old country.
Yet this organization did not seem to carry forward the same energy after
two years. The newspaper seemingly stopped publication, and it is unclear
whether or not additional anniversary parties were held. This loss of energy
may have resulted from the difficult economic circumstances or the political
instability afflicting the province. It may also have been a product of the
politics of the old country as France firmed its grip over Syria and Lebanon
during these years. France’s role in Syria and Lebanon also meant that its
diplomats were in charge of representing the interests of the Syrian-Lebanese
émigrés in the Americas.
Politics of the homeland never fully faded away in the minds or daily
interactions of many immigrants in Argentina, including the colony in
Tucumán. Following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the creation of
French colonial states in Lebanon and Syria, a contentious debate circulated
throughout the Americas, including the communities in the Argentine
Northwest, over the future of the homelands. The creation of the United
Youth, with its express purpose of advocating a politics of cultural unity as
an alternative to the competing nationalisms, was a direct response to this
debate. Yet, even within this movement, politics seeped in. For instance,
Pedro N. Estofán delivered a rousing speech at the United Youth’s anniversary banquet in June 1922. Estofán demanded that his compatriots defend
their rights and quit being victims of injustice. Further, these “sons of the
same race” must conserve the principle learned from their parents and keep
the pride and dignity of the “race” to demonstrate to the civilized world that
far from disappearing, this people was resurgent, rising valiantly to reclaim
its rights and to launch a challenge for its independence. José Kairuz of the
Lebanese Union approved, expressing his support for the United Youth and
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
the ideas expressed by Estofán. At the same time, Kairuz must have sensed
the mood of the crowd because he noted at the conclusion of his speech that
this was not the moment to debate “considerations of a political character.”37
In fact, the issues of the French Mandate and whether or not Syria and
Lebanon were truly independent were debated among the colonies in Argentina and closely monitored by the French diplomatic corps.38 As the activities
of the United Youth waned, a new surge of energy to produce a broad-based
community organization emerged in November 1925 with the arrival of the
famous intellectual Habib Estéfano. A special committee of leading SyrianLebanese merchants met Estéfano at the train station in Tafi Viejo and
escorted him to the provincial capital. For his first visit to the province, the
organizers arranged a festive dinner in Estéfano’s honor at the Savoy Hotel.
Habib Estéfano was a former Maronite priest from Mount Lebanon who
became an ardent Arab nationalist after the Ottoman collapse. Proclaimed
Orator of the Nation by King Faisal during his short-lived reign in Damascus
(1919–1920), Estéfano also served as the dean of the University of Damascus
before migrating to the Americas in 1921. He later moved to Argentina, where
he earned citizenship. He traveled across Latin America giving public
speeches regarding the Arab nationalist movement as well as extolling the
virtues of Hispanic culture and its connections with Arab heritage. For a
brief period, Estéfano coedited a monthly journal entitled al-Tamaddun
(Civilization) with the Tucumán-based intellectual Yubran Massuh.39 This
new effort took place during the Great Syrian Revolt (1925–1927) and again
placed these divisive issues into the center of this immigrant community,
and as a result created intense stress within it.
During his visit, Estéfano gave public talks in important local institutions, including a speech entitled “The Moral of Liberty,” held in the Odeon
Theater, and another at the Sarmiento Society entitled “The Poetry of the
Arabs.”40 Inspiration, however, for a lasting association crystallized after
Estéfano’s lecture entitled “The Future of Our People in Our Country and
America.” Following this speech, leading members of the Arabic-speaking
colony began agitating for the creation of a cultural institution.41 On the
evening of November 17, 1925, Habib Estéfano presided over a meeting of
fifty invited Syrian-Lebanese colony inhabitants held at the home of Fortuna Saad, a leading merchant. During the proceedings, the attendees
appointed a commission to draft the organizing principles of the entity. This
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commission featured such prominent members of the immigrant community as Selim Saad, Nallib Nadra, Pedro Caram, Isa Neme, Pedro Nacif
Estofán, and Isa Sucar. Active members elected boards of directors every
two years. Of the twenty-seven different men who served on the three
boards formed between 1925 and 1930, only three were recognized public
intellectuals: P. Nacif Estofán, Yubran Massuh, and Nagib Baaclini. The rest
were merchants. Two days later the invited members reconvened at the
home of Fortuna’s brother Selim Saad and approved the guiding beliefs. The
same commission established a membership scheme for founding members,
which produced the purchase of a total of 543 shares by forty-six immigrants. With the start-up capital secured, the founding members established
the Syrian-Lebanese Society and elected its first board of directors on
November 22, 1925, with Selim Saad as its president.42
In spite of Habib Estéfano’s esteem and the design of the Syrian-Lebanese
Society to eschew political discussion within the collectivity, politics of the
old country were bitterly divisive. For instance, in October 1926 Estéfano
returned to Tucumán to give a series of public lectures. One in particular
excoriated the French Mandate in Syria and Lebanon, recalling the brutal
bombing of Damascus. Nagib Baaclini’s editorial in his newspaper El Eco de
Oriente berated Estéfano as “a renegade ex-Maronite priest” who suffered
from a “Bedouin mentality.” Baaclini then argued that France was the right
partner for Lebanon as it was the paladin of culture and democratic governance.43
Given the divisive and acrimonious nature of the debate surrounding the
French Mandate, the Syrian-Lebanese Society attempted to play a critical role
in emphasizing a shared cultural identity and subsuming this debate. The society’s guidelines did call for elevating the moral and social situation of the collectivity, tightening the bonds of brotherhood between compatriots in the
province, and helping each other mutually by defending their rights and doing
everything possible for the glamour of the Syrian-Lebanese name in the country. It called for the removal of all political factions and religious tendencies
from the heart of the society, thus making it an eminent exponent of culture
and sociability. The results on several of these goals were mixed at best.
The religious institutions of the Syrian-Lebanese colony, as it turned out,
were the least provocative of the organizations operating in the 1930s. New
organizations emerged attempting to organize the colony along national
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
lines. The Centro Libanés (Lebanese Center) was designed specifically as a
political association catering to immigrants from Lebanon and the shifting
identification with the Lebanese nation. The controversy surrounding this
group spread throughout the Syrian-Lebanese communities in Argentina. In
explaining the reason for establishing this institution, the members of the
Lebanese Center rejected the notion that Syrians and Lebanese were united
by “indissoluble bonds,” citing them as a “false conventionality.” Furthermore, the founders proclaimed that “the children of two distinct states [Syria
and Lebanon] could never work jointly for the good of the interests of their
homeland.”44 As such, the politics of the old country never fully receded
from the minds of Syrian-Lebanese in the Americas, and 1936 was a critical
year for Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and its émigrés. The rise of Lebanese president Emile Eddé in January 1936, his partial restoration of the constitution,
and his push for parliamentary elections led pro-Mandate and anti-Mandate
Lebanese to close ranks under the banner of an independent Lebanon. This
year also included the completion and ratification of the French-Lebanese
Treaty (November 13), a protocol of agreement for the French-Syrian Treaty
(September 9), the creation of the Phalanges Libanaises by Maronite Pierre
Gemayel, the establishment of the Syrian Popular Party by Antun Saadeh (an
ardent Syrian nationalist from a Christian Lebanese family who lived for
many years in Argentina and Brazil), and the claim over Antakya by Turkey.
The Syrian Congress enthusiastically ratified the French-Syrian treaty on
December 27, but the French parliament refused, creating another political
impasse.45
These events galvanized immigrants from Lebanon in Argentina behind
the push for independence while at the same time proved decisive in hardening
the final political split between Syrian and Lebanese émigrés regarding the
destiny of the old country. In August 1936 Maronite priest Miguel Latuf Inderi
invited Lebanese of all faiths to an event at the Colegio San Marón, in the
Retiro neighborhood in downtown Buenos Aires. He wanted to unite all
behind the idea of protecting the independence and integrity of Greater Lebanon. On August 28 a Lebanese delegation, led by Domingo Kairuz (president
of the Unión Libanesa), Nami Fares, and the Maronite superior in Buenos
Aires, presented a letter to the French ambassador requesting that the mandatory powers ensure the territorial integrity of Lebanon and support the efforts
of Lebanese President Eddé and the Maronite patriarch. These activities
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inspired the creation of the Asociación Patriótica Libanesa (Lebanese Patriotic
Association) on October 18, 1936, with its headquarters at the Colegio San
Marón. Rachid Rustom (a delegate of the association, editor of the newspaper
La Union Libanesa, and a longtime anti-Mandate nationalist) arrived in
Tucumán to encourage the Lebanese there to establish a local office. Indeed,
principal figures of the Syrian-Lebanese community residing in Tucumán
established a branch on August 22, 1937. The organization’s leadership included
prominent merchants such as Guetas Chebaia, Miguel Yapur, and Fortunato
Saad, as well as Nagib Baaclini and Pedro N. Estofán. Yapur, Baaclini, and
Estofán were also founding members of the Syrian-Lebanese Society, and all
had served on the board of directors.46 This new institution, distinctly political
in orientation, promoted and served a particular population. As a result, the
society’s initial project divided the province into four zones and set out to conduct a census of their compatriots and their children (Padrón General de Asociados). After this information was collected and organized, the association
agreed to launch an aggressive information campaign to build membership.47
This debate over national identity, however, never fully was settled. Indeed,
Lebanese journalists in Buenos Aires revisited the topic in May 1943. Not surprisingly, editors Rafael Lahoud and Antonio Saab argued that Lebanon was
distinct from Syria and thus people “could not talk of themselves as SyrianLebanese.” For the editors, Lebanese had been Lebanese for thousands of years,
dating to the Phoenicians.48 Still, the moniker Syrian-Lebanese persisted. The
participation of leading immigrants such as Chebaia, Yapur, Baaclini, and
Estofán in the Lebanese Patriotic Association, however, came at the expense of
the Syrian-Lebanese Society, from which these men dissociated themselves. At
this point, ideas in Tucumán regarding Syrian and Lebanese nationalist identities matured, the product of local considerations intersecting with the course
of European colonialism.
Community and Local Politics and the Syrian-Lebanese Society
A central question emerged over who or what institution represented the
Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán. The massive cane farmer strike and
march on the provincial capital on June 2, 1927, became the first test. The
conflict had reached a tipping point in the spring of 1927 as cane farmers,
recently organized by the Argentine Agrarian Federation (FAA), demanded
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
that industrialists buy cane at a set price based on weight. Work stoppages
began in the southwestern section of the province and rapidly spread
throughout the sugar belt as the zafra (harvest) approached. As rural unrest
and violence increased, the FAA successfully constructed a multiclass coalition of support consisting of most independent farmers, rural workers, urban
laborers, and small merchants, many of whom donated money to the FAA’s
initiative.49
In the days leading up to the June 2 general strike in San Miguel de
Tucumán, the Centro de Mayoristas (Wholesalers’ Center), the Yrigoyenist
wing of the Radical Party, and the Communist Party had all pledged moral
and material support to the cañeros. On May 28 Nagib Baaclini authored an
editorial in his newspaper supporting the aims and goals of the cane farmers
and claiming to speak on behalf of the Arabic-speaking communities. On
the day of the strike, Selim Saad, president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society,
penned a letter published in the Tucumán daily La Gaceta publicly refuting
his fellow founding member Baaclini’s assertion that the colony was in solidarity with the cane farmers and the FAA. Saad argued that the society,
being “eminently commercial,” was using its corresponding right to defend
the interests of its membership. The organization viewed that its obligation
was to publicly announce it did not endorse Baaclini’s opinion, proclaiming
instead its support for the general welfare and desire for a prompt solution to
the conflict for the benefit of all interested parties.50
Two interrelated issues provoked Saad’s response, namely business concerns and the issue of community leadership. First, business suffered due
to intensifying unrest and violence in the small towns, and Syrian-Lebanese
merchants were tepid to calls for general strikes. Furthermore, the FAA
called for the creation of consumer cooperatives in the cities and towns
throughout the province. Many of the society’s membership possessed
shops in the company towns and urban areas that developed in the sugar
belt. These merchants feared that these cooperatives would undercut their
business.51 In addition, some of the larger merchants, including Selim Saad,
owned firms that directly supplied the sugar factories. In a purely pragmatic business decision, the society’s leadership decided to withhold support for the cañeros. Second, the El Eco de Oriente editorial posed an
important question regarding who spoke for the community. Baaclini, very
popular both within and without the colony, had long served as an
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important defender of the community through his newspaper. The founding members of the Syrian-Lebanese Society had originally created an
entity advocating a politics of cultural unity; however, the society quickly
became a promoter of the commercial sector of the immigrant community.
Hence the Syrian-Lebanese Society moved to secure its primacy within the
Arabic-speaking colony in Tucumán during a moment of intense political
and social unrest.
While the Syrian-Lebanese Society consolidated its position as representative of the colony, it also moved to create and strengthen institutional ties
with the local political elite. For instance, the board of directors considered
producing a homenaje (tribute) for provincial governor José B. Sortheix.
Board member Jorge Schehdan, who spoke on behalf of the committee
charged with organizing the tribute, suggested that the board postpone the
event for another time because of a lack of justification, as well as because of
the unstable political situation affecting Tucumán in 1929. The board of
directors accepted the advice and tabled the proposed project.52
Despite the economic difficulties afflicting the province as the global
depression settled in Argentina, the directors of the Syrian-Lebanese Society
initiated an ambitious plan to construct a large social hall to host meetings,
theatrical and musical events, and parties for various celebrations. The society hosted a large festival in November 1930 marking the fifth anniversary of
the association’s founding, during which attendees witnessed the laying of
the cornerstone for the new social hall and promised donations for the project. The board of directors considered the event a success. Various citizens
and organizations donated materials and money toward the project, including one hundred pesos from the ‘Alawite Association of Mutual Aid, three
thousand bricks from the Syrian Union of Tafi Viejo, twenty thousand bricks
from Said Madkur, and ten thousand bricks from local Radical politician
and jurist Dr. Manuel Andreozzi. The festival also produced 900 pesos in
profits, from which the board of directors donated 500 pesos to local hospitals. In conjunction with the November celebration, the board of directors
made arrangements to contract a loan of 20,000 pesos from the SyrianLebanese Bank in Buenos Aires to cover the remaining construction costs.
As the board of directors received confirmation of the loan approval from
the bank, the organization’s secretary, Anis Schamún, reminded President
Said Madkur that by statute the board needed to call an “Extraordinary
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
General Assembly” to discuss the loan. The board settled on January 11, 1931,
for the assembly.53
The first two meetings failed to reach a quorum, and during the opening
acts of the third attempt, prominent merchant Chaker Farah Apás put forward a motion to suspend the meeting for three days due to the torrential
rains afflicting the province that prevented the presence of many members
to discuss “issues of vital importance.”54 The crowd approved the motion and
the general assembly was postponed until January 28. At this subsequent
meeting, only forty-seven voters were present to discuss the loan sought by
the board of directors. Board member Miguel A. Guenam, a Muslim and
merchant, reminded attendees that the leadership had organized festivals
and collections to raise money for the building project, which created the
welcomed by-product of close cooperation with the Syrian-Lebanese Athletic
Club. Following the November festival, the board arranged an “enthusiastic
and patriotic” cash drive that raised 10,000 additional pesos. Yet the loan
would definitively cover the expenses to finish the job. Jorge Schehdan spoke
next, outlining the loan requirements and the warranty guarantee signed by
the board members. A long discussion ensued, and the assembly ultimately
voted its approval for the contraction of this loan by the society’s leadership.
Member and merchant Elías Dip spoke from the floor, congratulating the
assembly on supporting the project that represented “a gigantic step in the
life of the institution.” He then declared that despite not being a board member, he gladly would sign the loan’s promissory note, using his personal and
business wealth alike as collateral. This act produced great applause from his
peers for his “patriotic attitude.” President Said Madkur then suggested to
the attendees that the board of directors did not have to call this meeting to
discuss the loan. He next lamented the falling membership that revealed
“little enthusiasm on the part of those for collaborating in the progress of the
society.” Madkur concluded by asking for more “dedication and patriotism”
for the coming difficult tasks that will “crown with success” the well-being
of the organization.55
The question of the loan, however, was more controversial than the board
of directors let on. During the vote, founding member and current board
member Elías Fiad abstained. Fiad then turned to friend Antonio Bichara,
editor of the bilingual newspaper al-Hurriyya/La Libertad (Liberty) for some
help. Fiad argued in an Arabic-language opinion piece that the approved
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proposal by the board to contract a loan of 20,000 pesos to renovate the
social hall should be nullified because the meeting did not have a quorum.56
This criticism, however, was not the only front on which lines were drawn.
In a blistering attack, Bichara and Fiad accused the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s directors of operating a dictatorship that benefited the wholesalers
(mayoristas) who comprised the leadership, at the expense of the small-scale
merchants—the association’s rank and file.57 The editor declared that the
association was not a mutual aid society, but rather an “amorphous conglomerate” of large-scale merchants designed to position themselves as representatives of the colony. In the first two years of the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s
existence, it had nearly six hundred members, but subsequently declined to
fewer than two hundred by 1931—and this in a province where supposedly
twenty thousand Syrian-Lebanese resided. According to Bichara, middlingand lower-class elements of the Syrian-Lebanese colony had little incentive
to join the organization because the board of directors had created a stock
system so that members could buy shares of the association and hold the
status of proprietary member (socio proprietario). Moreover, stockholders
possessed as many votes as shares owned and a statutory right to sit on the
board of directors.58
The protest swelled and a group of members drafted a letter to the provincial attorney general asking for his intervention.59 The protests worked, as
more than a year later members of the colony still demanded the refurbishment of the social hall and the society’s leadership continued to organize
fund-raisers, including a trip to Buenos Aires that raised 10,000 pesos in July
1933.60 Antonio Bichara proposed three critical reforms to democratize and
advance the role of the Syrian-Lebanese Society: transform it into a benevolent aid society, reform the statutes to eliminate the proprietary member
category, and remove the sitting board of directors.61
While the Syrian-Lebanese colony continued to be an economic force
during the 1930s in the face of increasing internal fragmentation, several
intellectuals within the community began to advocate for the colony’s formal participation in local politics. Heretofore, neither an Arabic-speaking
immigrant nor their children had achieved a position of elected office in
Tucumán. This is not to say that members of the colony did not have contact
with powerful members of the political elite. Instead, it seems that members
of the colony had not penetrated the political party apparatus. This situation
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
lay in stark contrast to successful examples of Arabic-speaking politicians
in the neighboring provinces of Salta, Jujuy, and Santiago del Estero. For
example, Rosendo Allub, an Orthodox Christian, served in the provincial
legislature of Santiago del Estero in the 1920s and 1930s and was a dirigente
(political boss) of the local Radical Party. By 1933 Faiek Yapur, also a Greek
Orthodox Christian, was a city councilor in the provincial capital of San
Salvador de Jujuy, and Nacif Duna had already served at least one term as
city councilor in Salta.62 In the waning months of the Radical government
in 1930, calls for formal political participation in Tucumán began.
In the winter of 1930 al-Huriyya editors Antonio Bichara and Pedro N.
Estofán initiated a campaign that advocated that the Syrian-Lebanese colony
become an active, engaged, and unified political grouping. Bichara and
Estofán were longtime friends who had served as officers in the then dormant United Youth Society. In the early 1920s Bichara was the association’s
newspaper editor and Estofán served as the group’s president and a regular
contributor to the periodical. By this time much of their focus had shifted
from the politics of the homeland to concerns in Tucumán. On the eve of the
military coup, these men called for the unification of the provincial Radical
Party and encouraged it to tap the naturalized Arabic-speaking immigrants.
Bichara and Estofán argued that the Syrian-Lebanese colony was a disorganized political bloc because the local political bosses had paid little attention
to it. The editors confronted the rumor that the bloc was not able to vote and
declared it “rare to find a compatriot of ours who does not have his citizenship card.” Furthermore, a phalanx of Arabic-speaking immigrants participated in the March 2, 1930, congressional elections, most of whom supported
the Yrigoyenista branch of the Radical Party and “perhaps pushed the election in favor of the triumphant party.” The editors concluded that the colony,
in order to be heard on their own terms, needed to actively contact and
engage these political bosses.63
On August 5, 1930, Bichara and Estofán issued a call to arms in support of
the Radical Party, which was under siege by a unified opposition at the
national and provincial level. The editors noted that the goal of overthrowing
President Hipólito Yrigoyen formed the sole commonality of the political
parties that made up the opposition. Bichara and Estofán declared that now
was the time for the Syrian-Lebanese colony to support Radicalism. They
pointed out that the social situation of the Arabic-speaking immigrant group
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had improved during the period of Radical rule, which began nationally in
1916 and in Tucumán in 1917. Furthermore, the intellectuals, who emerged in
the colony and contributed to its cultural and political prestige, were a product of a democratic spirit and the Radical platform.64 A more detailed and
direct article concerning the position of the Syrian-Lebanese colony in the
world of Tucumán politics appeared in the Arabic section. Although large in
numbers and material wealth, the colony had been ineffective in the realm
of politics because it was neither prepared nor organized. Thus the burden
was to become more directly involved in the “battlefields of elections”
(ma‘ārik al-intikhābāt).65 Moreover, the editors noted that on the subject of
politics, members of the colony quarreled among themselves in spite of holding a prominent place in political circles. It was time, according to the
authors, to seize these opportunities that had been held by their compatriots
in Santiago del Estero. Bichara and Estofán concluded that the colony had a
“sacred obligation” (al-wājeb al-muqaddas) to participate in the political destiny of their adopted homeland.66
These demands for political participation faded in the aftermath of
Hipólito Yrigoyen’s overthrow on September 6, 1930, the subsequent deposing of Governor José Sortheix the following day, and the ensuing political
uncertainty. As the political situation in Tucumán stabilized with the ascension to the governorship of Juan Luis Nougués in February 1932, public intellectuals from the Syrian-Lebanese colony began to renew the call for formal
political participation. For instance, José Rechmani, a former officer of the
United Youth Society and publisher of the periodical al-Mahyar, revived the
appeal for political participation in late winter 1932. He noted that the colony
prided itself in representing nearly 40 percent of the province’s commercial
activities and that it was evident the community could not and should not
remain indifferent to the current political environment. Furthermore, Rechmani demanded that the local political parties include Syrian-Lebanese in
the highest levels of the government.67 Rechmani, who was recognized as a
leading intellectual by his Syrian-Lebanese compatriots, returned to this
theme in mid-winter the following year, which sparked a larger discussion
among colony elites. Noting that Syrian and Lebanese merchants collectively
possessed 50 million pesos of working capital and represented a whopping
70 percent of the province’s general commerce, Rechmani suggested that the
colony’s wholesalers were “real examples of hard work” and that the Syrian
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
and Lebanese dry goods stores in the countryside, where the government had
little influence, served as beacons of “progress.” Despite all of this success,
the colony had yet to send a member to the provincial legislature.68 For Rechmani, it was a “necessity” for a “political union” of Syrians and Lebanese, and
it should have become a fact by this point in time.69
José Rechmani’s appeal to his compatriots provoked a range of responses.
Leading figures within the colony who lived in the provincial capital were
split. Jorge Schehdan, who had served in the Nougués administration, and
Selim Saad, first president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society, agreed with
Rechmani’s call. Said Madkur, the current president of the Syrian-Lebanese
Society and a board member of the provincial wholesalers’ syndicate, was
noncommittal, and Julian Dimani, president of the Pan-Islamic Association, did not respond to Rechmani’s suggested program.70 A Lebanese merchant responded with a letter detailing his life course and his contribution
to the progress of Argentina. The contributor, who had received his naturalization papers and citizenship card, said he had six sons, the eldest currently
completing his military service and the others currently in primary and
secondary schools. His two daughters were close to completing their studies
at the teachers’ college (Escuela Normal). All would serve the country. Most
important, the writer declared that he never sent his money back to Lebanon. Instead, he kept his earnings in Argentine banks or reinvested it in his
business. He surmised, along with several of his peers, that he and his compatriots had earned the right and responsibility to intervene in the political
realm.71
Few results came from Rechmani’s first initiatives. He again called for
political activism in the autumn of 1934 as the province approached general
elections. He did not advocate the formation of a separate political party;
however, Rechmani implored his compatriots to close ranks and form a
“nucleus of opinion capable of contributing with methodical effort and
enthusiasm” to the Radical Party, for which he had long been an activist.72
By contributing to the electoral success, the colony would create a public
persona that could advocate for its defined interests under any circumstance.
Further, it would force political bosses to include Syrian-Lebanese on the
lists of candidates in future polls. Rechmani finished this call to action by
asserting how this activism was linked to the colony’s well-being through
taxation. By becoming a political force, Syrian-Lebanese could influence tax
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policy by informing politicians how it played out for businesses.73 But for all
the hand-wringing by the politically active and concerned, little changed in
this election cycle.
The editors at El Eco de Oriente continued the lament of lacking proper
political representation in the buildup to the 1937 provincial elections. For
these men, Syrians and Lebanese had integrated fully into the host society,
receiving the affection of Argentines and acquiring their virtues, their customs, and their defects. Argentina had “completely absorbed” this colony, a
colony that had come to view itself “as Argentine” as much as if not more
than others. They claimed that fewer than 1 percent of Syrian-Lebanese
returned to their country of birth and that all of the material wealth earned
remained in this country. The board also critiqued local political bosses who
never rewarded the hospitality and help given by politically active SyrianLebanese immigrants and their children. The editors then posed a rhetorical
question without providing a definitive answer: “Do we or do we not have the
right to consider ourselves Argentines who contribute to this form of progress in the country?” 74 For many Syrian-Lebanese and their children, the
answer was a resounding yes.
The March 1937 provincial elections affirmed the calls to action, popular
belief, and political activism of Syrian-Lebanese residing in Tucumán. Wadi
Dip became the first Syrian-Lebanese person elected to the provincial legislature, winning a seat as a Radical.75 He had arrived prior to World War I and at
a minimum had family members in the hamlet of Monteros as early as 1910.
Dip set up a business, named Wadi Dip and Company, in partnership with an
Argentine named Santiago Ribet in May 1924. The venture allowed the men to
act as wholesale merchants, operate the Dip family bakery, and work as commission and consignment agents. Although the merchant contract showed that
Wadi Dip (20,000 pesos) invested more capital than Ribet (12,500 pesos), the
partners were to split the profits and losses evenly and receive the same
monthly salary for personal expenses. Dip’s commercial success helped him
gain prominence in the provincial Syrian-Lebanese colony, and as a result he
was a founding member of the Syrian-Lebanese Society.76
In the period before his election to the provincial legislature, Dip was the
president of the Radical Party’s Monteros Departmental Committee and a
member of various provincial Radical organizations. Shortly after he was
elected in 1937, Dip had expanded his business into the neighboring district
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
of Leales, dropped Ribet from the company, and added Federico Guillermo
Sortheix (a relative of former governor José G. Sortheix) as a silent investor.77
This economic success likely facilitated his entry into the local party politics
of Monteros, and in subsequent years he emerged as a political boss, which
led to his election as mayor of Monteros and, subsequently, his seat in the
provincial congress. While this was an important moment in the history of
Tucumán’s Syrian-Lebanese colony, it bears mentioning that these immigrants and their children were well integrated into local politics, such as Dip
had been before his election to the legislature. For instance, David Nahas and
Fortunato Ale won election to Aguilares’ municipal council in 1936; the former as a representative of the Partido Democrático Nacional (PDN) and the
latter for the Radical Concurrencistas—a Tucumán branch of an internally
divided national Radical Party.78 Yet, despite all the calls throughout the
earlier portion of the decade and ultimately the election of Dip, the most successful intervention into local politics prior to Dip’s success happened in the
context of the global depression and was organized and led by elite women
of the Syrian-Lebanese colony.
Youth Activism and Apathy
The perception of the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s stagnation and decline frustrated many activists, in particular the editors at El Eco de Oriente. It was in
this context that an anonymous member of the colony wrote a call to arms
for Lebanese youth in Tucumán, which Baaclini’s newspaper published in
the autumn of 1935. The author noted that several young Lebanese, mostly
children of immigrants, were proposing to establish an organization named
the Centro Social Libanés-Argentino (Lebanese-Argentine Social Center).
The letter writer then asked why the delay, asserting that such an institution
should serve as a model for the Lebanese colonies throughout Argentina.
Furthermore, the author declared his disappointment in the collapse of the
Centro Cultural Juventud Sirio-Libanés (Syrian-Lebanese Youth Cultural
Center), encouraging the founders of the proposed association to avoid the
egoism of the few who had sowed discord in the previous group. Joanya’s
open letter received many positive responses while others believed such as
institution might cause conflict between Syrians and Lebanese. Joanya
responded, saying the latter line of thought was erroneous. The organization
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the author envisioned would build upon Syrian and Lebanese labor and
stand open to all.79
With great fanfare, the Lebanese-Argentina Social Center came to fruition in May 1935, the result of a “nucleus” of young Lebanese and Argentines
of Lebanese heritage. At the founding meeting, eighty people “filled with
enthusiasm and patriotism” elected officers to lead the new association. In
late May the board of directors held its first meeting and decided to create a
commission charged with drafting the guiding principles and statutes, organize a party, and lay out the basic guidelines for membership, namely that
one had to be Lebanese or of Lebanese parentage. The energy was palpable
and widespread. El Eco de Oriente devoted an entire page to the activities of
the organization. Moises Azize, the president of the Syrian-Lebanese Bank
in Buenos Aires, sent a letter of congratulation. The new group, which would
change its name in short order to the Club Libanés (Lebanese Club), started
to organize a dance party, renting out the Winter Ballroom at the Savoy
Hotel and securing a jazz band that would be led by a young Amado Melin.80
Yet despite this early energy and celebration marking the organization’s
first anniversary, the Lebanese Club too suffered, evidently from internal
rivalries and growing apathy. Some members of the organization not serving
on the board of directors complained to the editors at El Eco de Oriente. In a
subsequent editorial, the newsmen noted the recent inactivity and silence of
the Lebanese Club’s leadership. The editorial board also expressed its concern regarding the growing number of similar complaints coming in and
hoped these criticisms were unfounded. The editors called upon the club’s
leadership for more activism and enthusiasm and vowed to follow up on the
complaints. Little seemed to change, and as a result the editors of El Eco de
Oriente published a commentary criticizing the “negative action” of the older
generation and the proclivity of the younger one to sit around gaming tables.
For the editors, the salvation and forward march of the colony’s cultural
progress rested firmly on the shoulders of the younger generation. This plea
from a prominent Syrian-Lebanese institution provoked discussion within
the colony at large. One person, in a letter to the editors, hoped the Lebanese
Club would re-energize itself and, as it had in the past, work for the benefit
of all. The letter writer noted that some internal animosity frustrated these
efforts; however, he urged the leadership to dispense with these behaviors
and serve the greater good. A guest editorial, published under the name of
The Syrian-Lebanese Elite
Jomiseya, lambasted the Lebanese Club leadership. The author argued that
this group of youths lacked sincerity and described its victories as pyrrhic.
Jomiseya urged the leadership to realize that honesty trumped vanity. In a
particularly biting passage, the author declared that the Lebanese Club
“surged as an expression of youthful anxieties, impregnated with a spirit of
solidarity, that now may transform itself into cynical whims, perfumed in
hypocrisy.” 81
Immigrant institutions, as well as other large organizations with a diverse
membership, had to find a balance to minimize discord and causes that
would galvanize the rank and file. In the case of the Syrian-Lebanese Society,
its strict policy of not engaging political issues, be it in Tucumán or in the old
country, defined and frustrated its peer institutions. Yet the issue of socioeconomic class remained paramount. Most, if not all, of the youth leaders of
the Lebanese Club and the Syrian-Lebanese Youth Cultural Center came
from the colony’s wealthier merchant families. As such, these institutions,
bourgeois by nature, likely did not appeal to the poorer sections of the colony
nor could the youth from working-class families likely attend the sumptuous
parties and dances because of ticket prices. At the same time, the case of the
younger generation differed from that of their parents, namely in the life
choices to be pursued. Matriculating through the school system, most children of immigrants viewed themselves as Argentines first. As a result, many
pursued activities and joined associations that were not directly related to
their immigrant past, such as trade syndicates, athletic clubs, and cultural
associations. For others, the necessity of earning a living likely outweighed
any incentive, desire, or ability to join.
Conclusion
The prosperity of Arabic-speaking merchants and their control of the SyrianLebanese Society confirmed their place as leaders of the colony in the eyes of
Tucumán society. Yet this position was not without internal strife and rivalries or financial ruin for certain immigrants. Again, the most visible example
of internal discord was the colony’s inability to erect a statue commemorating the independence centennial despite having raised the necessary funds.
At the same time, the politics of the old country proved divisive for the most
politically committed and led to the creation of nationalist organizations,
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cementing the internal fragmentation of the colony. Early attempts to fashion an Arab cultural politics established a discourse that linked Syrians and
Lebanese directly with Argentina, crafting complementary identities and an
understanding that these immigrants contributed directly to and benefited
from the generosity of the host society. While this discourse suggested a
measure of internal cohesion and solidarity, reality showed something
entirely different. Despite having control over the flagship Syrian-Lebanese
Society, consensus to secure a loan in order to build a social hall on the association’s property was elusive and prompted an investigation by the provincial authorities.
At the same time, there were growing demands for more political participation and greater appreciation by local political bosses for the contributions
the Syrian-Lebanese colony had given to the province and nation. These activists also called for their compatriots to close ranks in order to forge a voting
bloc that would compel political operatives to take seriously the needs and
desires of Syrians and Lebanese. While these efforts met no success until 1937,
the endeavor demonstrated a growing confidence on the part of activists who
understood that the merchant class’s economic strength could not be overlooked. In fact, the commercial strength of the colony lay in the countryside,
and it was here that Syrians and Lebanese began entering into political office,
ultimately achieving their goal with Wadi Dip’s election to the provincial legislature in 1937.
The younger generation that was coming of age became an object of concern for those who were concerned with the perpetuation of a Syrian-Lebanese
community. Despite several attempts to kick-start youth organizations and
persistent encouragement from the Arabic press, the children of Syrian and
Lebanese immigrants pursued different interests. As such, the idea of a SyrianLebanese colony became more than an intellectual exercise, but for many of
the older generation an existential concern.
Chapter 6
“A Patriotic Work”
Women, Education, and the Politics of Charity, 1920–1940
Argentina presented a variety of opportunities and obstacles for the
Syrian-Lebanese colonies’ females, many of which resulted from class considerations or cultural constraints. Certainly families played a key role in
determining whether or not girls continued their education beyond the
state requirement of obligatory schooling from six to fourteen years of age.1
Socioeconomic class also influenced life courses, as did the nature of the
relationship between spouses. Some families married their daughters off to
significantly older men. Many women suffered abusive spouses and either
sought police intervention or family mediation. Others were targeted by
malcontents outside of the immigrant group.2 For children and spouses of
wealthier immigrants, however, greater opportunities presented themselves and some women availed themselves of these chances.
In the era before World War I Arabic-speaking intellectual elite men in
North America argued that Syrian women working outside the home, which
accounted for the majority of immigrant women, sullied the honor of the
community. While it is unclear if Syrian intellectuals in Argentina carried
similar sentiments, they asserted that none of the colony’s women participated in Buenos Aires’s vibrant sex trade.3 Yet over time intellectuals and
wealthier members of the Syrian-Lebanese collectivities increasingly saw the
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value of investing in their daughters’ education, and girls too demanded to
be educated.
Elite women also seized the opportunities to tie themselves to the broader
community within which they lived. The Syrian-Lebanese Society’s emphasis on a shared cultural identity and not on social aid to its poorer segments
gave the colony’s elite women the opportunity to perform charity, which
brought acclaim to particular activists, connected them with provincial
elites, and shaped the image of a generous and patriotic immigrant colony
loyal to Argentina. In fact, the efforts of Syrian-Lebanese women during the
global depression served as the most consequential political intervention by
the colony at that time.
Educating Girls, Empowering Women, Creating a Nation
Many sectors of the Syrian-Lebanese colonies throughout the Americas
discussed women’s roles. Indeed, the Arabic-language press in the diaspora
was filled with news articles, essays, and opinions about the responsibilities
of immigrants in the new society—within the colony itself and between
each other. The place of women and family became an important focus. On
the eve of World War I, the Arabic press in the Americas explored the issue
of women emigrants, revealing a diversity of opinions ranging from viewing migration as inappropriate to arguing that it strengthened families in
the diaspora.4 Of course, there was great diversity in ideas of the appropriate place for women as well as their relationships with men, understandings
that evolved over time. For instance, Afifa Karam, a Syrian immigrant
woman based in the United States and writing in the first decade of the
twentieth century, created four archetypes of women: good, working, ignorant, and deceitful. Ignorant women were the “disease of civilization and
the curse of modernization,” while deceitful ladies acted as if they were
“good”; however, they were the “snake that poisons the honey of life.”
Working women did not necessarily live a life without morals, yet a milieu
full of “dangers” surrounded them that could compromise their honor. The
good woman, for Afifa Karam, was “one who attends to her duties and
helps her mother, and who later as a bride makes her husband happy and
makes her house a paradise.”5 At the same time, Karam criticized Syrian
men who relied on nostalgic forms of family and social life. Her
“A Patriotic Work”
commentary fit into a global phenomenon as the “modern woman”
emerged in a variety of discrete locations, from Cairo to Istanbul, Paris to
New York, Mexico City to Buenos Aires. Like many commentators the
world over, concerns regarding interpersonal relations between men and
women were platforms to address larger issues linked to societal transformations and social policy.6 Karam’s ideas were influential in many colonies
throughout the Americas, helping forge a recognizable set of behavioral
norms for the raising of children and the expectations of girls and future
wives and mothers.
Amelia Hobeika de Baaclini concentrated on women’s roles and obligations in the family. In an Arabic opinion piece published in her husband
Nagib’s periodical El Eco de Oriente, Hobeika de Baaclini declared that God
entrusted family upbringing to women. In strongly religious rhetoric, she
defined the model wife and mother as calmly rational, gentle in manners,
peaceful in thought, and learned. Moreover, the mother’s desire focused
upon her family, carrying out her predestined path and increasing familial
bliss in her kingdom. If the mother failed to do so, she was on a par with the
devil. For the author, the mother’s important responsibility was raising her
child and providing cultural development, instilling a sense of honor and
patriotism. In spite of these motherly duties, Hobeika de Baaclini argued that
women needed to leave the house. The house was her kingdom, not her
prison. Yet women, the family’s foundational rock, should not leave until
they had completed all their responsibilities in the home.7
Amelia Hobeika de Baaclini’s ideas seemingly differed from Afifa
Karam’s. As Akram Khater notes, Syrian men and Afifa Karam suggested
that women could bring shame to the Syrian communities by working outside the home. The reality in Argentina was such that a significant number
of Arabic-speaking women worked outside the home. Hobeika de Baaclini
did not necessarily advocate women’s employment outside of the house;
rather, she seemed indifferent. Nevertheless, she defined a woman who works
at home, tending to the family chores, as the ideal type. Hobeika de Baaclini
encouraged a social life outside the home for women; however, she emphasized that the sacred duties of motherhood and wifehood came first.
Syrian-Lebanese intellectuals and poets such as Jurj Assaf seemingly
embraced the increasing appearance of women in the public sphere and its
impact on interpersonal relations. This embrace for Assaf was a marker of
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modernity itself. In an Arabic poem entitled “Woman,” Assaf composed the
following:
We want you in the middle of our social gatherings among us / we abhor
you standing scared behind the curtains
Is it not time that our eyes receive the light / and our eyelids cast off the
darkness?
The age of darkness has passed with its ignorance / and we are now in an
age of golden sunlight
•
Prejudices abandon every heart / as burdens depart every shoulder
We have wronged you by what we did and [yet] we claimed / pride, yet
injustice is never a characteristic of the lofty-minded
Is it not time for a cultured husband to meet you / with a smiling face
and not a scowl?8
Assaf, a Maronite Catholic, criticized past practices by his compatriots
against women, equating these abuses to darkness. At the same time, the
opportunities awaiting women in Argentina were numerous and women
deserved an enlightened and modern husband, much as the intellectual
Assaf and his peers viewed themselves to be. Interpersonal relationships
between immigrant men and women were also critical components of the
experience abroad and marriage could help contribute a sense of finality and
permanence to the journey. It is clear that Jurj Assaf advocated the modern
woman emerging in Argentina in the beginning decades of the twentieth
century.
Calls such as Assaf’s for Syrian-Lebanese women and girls to be proactive
members of society led to increasing emphasis on education for girls for
future careers, especially as educators and later architects and physicians.
Maronite Catholic priests established the Syrian-Argentine School, the first
school for the colony’s children, in 1902, enrolling 102 students, all of whom
were children of immigrants from Mount Lebanon. Arabic served as the
language of instruction. The institution also supported youth from different
provinces and thus became a boarding school as well. Since clergymen ran
the school, the grounds also had a chapel where they celebrated Mass twice
daily in Arabic and the Consecration in Aramaic. Directors renamed the
“A Patriotic Work”
academy Colegio San Marón (Saint Maron School) to reinforce its connection with the Maronite Catholic Church. This institution remained the lone
school run by Syrians recognized by the Argentine government until at least
the 1920s.
The 1930s witnessed an impressive push to establish schools for the
Syrian-Lebanese colonies in Argentina, especially for Muslims. Interestingly, the registries of the Arab schools in Buenos Aires and the Northwest
show that 60 percent of the students were Muslims between 1930 and 1945,
and their presence was important in non-Muslim Arab schools too.9 The
‘Alawite community in Buenos Aires established a school in 1931 that operated for more than half a century. Ahmed Abboud, a Shi‘i Muslim, established the important Islamic Social School that taught Islamic precepts and
the Arabic language, and featured a nationalist orientation to the curriculum of the school, advertising “love of the country.” Graduates from
Abboud’s school also received certificates of completion from the League
of Arab States after 1945.10
In Tucumán, Asis Nadra, a wealthy merchant and Orthodox Christian,
established an Arabic-language school in 1922, and the United Youth opened
their school the year before. The Society of Antiochian Greek Orthodox
Women announced its goal to construct a school for all children of the collectivity regardless of “race or religion” in addition to its charitable functions.11 The Sephardic community opened a school (Talmud Torah) for the
colony’s children; however, it did not function for several years due to a lack
of students and lack of resources to hire a full-time teacher.12 In the early
1930s the Muslim community also established a school for its children and
likely based it on the examples in Buenos Aires, which were led by Saifuddin
Rahhal, an Egyptian and graduate of the premier Islamic institution of
higher education, al-Azhar University in Cairo.
Rahhal studied under the curriculum formulated by reformist intellectual
and mufti (premier interpreter of religious law) of Egypt Muhammad Abduh.
Al-Azhar’s curriculum, inspired by Jamal al-Din al-Afghani and developed
by his pupil Abduh,13 made an impression on Rahhal as he implemented an
“Islamic liberal arts” for his pupils. The curriculum called for teaching the
modern sciences alongside religious doctrine. For Abduh, and subsequently
Rahhal, one could not supplant the other, but both were required to achieve
spiritual and intellectual progress.14 Rahhal’s program was operating by
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1926, teaching boys and girls the precepts of Islam, the Arabic language, and
classical poetry. Rahhal and the parents who sent their children to the school
viewed education as an opportunity to inculcate important cultural values
and protect religious identity. A Spanish-language article in the 1927 special
edition (‘adad mumtāz) of al-Fitra, the periodical edited by Rahhal, laid out
the paper’s vision on the role of education: to educate the colony’s children
in a moral and intellectual manner. In fact, in adjudging the appropriate
texts to educate children of the community, the article cites an important
work by the fourteenth-century Arab scholar Ibn Khaldun, a text Muhammad Abduh assigned when he taught at the Dār al-‘Ulūm, an Egyptian state
school designed to modernize religious instruction. Hence, for Rahhal, Islam
was indispensable to this mission, and he was not alone in this regard. The
Islamic Union Association in Berisso, Buenos Aires province, which was
established in 1917, ran a coeducational school teaching its pupils the Arabic
language and the principles of Islam.15
The efforts of Muslims in Buenos Aires resonated among elite Muslims in
Tucumán, especially male teachers, and were expressed in community functions. In mid-April 1935 Muslims congregated at the Pan-Islamic Association
to celebrate Eid al-Adha. In addition to commemorating this religious feast
day, the attendees witnessed the fruit of the school established to serve Muslim children. The event began with students of the school reciting speeches
in fusha (what is referred to as Modern Standard Arabic). Then Warda Guenam, daughter of the merchant Muhammad Guenam, stood before the
crowd and implored the attending fathers to fulfill their duties to educate
their daughters. She then recited several poems of the late Egyptian poet
Hafez Ibrahim, including his famous 1910 poem “The Girls’ School in Port
Said,” which begins “The mother is a school; if you prepare her, you prepare
a nation with a strong foundation.”16
Her performance was followed by speeches from Mahmoud Mustafa and
Abdulhadi El Jatib, both teachers at the school. Two members of the Muslim
community then followed them, and Said Madkur, a Maronite, concluded
the presentations. In addition to likely being friends with many of the men
in attendance, Madkur’s prestige—originating from his position as a wealthy
merchant, a board member of the local wholesalers’ association, and past
president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society—certainly played a role in his invitation. Whatever the case, association president and prominent merchant
“A Patriotic Work”
Julian Dimani rose before the crowd and initiated a fund-raising drive on
behalf of the school, offering a one-hundred-pesos donation. In rapid succession, crowd members gave cash, raising a total of 1,130 pesos at the event from
thirty-three different donors.17
Educating Muslim girls was important for a variety of reasons. First,
Argentine law mandated compulsory attendance for girls and boys. Public
schools could provide girls of the community with skills to pursue careers,
be it for professional vocations or capacities for domestic life. Second, girls
were continuously underrepresented in the classroom in Syria and Lebanon
during the same time period, accounting for only one-third of the student
population. This underrepresentation was severe in particular parts of Syria,
such as the coastal city Latakia, where girls made up only 8 percent of the
student body.18 The expectations and obligations in Argentina presented
Muslims—and Arabic speakers more broadly—with an opportunity to create new cultural values and social expectations for their female children.
Finally, certain observers of the Muslim community lamented how the
Argentine public education system “definitively debilitated the structures of
the patriarchal Islamic family.”19 Private institutions, such as Rahhal’s, could
attempt to control this process, although they do raise questions about what
was fundamentally different between a patriarchal immigrant Muslim family and a patriarchal Argentine Catholic family.
The Eid al-Adha celebration also signified very important characteristics about well-to-do Muslims in Argentina. First, a sense of community
was important for many of them and they went about creating the institutions that would help provide that. Second, institutions such as the PanIslamic Association were bourgeois institutions that reflected a certain
amount of material wealth and social capital. Such members as Julian
Dimani were very sensitive about their place in local society and would
have used the Pan-Islamic Association as a mechanism to increase personal and collective prestige. Third, the students used a register, namely
Arabic poetry, that their fathers and mothers would appreciate. The invocation of Hafez Ibrahim was no accident, and that these students, in particular Warda Guenam, recited poems as such before the crowd suggests that
they were attempting to teach their parents. Their instructors likely influenced the selections; however, it seems reasonable to think the students
supported the messages they were conveying. Finally, the fund-raiser
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illustrates the material commitment on part of the Muslim community to
attempt to keep their institutions running.
Gender and the Performance of Charity
It is clear that the Syrian-Lebanese Society evolved into an institution run by
and for the collectivity’s merchant elite. The directors did conduct charitable
acts on specific occasions or in response to particular requests; however, the
leadership refused to transform the institution into a mutual aid society.
Instead, the society sought ways to create public linkages to the political elite
in Tucumán, making pragmatic decisions based on the current state of
affairs. The Syrian-Lebanese Society attempted to achieve social recognition
in order to raise the status of the Arabic-speaking community in Tucumán,
but in a disorganized way and at the expense of the poorer members of the
immigrant community. After a successful campaign to increase the organization’s membership, the society’s board of directors faced a quandary over
what kind of institution it should be. According to the guiding principles
written in 1925, the organizers envisioned an association that would help
each other mutually (ayudarse mutuamente); however, former president
Selim Saad had declared publicly that the society was “an entity eminently
commercial.”20 Nevertheless, Society secretary Anis Schamún, a Maronite,
presented a project to the board of directors that would create a program
providing free medical care for members. Many of the Syrian-Lebanese associations elsewhere in Argentina were mutual aid organizations. For instance,
Anis Schamún was the younger brother of Wadi and Alejandro Schamún,
the former being the dean of Arabic-speaking journalists in Argentina and
the latter serving as the unofficial representative of the Arabic-speaking
community to the Argentine state before the arrival of the Ottoman consul
general in 1910. These gentlemen had arranged the free medical clinic in Buenos Aires for Arabic-speaking people before the start of World War I. With
this in mind, Anis Schamún argued that a critical mass of active members of
the association warranted the offering of this benefit. A spirited discussion
followed during which various members of the board offered their support
for the project. The society, however, was momentarily declared not to be in
a position to enact the proposal. Seeing that the motion was bound to fail,
Schamún withdrew his plan.21
“A Patriotic Work”
In spite of the failed proposal, the society donated sums of money to
people who petitioned for help. Wealthier Arabic-speaking immigrants had
been giving to social aid entities, such as the Sociedad de Beneficencia de
Tucumán, as early as 1920, and the society did give cash donations to institutions such as public hospitals.22 Vice President Pedro Caram made a
motion to create a public donation campaign on behalf of Ms. Henoud, a
widow and Maronite, to help pay for the medical expenses for her ill daughter. The board was very pleased with the success of its fund-raising, accruing
224 pesos.23 Razuk Sabra, a Muslim, petitioned the Syrian-Lebanese Society
for monetary help because he was ill and in desperate need.24 Board members Nallib Nadra, a Greek Orthodox, and David Nallar, a Maronite, confirmed the illness, and a long debate occurred on how best to help their sick
countryman. The board of directors ultimately settled on a motion forwarded by Anis Schamún. The proposal called for giving Razuk Sabra a
certificate in the name of the society that also contained the names of those
who donated funds. The society itself donated thirty pesos and Isa Salomon
immediately donated twenty. Upon receipt of the charity, Razuk Sabra
delivered a letter to the board of directors thanking its members for their
help on his behalf.25 In addition to providing funds for the needy, the society
also paid for the supplies for the funeral of deceased member and Christian
Adib Maxud.26 The issue of transforming the Syrian-Lebanese Society into
a mutual aid organization, however, proved to be unattractive for the directors. This refusal to implement a broad welfare program is a distinction
from the other principal immigrant groups in the province, as well as from
Arabic-speaking collectivities in other areas of Argentina. The evolution of
the colony in Tucumán and its segmented class structure likely was an
important factor influencing the association’s leadership.
The work of organized public charity primarily fell to the women of the
Syrian-Lebanese colony. Under the industrious leadership of Alcira Maluf de
Saad, the women’s committee of the Syrian-Lebanese Society organized
clothes drives and distributed materials to the two public hospitals—Padilla
and Santillán—in San Miguel de Tucumán as early as 1927.27 Alcira Maluf de
Saad, the wife of Selim Saad and a Maronite, and the women’s committee
also arranged festivals that “served to highlight the artistic value modestly
hidden within the community.”28 Judging by the society’s effusive congratulatory letter, these events proved important for bringing together members
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of the Arabic-speaking community living in Tucumán and showcasing its
more creative members.
The Society of Greek Orthodox Women, established in October 1926,
became a leading practitioner of benevolent acts on behalf of the Arabicspeaking communities in Tucumán. This association, organized at the
encouragement of Father Pedro (Butrus) Khoury, had several aims, including
raising funds to build an Orthodox church in Tucumán, to erect a mausoleum
to bury deceased members of the Orthodox faith, and to do works of charity
and help the poor.29 The Orthodox women earned recognition from the
immigrant community by 1929 for their charitable work targeting the poor
and infirm. These women also had representatives of the organization
throughout the province of Tucumán, and surely had connections with the
Orthodox communities in Santiago del Estero and Salta.30 In the early years
of the association, raised monies covered the travel expenses of Father Khoury,
who traveled throughout the province ministering to his flock living in the
small towns.31 The women’s society performed an important role within the
community for families of modest means by donating money to engagement
parties for young Orthodox couples.32 Yet the women also raised and donated
sums of money to larger national catastrophes. For instance, in June 1929 the
society donated one hundred pesos to the recovery efforts targeting families
affected by the earthquake in Mendoza.33 Thus, organized charitable activities
led by Syrian-Lebanese women were well established by the time the great
depression hit Argentina. This development proved beneficial because in the
winter of 1932, as the provincial economy languished and deprivation and
hunger deepened, Syrian-Lebanese women seized the initiative to provide for
the downtrodden that produced a number of social and political consequences in how the province dealt with poverty and need. It also influenced
how local society came to view the Syrian-Lebanese colony.
The Soup Kitchen and Syrian-Lebanese Political Intervention
On a chilly evening in July 1932, Alcira Maluf de Saad walked home from the
cinema in San Miguel de Tucumán with her husband, Selim. As they arrived
at their house on Maipu Street, just around the corner from the public high
school (Colegio Nacional), two young men of “good appearance” were waiting at her door. These men implored the Saads for a piece of bread (pedazo
“A Patriotic Work”
de pan), a request to which they complied. Afterward, Alcira could not sleep;
the image of these robust men begging for food haunted her during the evening.34 In the morning she spoke with Selim and decided that she would
establish a public soup kitchen (comedor popular) for the unemployed
ambling through the streets of the provincial capital.35 Later that morning
Alcira met with several of her friends from the Ladies’ Commission (Comisión de Damas) of the Syrian-Lebanese Society and drafted a letter to the
institution’s president, Said Madkur. In the note, the ladies expressed their
desire to open a soup kitchen the following week based upon voluntary donations, in particular contributions from the colony’s merchant class. Alcira
and her peers—including Emilia Kairuz de Chebaia (the wife of Guetas Chebaia who supplied the Lastenia sugar factory) and Rosa Canz de Chaya (also
married to a prominent Arabic-speaking wholesaler)—requested permission
to use the facilities of the Syrian-Lebanese Society. The ladies suggested the
positive impact this act would have for the institution, noting that this
“humanitarian act, sponsored by the Syrian-Lebanese women of Tucumán
. . . [will] resonate pleasantly in favor of the moral opinion of the Colony’s
House.” Madkur and the board of directors immediately approved the
request.36
With the institutional support of the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s board of
directors, the ladies arranged, publicized, opened, and operated a public
soup kitchen. Within one week, these women organized donations from
small and large commercial houses in the colony, secured the plates and
utensils from the Argentine military, and coordinated the use of the SyrianLebanese Society’s facility. The Ladies’ Commission met with the editorial
boards of the local newspapers, which published stories announcing the
opening of the service to all, without prejudice to “race, creed, or nationality.”37 The editors of the local daily El Norte Argentino seemed particularly
moved, asserting that these Syrian-Lebanese women’s “hard, endless and
thoroughly unlikely work [was] only encouraged by the endless fire of an
ideal of humanity, namely reaching out to the destitute.”38
It rained on the initial day of the soup kitchen. The inclement weather,
however, neither prevented hundreds of unemployed men from standing in
line waiting for entry to the comedor nor from dining in the open-air venue.
Upon admission, the attendees received bread and oranges, followed by a
main course of bread and soup.39 In return, the unemployed met the women
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with tearful gratitude.40 Members of the Syrian-Lebanese colony as well as
social and political elites, including the capital’s mayor and the provincial
governor, mingled with the unemployed as more than three hundred eventually ate despite initially having only one hundred meals prepared. The opening of the soup kitchen was so unusual, but at the same time perceived to be
so important, that radio stations in other provinces broadcast the event.41
While the comedor was in full swing, Alcira hosted a separate ceremony
for the dignitaries in attendance. Alcira began with an address on behalf of
the women organizers, remarking on the support the ladies received from
the colony’s merchants and the “Argentine army, the glorious Argentine
army.”42 Governor Juan Luis Nougués began his speech by saying, “as a man
and as governor, it greatly pleases me to attend an event of this nature,” and
he ultimately declared that the soup kitchen was “a magnificent demonstration of the generosity of a foreign collectivity, [that is] very intimately linked
to our lives, [and] has successfully identified with us.”43 The governor ended
his impromptu speech by promising material aid from his administration to
the comedor. Next, Mayor Luciano Yrrazábal lauded the efforts of the ladies
and described the unemployed as “these strong arms that today ask for
alms.”44 Major Eduardo M. Menchaca, responsible for donating the utensils,
plates, cups, and cookware, promised to continue his moral and material
support. After the dignitaries and leading members of the Syrian-Lebanese
colony gave their speeches, the ladies closed the event with a piano rendition
of the Argentine national anthem by Rosa Canz de Chaya’s daughter, also
named Rosa.
The comments by Nougués and Yrrazábal reveal recognition of the place
of the Syrian-Lebanese colony in the larger Tucumán social fabric and their
perception of the workers suffering from a poor economy and a weak job
market. The governor directly placed this immigrant community as an
important part of Argentina making positive contributions. The mayor
noted that the unemployed were victims of circumstance forced to seek charity, thus distinguishing them from others perceived to be drags on society.
Activists, politicians, and journalists throughout the province would echo
these sentiments.
The immediate success of the soup kitchen produced derivative effects
and set into motion a range of actors and activities surrounding the plight of
the impoverished in Tucumán, with the local press among the most
“A Patriotic Work”
consequential. For Alcira, the decision to open the soup kitchen stemmed
from the surge in unemployment and its corollary, mendicancy. In relating
the efforts of Alcira, the editorial board at La Gaceta determined that a onceweekly service was not enough to meet the demand. The editors at La Gaceta
further declared that Argentines, in the form of the Argentine Workers
Mutual Aid Society or some other popular organization, should initiate a
soup kitchen on another day of the week. The authors issued a call to other
immigrant groups to donate to the effort. To further entice others to participate in running public kitchens, the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s board of
directors announced that they would provide access to their facilities to
interested parties.45
The next day, La Gaceta’s editorial board challenged other immigrant
associations and Argentine mutual aid societies to follow Maluf de Saad’s
lead. The paper pointed out that if each organization opened a comedor once
a week, then the numerous unemployed (desocupados) of Tucumán could get
a daily meal. La Gaceta’s editors argued that these hypothetical soup kitchens would be beautiful examples “of human solidarity, practiced in the heat
of the palpitations of the National Constitution’s preamble,” that decidedly
and disinterestedly “protects all men of good will that desire to inhabit the
Argentine land.”46 Moreover, the paper praised the Argentine patriotism of
the Arabic-speaking colony. The editorial called upon the Spanish, Italian,
and German communities, the Argentine Worker’s Mutual Aid Society, and
the French Society—in light of the Syrian-Lebanese example—to “prolong
the humanitarian and patriotic work . . . in an act of abnegation and human
solidarity.”47
Certain Argentine institutions responded to the calls in the press and
perhaps to popular pressure as well. Two weeks after the Syrian-Lebanese
soup kitchen launched, the elite Carlos Pellegrini Women’s Center announced
that it would establish a twice-weekly public kitchen, and consulted with
Alcira Maluf de Saad about the particulars. For her part, Alcira guaranteed
that the Pellegrini Center could use the Syrian-Lebanese Society’s facilities.
The Pellegrini Center’s leadership made a public visit to Alcira’s house to
thank her for the efforts in facilitating the establishment of this new comedor
and to offer Alcira the leadership position of this new soup kitchen.48
On August 15 the local office of the Salvation Army announced that it
would be opening a soup kitchen for the poor and needy at its facility, and
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would operate three times a week. It also asked for donations to stock the
kitchen. El Orden’s editorial staff suggested that local businessmen should
follow the Syrian-Lebanese merchants’ example and donate to the Salvation
Army.49 Later another group of individuals met at the Wholesalers Center of
Tucumán and established a new commission tasked with operating a soup
kitchen twice weekly. This new group met with Alcira to discuss the mechanics and logistics of operating a comedor. In addition, Major Menchaca
pledged his support to this new group, Syrian-Lebanese Society President
Said Madkur offered his institution’s facility, and Father Pedro Khoury
agreed to help store materials for the comedor.50
Alcira also gave a conference on the local radio station, during which
she suggested “we teach kindness with our own kindness. Let’s take a little
of our bread and a bit of our heart.” She then thanked those individuals and
merchant houses that had contributed to the comedor, as well as the other
institutions who had set up public kitchens. She concluded the discussion
by asking for more involvement from the public at large and for increased
contributions; following the conference many people promised Alcira to
either establish public kitchens or establish committees with the objective
of alleviating hunger.51 The Pan-Islamic Society made a public donation of
200 pesos to help stock the pantries. In addition, local merchants continued to donate material goods as did the Butcher Society (Sociedad de Matarifes), and every operating food bank enjoyed the sustained support of the
Argentine military, led by Major Menchaca.52 By the end of the month,
there were two places hosting public soup kitchens. The number of people
attending the original comedor remained steady, with four hundred served
each shift. Alcira’s efforts earned her continued praise from local society as
well as the national press.
Not only did many of Tucumán’s civil institutions contribute to the effort,
but also the local and provincial governments. Governor Nougués, Mayor
Yrrazábal, and other public officials who visited the comedor were stunned
by the work of the Arabic-speaking women immigrants. These functionaries
promised official replication of these efforts to establish other soup kitchens
in strategic locations, although it seemingly took the state longer to marshal
resources. The Buenos Aires daily La Razón pointed out that up to this
moment no serious government effort had materialized.53 The Argentine
military based in Tucumán opened “scholarly soup kitchens for children”
“A Patriotic Work”
that attended classes in adjacent rooms.54 Finally, Mayor Yrrazábal, accompanied by Alcira Maluf de Saad, city councilmen, members of the press, and
other dignitaries, inaugurated the municipal comedor popular (public soup
kitchen) on September 23. At the opening, Mayor Yrrazábal declared that the
city would imitate “such a noble and humanitarian work.”55 Later, several
other groups established comedores giving food to the “needy,” a large number of whom suffer “extreme misery.”56 The activity initiated by Alcira Maluf
de Saad and her peers on the Ladies’ Commission created a sense of urgency
and duty as “residents, immigrant communities, public officials, the municipality, all [found] themselves in the unavoidable obligation of doing good,
for goodness’ sake.”57
While Alcira Maluf de Saad inspired and received the praise of local society and provincial officials, she and the broader Syrian-Lebanese colony also
earned the sincere thanks of the men who benefited directly from her efforts.
Some of the unemployed passed by the offices of La Gaceta and asked the
editors to publish a letter of thanks. In particular, the undersigned declared,
“The hundreds of workers that attend daily to eat healthy and abundant food
have not been able to be silent one moment more the feeling of deep appreciation in the beating of their hearts, and have appeared at this editorial
office requesting to make known this very noble gesture of an illustrious
Syrian-Lebanese lady, in whom they see . . . a second mother.”58
Certainly the public pronouncements and published letters by the unemployed show a clear connection these men believed they had with Alcira.
Some indigent workers thus petitioned her directly for help. For example,
Miguel Gilgorrio delivered a letter on August 9 detailing his misfortune in
Tucumán. Despite having been in the province for a month, Gilgorrio had
not yet secured employment. He blamed his current state on the fact that he
possessed no clothes, revealing that the meager ones he owned had been
robbed during the trip to Tucumán. Gilgorrio then begged Maluf de Saad to
consider donating some clothing her husband no longer used.59 Petitioning
benefactors and state officials has a long history in Latin America. The letters
to Alcira rest along a continuum that includes those later directed to President Juan Domingo Perón and his wife, Eva Duarte de Perón.60 While it is
unclear whether or not Alcira Maluf de Saad fulfilled this request, the letter
divulges that the destitute pursued any potential remedy to ameliorate their
situation, including creating a direct connection with the benefactress. In
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addition to praising Alcira, the unemployed also used her generosity as an
opportunity to criticize the local economic elites. For instance, a group of
militant laborers published an open letter in the local paper La Flecha commending the efforts of an immigrant colony and haranguing “the indifference and infuriating laziness of our aristocracy . . . [that] close their doors
and hearts” to the impoverished.61
These soup kitchens served an immediate purpose; however, many viewed
this arrangement as untenable in the long term, and workers themselves
seized the initiative. Benjamín J. Parmele, president of Sociedad Pro Fomento
General de Tucumán, an organization dedicated to economic development
and finding solutions to unemployment, detailed some of the ideas ready to
be attempted, such as creating a committee of workers who would organize
men to seek odd jobs for small pay at private homes, merchant houses, and
factories and would ask local newspapers to publish the list of these men.62
These particular activities mirrored concurrent efforts by unemployed workers in North American cities, such as Minneapolis, Portland, and Seattle, to
create work opportunities through self-help organizations.63
As these activities unfolded, the editors of La Gaceta proclaimed that in a
country as rich as Argentina, the scourge of hunger should not stand. They
then called for a permanent committee led by Syrian-Lebanese and joined by
the other groups to coordinate a network of public kitchens.64 El Orden also
pushed for a coordination committee as the end of the sugar cane harvest
(zafra) neared and likely meant the widespread diffusion of hunger to the
countryside. The editors argued that this collaboration would help offset any
intensification of social unrest and class conflict.65 In late September La
Gaceta’s editorial board, however, turned on the public kitchens, arguing
that it was time to move away from comedores and similar forms of charity.
All the donations, organizational efforts, and supplies that went to the soup
kitchens could have been invested in make-work projects. The board rejected
charity, explaining, “work is what the unemployed want.”66
At the same time, paradoxes revolving around the soup kitchens emerged.
For instance, the provincial interior minister José Luis Torres invited journalists from two of the leading national dailies, La Prensa and La Razón, to
visit the public soup kitchen at the Syrian-Lebanese Society. At their arrival,
the lunch service was in full swing as more than one hundred workers were
eating. After the journalists walked around and scribbled notes of the
“A Patriotic Work”
operation, they moved to the assembly hall and sipped champagne with leading members of local society, including Alcira Maluf de Saad; her husband,
Selim; Eloisa M. de Roschchild; Rosa C. de Lanza Colombres; Major
Menchaca; and lieutenants Ciarlo and Bonifasini.67 The class juxtaposition
must have been lost on the visiting journalists as Maluf de Saad offered a few
words of thanks for all the support received. In addition, folks attending the
municipal soup kitchen, which was housed at the centrally located Meat
Market (Centro de Abasto), suffered occasional mistreatment. On the morning of October 2, dozens of attendees visited the offices of the local newspaper La Flecha complaining of abusive treatment and disrespect by the staff at
the municipal comedor. At the same time, the attendees, who included
women and children, praised the “pious” efforts of Alcira Maluf de Saad and
the Syrian-Lebanese community. The editors of La Flecha pointed out that
the majority of the group consisted of men who clamored for work.68
In the middle of November, dozens of the unemployed visited the offices
of El Orden, requesting that the paper publish two letters addressed individually to the Syrian-Lebanese colony and to Alcira. The editors complied
with the request, noting that there were 1,200 Argentine and foreign-born
signatories. The undersigned proclaimed their “deep gratitude” to this immigrant group that opened their doors and “generously succored” them. The
note to Alcira professed that these “modest lines” of unemployed men
expressed their “deep feelings of gratitude which animate our hearts by the
selfless kindness [she was] able to dispense in hard times when hunger struck
cruelly our homes.”69 The number of men attending these public kitchens
had dwindled by late November as the situation of a great number of these
“needy ones” (menesterosos) had changed for the better as “the opportunity
to lend their energies” to new projects, such as the renewed construction of
the new Meat Market (Mercado de Abasto), designed by local architect
Alfredo Prebisch and originally commissioned by Governor Nougués, then
mayor, in 1930.70 Nevertheless, the need to continue the comedor persisted
into March 1933 as the Syrian-Lebanese Society and the local newspapers El
Orden and La Gaceta partnered.71
The public discourse concerning Alcira Maluf de Saad, the public kitchens, the unemployed workers, and other segments of society offer a unique
window into understanding social relations and changing ideas of government’s role in the daily lives of individuals. First, the gendered nature of the
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discourse is a signature feature of this public discussion. The provincial and
national press, both Arabic and Spanish, marveled at and obsessed over the
industry and ingenuity of the Ladies’ Commission. For instance, the local
organ El Norte Argentino noted, “these women have carried out their generous intention by overcoming enormous difficulties posed by selfishness, lack
of appreciation, and even [the women’s] social condition and sex.” 72 Other
newspapers pointed out that Alcira Maluf de Saad had received “authorization” from her husband Selim to conduct these activities, yet still commended her resourcefulness.73 These two statements recognize more the
social strictures regarding women’s activities than the legal impediments.
Since reforming of the 1926 Civil Code, married women no longer had to
seek their husband’s permission to “form any part of a civil, commercial, or
cooperative association.” 74 Nevertheless, the nature of this undertaking
likely struck Argentine male observers as one necessitating not only spousal
support but also permission. Furthermore, the editors at El Norte Argentino
worried about the reception of male merchants to the entreaties of these
women to donate materials for a kitchen benefiting unemployed men.
Once the comedor opened and the initial surprise of its success passed,
the public, press, and elected officials’ discourse shifted, referring to Alcira
Maluf de Saad’s efforts in the context of motherhood and the natural disposition of women. A near panegyric article by Nagib Baaclini best exemplified
this emphasis on the natural role of women, asserting, “Only the heart of a
woman beats like this before misfortune! Because woman—sister, girlfriend,
daughter, or mother (Mother!)—is and should be the eternal heroine in the
cruel and interminable battle of life . . . [since] such is the concern that
grieved a mother’s heart before the horrendous picture of men useful to society asking for a piece of bread!” 75 The workers themselves also viewed her in
similar terms, declaring her “a second mother.” 76
In addition, emotion overcame many workers attending the comedor,
meeting the Ladies’ Commission with tearful gratitude. These unbridled feelings speak to the vulnerability of this group, but also raise questions of conceptions of masculinity among sectors of the working class. Much work has
stressed the rowdy nature of working-class masculinity, and this is not to suggest that it did not exist in similar form among the unemployed in Argentina.77
What is important are these expressions of thanks, at times emotional, verbally
expressed, and unplanned, and at other times deliberately pronounced. While
“A Patriotic Work”
there may have been no crying among the El Teniente miners in Chile, the
desperation and momentary salvation found in the comedores showed the
humanity of the exposed to themselves and to the benefactors of these operations. This fact explains why local observers, officials, and participants consistently referred to the “humanity” of the undertaking.
Elite women in Argentina had long practiced philanthropy. The scholarship has primarily focused on them and their intersection with the Catholic
Church and with the state’s views on and treatment of unmarried mothers
and poor children. Studies have also examined the internal power dynamics
between the institutions in the business of welfare.78 Both Karen Mead, in
the case of Buenos Aires, and Christine Ehrick, for Uruguay, demonstrate
how providing assistance to poor women and unmarried mothers expanded
elite women’s public roles and linked these women to the state during the
first two decades of the twentieth century. In each case, these elite women
were eventually pushed out by the Church in Argentina and by an emerging
class of professional women in Uruguay.79 In northwestern Argentina, the
Sociedad de Beneficencia de Tucumán, which received subsidies from the
provincial government, created private institutions, such as hospitals,
orphanages, and schools, that targeted poor women and children. These
efforts and institutions were as much about disciplining and instilling a
certain morality in the urban poor as it was in consolidating the social elites
of Tucumán.80 While these studies and other works on discrete societies in
Latin America place women and children at the center of the debates surrounding the emergence and practice of welfare states,81 as well as political
participation and the public sphere, few scholars have discussed the contributions of immigrants in Latin America to the welfare state.82 In the case of
Argentina, immigrant women in the capital used charity and benevolence
to link with important sectors of porteño political and social elite, a chance
to bind themselves and their communities to the nation.83
In the case of Alcira Maluf de Saad and the soup kitchen, charity touched
unemployed Argentine and immigrant men, and some of the subsequent
comedores served women and children. Nevertheless, the role of motherhood and family in the eyes of public officials was critical to the progress of
the nation, and it is not incidental that she was cast in this light. The larger
resident Syrian-Lebanese community benefited from these efforts, as local
Tucumán society celebrated this immigrant colony and encouraged its
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leadership. For instance, in recognizing the enormity of the task in servicing the unemployed, the local paper La Gaceta challenged other immigrant
groups and Argentines to mirror the Syrian-Lebanese’s “humanitarian and
patriotic work” and “gesture of abnegation and human solidarity.” 84 The
governor recognized that the “generosity” of this colony “very intimately
linked to” and “successfully identified with” Argentina.85 The unemployed
workers also appreciated these efforts and publicly acknowledged the “prestigious” and “humanitarian collectivity,” with a “generous” merchant class,
as the first group to open the “caring doors” at the “meritorious” SyrianLebanese Society.86
The public outpouring acclaiming Alcira Maluf de Saad, the SyrianLebanese colony, and the comedor demonstrates the complex reality of life
at the local level. Interaction between immigrants and local society differed
many times and in important ways from abstract perceptions of the group.
Tucumán society equaled Maluf de Saad’s efforts to be a broader contribution to the nation with service to its most vulnerable sectors, and consequently wove Arabic-speaking immigrants firmly into the province’s social
fabric. Much of this sentiment echoed throughout the country as word of
the public soup kitchen spread.
Alcira Maluf de Saad, the Syrian-Lebanese involved with the soup
kitchen, elected officials, and the press also utilized a particular rhetoric
when discussing the unemployed workers benefiting from the comedor.
From the outset when Alcira met the “two young men of good appearance,”
she stressed that the unemployed were victims of circumstance and deserving of assistance.87 The mayor described the “strong arms” begging for
help.88 A sympathetic observer somewhat romantically noted that these
men “were not the professional beggars that cluster at the door of convents.” 89 Instead, these men “were undoubtedly working men (hombres de
trabajo), workers whose calloused hands forged beauty in steel or revealed
secrets in stone, whose only refuge, now, in the forlornness of the epoch,
were those hearts of the women, a superb realization of an admirable
race.”90 Yet not all workers could or did attend the public kitchen at the
Syrian-Lebanese Society or subsequent ones. Some in the press referred to
inhabitants of a “ciudad de miseria” (roughly equivalent to Hoovervilles in
the United States) on the edge of the provincial capital as “pariahs” and
vagabonds who lingered in the makeshift encampment throughout the
“A Patriotic Work”
day.91 Despite the perceived existence of professional beggars in Tucumán,
the men visiting the public kitchens were generally viewed as deserving of
assistance.
The religious discourse employed by various actors and observers of activities surrounding the soup kitchen is a striking characteristic. Without state
or civil society institutions in place to meet the need of the countless unemployed in Tucumán, religion was used to encourage, compel, and guilt the
population at large to contribute. From the inception, Alcira and the Ladies’
Committee referred to the passage from the Lord’s Prayer, specifically “our
daily bread” (pan nuestro de cada día). The local press utilized this terminology immediately.92
At the reception on the comedor’s inaugural day, an attendee commented,
“the Ladies’ Commission has not petitioned help from any one of the attendees at the inauguration; however, we understand that all authorities and private citizens have the undeniable duty to contribute to a work so pure and so
noble that it was said to be an emanation of that miracle at Capernaum.”93
The Christian discourse, including the specific reference to Jesus Christ’s
miracle, used in describing the soup kitchen allowed the larger Tucumán
society, in particular the elites, to recognize and identify with this act of
charity by an immigrant group. Local Tucumán society knew a Christian
gesture when it saw it, or in the words of El Orden’s editors, “the charity that
Christ evangelized, that admirable compassion.”94 The Muslim community
also recognized and supported this act of generosity, given that alms for the
poor (zakat) is a pillar of Islam and required of all adherents at the end of
Ramadan, even if the discourse used may have been different.
At the same time, journalists used Christian rhetoric to heavily criticize
the perceived lack of compassion and lack of meaningful contribution on the
part of local society. For instance, a powerful article from El Orden posed a
hypothetical situation in which Jesus Christ visited Tucumán:
If the Nazarene were alive, surely he would say:
I return once again to you, to speak of love; it is true . . . that God, my
father, will be with you if you love those that suffer, those that have no
home, those humble ones that pass through a foreign land looking for
bread, those wretched ones.
But, would the people believe the word of the son of Mary?
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Lie! The people would report him to the police and he would have
less success in the heart of the people than a political caudillo during a
campaign! They would put him in jail, and those illustrious princes of the
Church would counsel him that he should go away lest the skepticism of
the people destroy him . . .
And the word of Christ, speaking again of love, asking for alms for the
“lingheras,” would fail lamentably.95
While criticism such as the previous example was perhaps harsh, it is in the
evaluation of society and the efforts to address the surge in the unemployed
where a cultural shift becomes perceptible. The moment’s intense social dislocation created an environment in which civil society and government officials were trying a variety of policy ideas.96 In late September the city opened
a municipal soup kitchen for the unemployed, but this was simply not enough
in the eyes of some observers.97 La Gaceta produced a powerful editorial
criticizing local businessmen and public officials for benefiting from the
charity of the public kitchens without a corresponding vision for job creation. La Gaceta asserted, “the soup kitchens for the unemployed here are no
more than a charity that humiliates these young and robust men, who sadly
wander the city without finding one who can rent his calloused hands. Something more than public kitchens for the unemployed is necessary.” For the
editors, the massive amount of money donated to these comedores should be
spent on creating work so men could “earn bread with dignity.”98
Alcira Maluf de Saad continued her charitable work well into the 1930s,
and she inspired others to contribute in their local communities. For instance,
the Syrian-Lebanese Ladies’ Commission, based in the southern part of
Tucumán province, organized a cash drive for the Leprosy Foundation
(Patronato de Leprosos), collecting more than 400 pesos from compatriots
residing in Concepción, Arcadia, Río Seco, Villa Quinteros, La Trinidad, and
Medinas. The ladies then presented the funds to Lola Zavalía de Campero,
president of the foundation’s Tucumán delegation and wife of the governor.99
The Pan-Islamic Association also continued charitable acts for local institutions, such as the donation of clothes to the Padilla Hospital. The mayor of San
Miguel de Tucumán declared “this altruistic act by the society, whose gesture
is a ratification of the highest sentiments that animate the members of this
meritorious institution.” 100 Collectively, these charitable acts further
“A Patriotic Work”
integrated the Syrian-Lebanese colony into the popular imagination of
Tucumán society, cutting across class lines and adding prestige to the group.
These acts also connected segments to the highest echelons of local society
and government, adding to the social capital of these actors.
Conclusion
Families increasingly emphasized education for their male and female children, and communities established private schools to teach Arabic, to inculcate cultural values, and to help condition the rate or quality of integration.
This emphasis was important because more education eventually increased
life opportunities, especially for children from wealthier families. For
instance, Blanca “Chula” Saad, the daughter of Selim and Alcira Saad,
became the first woman to earn an architecture degree from the National
University of Tucumán. She would later become the minister of public works
during the first four years of the Cuban Revolution.101 Certainly Chula Saad
is an exceptional story; however, she was part of a larger trend of Argentine
women who achieved professional degrees, entered labor unions, and supported various political causes.102
Public charitable acts gave certain women from the Syrian-Lebanese colony a prominent role in local society and unprecedented influence in crafting
social policy, in particular Alcira Maluf de Saad. By aligning with the Argentine military to create welfare institutions serving unemployed workers in
the depression years, elite Syrian-Lebanese women had a direct impact on
local political institutions and larger social issues. Furthermore, the discourse surrounding these efforts and the comedor reveals understandings of
social relations and assumptions of gender roles, and suggests a cultural shift
in regard to the role of government in the lives of Argentines.
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“More Argentine Than You”
Political Culture, Cultural Politics, and Belonging, 1939–1946
Miguel Campero’s administration from 1935 to 1939 brought a measure of economic and political stability to Tucumán as well as an economic
development plan designed to create jobs and advance new sectors of the
provincial and regional economy. Fellow Radical Miguel Critto succeeded
Campero in the beginning of 1939 with a measure of momentum and increasing popular belief in the efficacy and role of government in the lives of its
citizens. Critto moved to build upon the efforts of the preceding administration by deepening infrastructure projects, such as the building of two dams
to facilitate irrigation and constructing mountain roads connecting Acheral
to Amaicha via Tafi del Valle, important nodes in a future tourism industry.
Yet plummeting cost for refined sugar and spiking commodities prices, due
in part to the outbreak of war in Europe later in 1939, challenged the Critto
administration and the provincial economy. The contraction of the sugar
market, the enduring problem of overproduction, and a novel plant disease
plagued the social and the political worlds. Sugarcane farmers and industrialists struggled to find common ground, elections were hotly contested while
policy failed to produce meaningful change, and the countryside quaked
while the urban poor scrambled to find work. The economic struggles
opened a window of opportunity to the conservative National Democratic
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Party (PDN) to seize the governorship in 1942. Critto and the Radicals
labored to arrest the province’s economic slide and to secure the following
election. In this environment, Syrians and Lebanese actively participated in
politics at multiple levels, ranging from participating in demonstrations to
writing protest letters, from organizing political associations to seeking
elected office. Taken together, these activities helped influence the shape of
Tucumán’s political culture as multiple groups vied for public space to air
grievances, support policies and candidates, and connect with state institutions.1
While the economy struggled, there was a very public “cultural renaissance” in Tucumán in 1939, led by the urbane Alfredo Coviello. Along with
academics, artists, journalists, and writers, Coviello established the intellectual group Septentrion, and he published the widely acclaimed journal Sustancia, which advocated and fostered the vibrancy of the provincial cultural
scene, including an energized poetry movement. In addition, Coviello, who
had helped organize the faculties of biochemistry, law, and social sciences
and the Department of Regional Studies at the National University of
Tucumán, served as president of the Sarmiento Society, from which he
launched its cultural journal Anales. The excitement and activity produced
by Coviello led to the establishment of various cultural endeavors to which
many young Syrians and Lebanese gravitated. Within this cultural flowering, members of the colony, young and old, began fashioning social identities
that were at once Argentine and Syrian or Lebanese or some combination
thereof. This change was especially poignant for the generation born and
raised in Argentina, and whose only connections to their ancestral homeland were family histories and the institutions of the colony. These young
people joined student organizations, created cultural associations to combat
the pervading sense of individualism in mid-century Argentina, and
expressed themselves through established cultural forms such as poetry and
folk music.2
The years immediately preceding the rise of Juan Domingo Perón to the
presidency marked the consolidation of the Syrian-Lebanese’s social and
political importance that originated from the general prosperity of the colony’s merchant elite. Certainly the ascendance of these communities to political prominence proceeded unevenly throughout the Argentine Northwest.
The rise to political power usually followed commercial success in the early
“More Argentine Than You”
decades of the twentieth century that translated into social capital, much of
which was inherited by the children of these immigrants. In addition, the
quickest paths to political prominence apparently happened in the smaller
hamlets and not in the provincial capitals. Critical to the ascent of the SyrianLebanese was an overwhelming sense of belonging, an idea advocated by the
immigrant press and articulated publicly and privately by members of the
communities through a variety of platforms. Syrians and Lebanese believed
they contributed directly to the development of Argentina and believed
Argentina succored their success.
The second and third generations of the Arabic-speaking immigrant communities, having matriculated through the Argentine school system, reformulated an understanding of community to better position themselves in
the local social and political milieus of the northwestern provinces of
Tucumán and Santiago del Estero. This reformulation meant a refashioning
of cultural symbols and community institutions to meet the perceived needs
of these Argentines of Syrian-Lebanese descent. As a result, this youth generation built upon the general economic wealth accrued by their parents to
achieve a level of social integration that greatly influenced political culture
in the Northwest.
Political Culture in the Times of Inflation and Economic Struggle
In late 1939 a surge in prices for basic goods in Tucumán happened due to the
start of World War II. Much scholarship has looked at the whole of Argentina
during the war’s early years and suggests that the process of industrialization
initiated earlier in the decade minimized the damage to the economy. This
view tends to emphasize the experience of Buenos Aires and the littoral
provinces. Argentina’s economy did grow annually by more than 3 percent;
however, this growth did not occur in the Northwest, where plant disease,
imperfect labor markets, and inflation ate away at the material well-being of
residents.3 The inability to diversify Tucumán’s economy continued to plague
policymakers and society at large well into the 1940s. There were two key
components in the early 1940s that provincial leaders needed to overcome.
First, leaders begged the federal government in Buenos Aires to arbitrate, yet
again, the conflict over prices for sugarcane between cane farmers and industrialists. The previous Laudo Alvear agreement in 1927 had set prices;
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however, industrialists and cañeros deemed it obsolete by 1941. Second, the
provincial government needed to persuade the federal government to release
credits for the aggressive public works agenda of the Critto administration,
which included the construction of dams, irrigation canals, and a hippodrome. Governor Critto secured loan guarantees in April 1941; however, the
unrest in the countryside continued to intensify.4
From the perspective of the sugar industrialists in the Northwest, there
was little room to maneuver. José Frías Silva, the president of Regional Sugar
Center—a trade group representing factory owners’ interests—noted that his
members had agreed to the negotiated price, but given market fluctuations
and the specter of insolvency, they reserved the right to lower it. He further
explained that his members had acted in good faith to keep to the agreement;
however, the factory owners in the littoral provinces who made no effort to
abide by the artificially high prices had undermined their efforts.5
Frías Silva made these comments following an emergency meeting in
Buenos Aires with Vice President Ramón Castillo, the national minister of
agriculture, and Tucumán’s treasury minister. The working group was tasked
with resolving the internal disputes between growers and industrialists and
solving the conflict between sugar industrialists whose actions had provoked
“price anarchy” because few were following established rules. Without fixing
the latter, the industrialists were disinclined to negotiate the former issue.6
Following the meeting, the agriculture minister was charged with drafting a
plan to settle the impasse. Tucumán’s treasury minister noted the sustained
resistance from the owners of the San Pablo and Concepción factories; however, he was confident in the coming agreement and a subsequent national
law to regulate the industry.7
In spite of efforts to secure an agreement between cane farmers, their field
hands, and the sugar industrialists, the impasse continued into the fall of 1941.
As a result, leaders of the cañero syndicate—including fourteen hundred growers in the province—threatened to strike. From their perspective, provincial
law favored the large landowners and made the smaller growers, who made up
the majority of sugarcane producers, suffer the calamities. Furthermore, local
political parties supported the industrialists while they curried the favor of the
growers and the seventy thousand field hands. Consequently, local elected officials suffered little. The prospect of a work stoppage, however, prompted Governor Critto to ask anew for Vice President Castillo to arbitrate between the
“More Argentine Than You”
sides. The threat to strike was not a cavalier one. Leaders of the growers’ syndicate understood that the sugar factories had lost tens of millions of pesos and
that the industrialists could not sustain losses due to the price guarantees from
the Laudo Alvear. Furthermore, there were currently more than four hundred
thousand tons of unsold refined sugar sitting in warehouses on the eve of the
1941 harvest. Nagib Baaclini noted that the cane had to be priced well above the
1940 average, as the price was rendered through the Laudo. Not only would
industrialists lose handsomely, but field hands would earn poorer wages: “salaries of hunger.” Baaclini then declared it was time for a federal law that organized and regulated production and labor, and arranged for the state to act as
the wholesaler.8
As the provincial administration struggled to secure an agreement, the
cane growers activated the strike, titled the “March of Hunger, Misery, and
Desperation.” On the morning of May 23, forty thousand people peacefully
marched from the countryside to Independence Plaza in front of the governor’s office and called for the vice president to arbitrate. Prominent attorneys
and political activists José Ignacio Araoz, David León Medina, Nicasio Sánchez Toranzo, and Lautaro Cornet addressed the masses, explaining the
“desires of the trade union.” A group of girls led the marchers into the provincial capital. They were wearing blue and white dresses, resembling the
Argentine flag and “symbolizing the aspirations of the nation.” The girls were
followed by men on horseback, horse-drawn wagons, and finally laborers on
foot. The peaceful nature of the march belied the unrest and violence in the
countryside; however, it seemed to have garnered broad support from the
citizens of San Miguel de Tucumán. Marchers carried signs declaring, “We
demand 3.325 [pesos] for our cane;” “We ask for the direct intervention of the
Nation’s Executive Branch to solve this problem;” “We want a good price for
our cane to better pay the workers;” and “We do not want laws or sugar
agreements restricting the liberty to sell our shares.” Following the event in
Independence Plaza, organizers dispatched a telegram to Vice President Castillo and met with Governor Critto to discuss the demands in the communication.9
Sugar industrialists from Tucumán, Salta, Jujuy, El Chaco, and Santa Fe
provinces finally achieved an accord to regulate sugar sales to stabilize the
price, agreeing to a five-year plan. This arrangement gave the federal government the time to research and craft legislation that would hopefully
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encompass all aspects of the sugar industry and thus regulate it entirely.
While the drama of the industrialists played out during the first half of 1941,
many members of the Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán began identifying and declaring support for particular politicians for the provincial elections scheduled for March 1942. In April 1941 Abdulhadi El Jatib, a former
schoolteacher at the Islamic school in San Miguel, and Segundo Yapur
worked with compatriot merchants, industrialists, and authorities of the
community’s nearby social clubs to host a banquet honoring Francisco Gordillo Villafañe and Marcos Rougés (both provincial deputies) and Domingo
Caracotche (a provincial senator), all of whom were members of the PDN.
The gathering was held in Villa Clodomiro Hileret, Río Chico department,
located in the southern part of the province in an important sugarcane zone.
During the dinner, Camilo Isa gave a speech lauding the quality of men representing the PDN, asserting the party’s “measured ideals, of a healthy and
practical democracy, inflamed by patriotism and carriers of the Argentine
tradition.” Isa continued, “the public and private personalities of these men,
like their actions, are a sufficient guarantee that they will be jealous defenders of the interests of business, industry, agriculture, and above all the interests of the Department.”10
The celebration of sitting provincial legislators served multiple functions. First, it was a public display of support for officials who could help
the economic well-being of the attendees. Second, it was also a public spectacle demonstrating both social integration and economic wealth. The
Syrian-Lebanese ranked as the wealthiest merchant class in the department, controlling nearly half of the commercial wealth in 1937. Without the
local importance of this community, three sitting legislators would likely
not travel to a village that supplied a sugar factory and serviced the farm
hands living in the town. Third, the policies of the PDN aligned with the
commercial interests of the Syrian and Lebanese merchant class. The PDN
was neither populist nor radical and advocated policies that purportedly
would grow the economy and provide for social stability. Despite Syrian
and Lebanese merchants having a long-standing policy to avoid political
disputes in order not to offend clients of any political persuasion, in reality
this position was more rhetoric than practice.
While the Syrians and Lebanese in Río Chico entertained current legislators, the Syrian-Lebanese Political Center of Famaillá offered support and
“More Argentine Than You”
endorsed former provincial senator Rodolfo A. Moisá’s bid for a federal deputy seat. Famaillá was a hamlet in the heart of the sugarcane zone, and there
were a large number of Syrian-Lebanese in the area working as merchants or
farmers. Sabino Budeguer, an immigrant from Mount Lebanon, served as
president of the center, which he cofounded with El Jatib. Budeguer’s family
and others from the same village had arrived in Tucumán in the late nineteenth century and had immediately begun cultivating sugar cane. While it
is unclear whether or not Budeguer possessed large tracts of land, it seems
likely that Moisá, who also was the manager at the Mercedes sugar factory
and a local PDN political boss, figured as the best candidate to advocate for
and defend the economic and financial situation of the sugar industry and
its stakeholders. Budeguer canvassed the other Syrian-Lebanese institutions
in Famaillá, and all pronounced support for Moisá, declaring he would be a
“champion for the desires of production and work.” Budeguer’s activities in
Famaillá met approval from an audience in the provincial capital as the
Syrian-Lebanese Political Center of Tucumán endorsed Moisá’s bid, citing
that he should have been a federal deputy by now if not for internal party
politics. Now, an “important sector of Syrian-Lebanese and their descendants” were disposed to support the caudillo because of his independence,
decorum, and honor.11
The support for Moisá indicated first, that segments of the Syrian-Lebanese
colony in Tucumán organized associations specifically to endorse and support political candidates in electoral campaigns. Many Syrian-Lebanese were
involved in political parties, but it seems the institutions in Famaillá and the
capital took a more public role as a result of the continuing conflict between
growers and industrialists in the autumn of 1941. Second, the colony’s initial
member elected to the provincial legislature, Wadi Dip, won election in 1937
and came from a town close to Famaillá. Prior to being elected, Dip had
become a local party boss for the Radicals, and this affiliation may have been
unattractive to the interests of Budeguer and his allies. Third, Budeguer’s
activism caught the interest and support of some of his compatriots in the
provincial capital. The willingness to endorse and support political candidates speaks to the growing political confidence of Syrian-Lebanese across the
board. The most politically inclined had been active for more than a decade;
however, these actions represented a broadening of interest within the colony.
Finally, the fact that these efforts originated from outside the provincial
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capital demonstrated how Syrians and Lebanese residing in small towns had
more avenues to political power and influence than their peers perhaps did in
the larger cities of Argentina.
Indeed, Syrian-Lebanese throughout the Northwest were well represented
at various levels of elected offices and private organizations. For instance, they
dominated the chamber of commerce in Tartagal, Salta province, featuring
members on the board of directors and comprising more than half of the general members. Nallip Turbay, “a capable and dignified man,” was reelected
president of Concepción’s municipal council, located in southern Tucumán
province. Felipe Alegre won election to the city council of Santiago del Estero,
and Jorge Sadir was elected vice president of the municipal council in Rosario
de la Frontera, Salta province, after the town’s mayor called a session. These
examples account for a small sample of the electoral success and social prestige
many immigrants and their children achieved by the early 1940s.12
The PDN won decisively at the polls in March 1942, securing two of the
three national deputies’ seats and maintaining their majority in the provincial
legislature. As the dust settled on the elections, Miguel A. Yapur, a prominent
member of the colony and vice president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society, published a broadside in El Eco de Oriente criticizing the activities of the SyrianLebanese Political Center in the buildup to election day. Presenting himself
as “profoundly Argentine, but desirous to vindicate the men of the race from
which I come,” Yapur said that the organizations and the candidates they supported publicly were not representative of the colony and went so far to call
them repeatedly anti-Argentine, anti-patriotic, and foreign in nature. As
proof of the spurious nature of these groups, Yapur asked where were the
equivalents, such as the “Comité Italiano Pro Candidatura Tal.” These activities, Yapur argued, simply tarnished the “Syrian-Lebanese” good name, which
was built by honorable men who arrived in the Americas carrying only their
“morals and industry.” For the broadside author, activities by Budeguer’s
group violated “the most basic rules of respect, [and were] guided by a utilitarian end”; the author called these activities “symptoms of ignorance” and
“painful proof of the lack of true reality.” The strong and aggressive diction
used by Miguel A. Yapur must have surprised many readers of El Eco de Oriente. At the same time, his position within the colony carried some weight
and his missive would have been broadly read and likely widely discussed.13
The affront to the activities of the Political Center in Famaillá and insults
“More Argentine Than You”
directed at Sabino Budeguer and his allies prompted an immediate, bitter,
and sarcastic response. In his riposte, published in the following edition of
El Eco de Oriente, Budeguer declared that he was writing both as an individual and in his capacity as president of the organization. He admitted to
confusion regarding Yapur’s broadside. If their financial support and public
activities were so problematic, Budeguer mused, why did Yapur seek to use
them when he ran for city council years earlier? Budeguer further alleged
that he worked tirelessly on his behalf, despite the resistance Yapur provoked
within the colony. The center held a sold-out banquet for Rodolfo Moisá,
Eduardo A. Paz, and José D. Mariotti—the latter two of whom were successfully elected to the national congress for the PDN. Budeguer stated that the
banquet “had, in a general sense, the blessing of the merchant class of our
colony” as well as support from a broad section of the collectivity. Budeguer,
refuting the antipatriotic allegation, then declared, “We only have a patriotic
Argentine intention. . . . We have an unbounded propensity for political
issues like a grateful recompense to this land that generously sheltered and
protected us with the undeniable grandeur of its Constitution. Denied in our
homeland a climate of efficient liberty, to arrive in these lands we aspired
with renewed fruition. Under these considerations one should search for the
causes of our participation in local politics.”14
In addition to justifying his role in local politics, Sabino Budeguer bristled
at the notion that Miguel Yapur alone could decide who could and could not
act in the name of the Syrian-Lebanese colonies in Tucumán. He questioned
why one group’s actions were undesirable whereas those of another, such as
the time Yapur’s brother ran for a national deputy seat, were faithful expressions of the colony. This conflict between two of the more recognized members of this collectivity revealed internal political cleavages. While many
merchants curried favor with lawmakers, a good portion remained removed
from active electoral politics. Yet occasionally the support for competing
candidates led to contending claims to represent the true Syrian-Lebanese
colony. Budeguer, recognizing the nature of the dispute, also urged future
bickering to be carried out internally, perhaps on the Arabic pages of the
community’s press.15
While Syrians and Lebanese in Tucumán were increasingly influential in
electoral and party politics, their experience contrasted sharply with that of
their compatriots residing in Santiago del Estero, the immediate province to
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the south. There Arabic-speaking immigrants and their descendants had
been important political players in provincial and local politics since the
1920s. During the intervening years, several Syrian-Lebanese merchants had
emerged as caudillos in local affairs and at election time, especially in small
country towns. This potent mixture of commercial strength and political
importance bore fruit in the March 1942 elections when the young Elias
Lludgar, a second-generation immigrant, was elected national deputy on a
Radical ticket supported by the national party. His election, which certainly
built on the political success of state legislators Rosendo Allub and Eduardo
Miguel, brought great joy to the various Syrian-Lebanese communities in the
Northwest. It also provoked great controversy.
In the wake of Lludgar’s victory at the polls, one of his opponents, Octavio Cordero, cried foul and petitioned the Argentine minister of the interior to assess whether or not fraud had been committed. Cordero came
from a prominent political family and had served the previous eight years
as a national deputy for Santiago del Estero. He simply must have been
incredulous at the results showing he lost to a young upstart of SyrianLebanese descent. The crux of his complaint targeted five precinct chairs
in the province, all of whom were Syrian-Lebanese, claiming fraud and,
worse, that these five figures were not Argentine citizens. For the complainant, the manipulation of the electoral system had no place in the era
of the Concordancia. Interior Minister Miguel Culaciatti asked Santiago
del Estero’s governor, José I. Cáceres, for an explanation. Cáceres responded
by explaining that the five in question were honorable men and prosperous
merchants, and each had achieved Argentine citizenship previously. Furthermore, the governor assured the minister that even if these SyrianLebanese held their positions without Argentine citizenship, they were not
contravening the provincial law designated by Cordero because no such
law existed. He concluded by reminding Cordero that his brother-in-law,
Juan “Gaucho” Castro, publicly thanked the role the Syrian-Lebanese had
played in his winning the governorship in 1932 for the PDN.16
The behavior of “Gaucho” Castro, a sitting national senator, struck a particular nerve with the Syrian-Lebanese elite around Argentina. He had curried favor from the Syrian-Lebanese merchant class in Santiago del Estero,
leading to active support during campaigns and culminating in Castro’s
appointment as a member of the board of the Syrian-Lebanese Bank in
“More Argentine Than You”
Buenos Aires. The latter introduced him to the wealthiest and most esteemed
members of this immigrant colony in Argentina. As a result, Nagib Baaclini
pilloried Juan Castro in a scathing editorial piece, referring to Castro as
Judas Iscariot and classifying him and Cordero as mediocre legislators. Baaclini observed that Syrians and Lebanese residing in the province possessed
“beautiful palaces, ranches, forests, the most important merchant house, and
factories” with thriving social and banking institutions. Furthermore, the
Syrian-Lebanese produced provincial and national legislators, professors,
teachers, literati, poets, researchers, and important journalists. For Baaclini,
the success and wealth of the colony should stand as a model for everyone in
the province and nation.17
The economic, social, and political importance of the Syrian-Lebanese
in Santiago del Estero was impressive, and likely lay at the heart of Castro
and Cordero’s enmity. Of the 133 grocery stores in the provincial capital,
members of this colony owned 80. Of the 42 dry goods stores and haberdasheries, Syrian-Lebanese owned 36. They were the chief wholesalers outside the provincial capital, particularly in La Banda, Añatunya, and Suncho Corral. The hamlet of Atamisqui was an extreme example, with ten of
the eleven dry goods stores owned by Syrian-Lebanese; a Polish immigrant
who reputedly learned Arabic owned the other. Estimates suggested that
the Syrian-Lebanese merchant class controlled “a great part of the province’s commerce.” This wealth translated into political power. A critical
assessment by the Buenos Aires–based journal Aquí Está declared that
eight of the twenty-two provincial deputies were dependent on SyrianLebanese caudillos during election season. Syrians and Lebanese served as
mayors, public notaries, treasurers, justices of the peace, and police commissioners throughout the province’s hamlets and towns. The community
even produced four provincial legislators in the early 1940s that were called
the “Syrian-Lebanese block,” despite their being from three distinct political parties. The prevalence of this colony in local politics led to the myth
that the block spoke Arabic while the provincial legislature was in session,
prompting a colleague to demand that these men speak in Spanish. This
allegation was hotly refuted by Syrian-Lebanese journalists in Buenos
Aires, saying that if it was done it was done at the municipal level. The
strength of this myth, however, has persisted, seducing researchers to suggest its veracity. Moreover, the response to the Aquí Está exposé asserted
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that 60 percent of the Syrian-Lebanese population in Santiago del Estero
possessed Argentine citizenship. As a result, one could not speak of “foreign
population” or of “Syrian-Lebanese immigration to Santiago del Estero.”
Rather, this was a resolutely Argentine community from a particular ethnic
heritage that contributed to the progress of the nation in many important
ways. The authors concluded by saying the Aquí Está author failed to note
the important charitable acts and social work carried out by this colony, citing Rosendo Allub’s donation of land for a public plaza.18
The Syrian-Lebanese colony of Santiago del Estero was well integrated
into local provincial politics, despite the occasional outcry from political
competitors challenging their supposed Argentinidad. The election of Lludgar marked a watershed moment for this colony, illustrating how young,
upwardly mobile, and well-educated children of immigrants could penetrate
political parties and win elections to federal office. The activism of Syrians
and Lebanese in Santiago del Estero, in terms of penetrating party apparatuses, preceded their compatriots in Tucumán by some years. Nevertheless,
those residing in the towns and hamlets throughout the sugar zone increasingly began to effect decisions by aspiring and current politicians. The growing electoral importance of Tucumán’s Syrian-Lebanese colony provoked
some internal strife over particular candidates and party platforms, arguments that were carried out at times in the press, despite a fading rhetoric of
political impartiality.
Any pretense of neutrality among the Syrian-Lebanese disappeared in the
buildup to Tucumán’s gubernatorial and mayoral elections of October 1942.
In the race for governor, Miguel Campero sought a third term, running on
the platform to keep deepening the programs initiated during the previous
eight years of Radical rule. Campero was the candidate favored by the
national Radical party, yet a second Radical candidate from a splinter group
also ran. The true challenger to Campero’s bid was the PDN’s Adolfo Piossek.
Days before voters headed to the polls, Syrian-Lebanese activists for the Radicals announced that they would host a banquet for Campero in the posh
Savoy Hotel. While the organizers were committed Radicals, they encouraged Syrian-Lebanese of all political persuasions to attend, agreeing to allow
the opportunity to address Campero and the other aspirants for elected
office scheduled to attend.19
While they planned the party, young Syrian-Lebanese established the
“More Argentine Than You”
Political Center, “Juventud Sirio-Libanesa Argentina,” and hosted an inaugural event attended by more than five hundred members of the colony.
Luis A. Caram, the center’s president, opened with a speech declaring the
organization’s support of Miguel Campero’s campaign. He further noted
that the clear majority of the Syrian-Lebanese colony would vote for Campero and the other Radical candidates, and this support would contribute to
the “salvation of Tucumán’s democracy.” National Deputy Solano Peña presided over the event, which was also attended by a delegation from the board
of governors of the national Radical Party (UCR Tradicionalistas). Radical
mayoral candidate Nicasio Sanchez Toranzo attended, giving a speech
exhorting the Syrian-Lebanese to help “contribute to the reestablishment of
normalcy in the city.” He further pledged as mayor to lower city expenditures
and pass on the savings by lowering taxes. Toranzo’s words must have rung
sweetly in the ears of a colony known for its commercial strength.20
Activists celebrated the banquet in honor of Miguel Campero and other
Radical candidates as a huge success, publicly displaying their support for
democratic processes, their general wealth and social prestige, and their
access to the political elite. Yet Syrian-Lebanese did not uniformly support
the Radicals. The esteemed educator Amado Almonaiar established the
Ramón S. Castillo Civic Center, named after the sitting president, to introduce the Syrian-Lebanese colony to the national PDN’s platform. He also
wanted to draw attention to the party’s assistance provided to Tucumán,
namely funding the dam projects at Escaba and El Cadillal. The inaugural
event featured letters of support for the center’s mission, including one from
Jorge Fadel, fellow Syrian-Lebanese and provincial senator in Catamarca. An
additional purpose of the civic center was to directly back the electoral campaign of Adolfo Piossek by distributing information and rallying potential
voters from the Syrian-Lebanese colony. In addition, the Syrian-Lebanese
Political Center arranged a banquet for Adolfo Piossek and other PDN candidates in the salons of the Hotel España, which was attended by the collectivity’s elite. During the event, leading PDN politicians such as Piossek, Juan
Simón Padrós, and Jose Ignacio Araoz gave speeches of support and thanks
to the broader Syrian-Lebanese community.
While it is unclear if any of these groups had any measurable impact, the
recognized prestige of the various actors certainly would have caused many
who identified with the colony to take note. Taken together, the activities of
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the merchants in Río Chico, Sabino Budeguer and his political center in
Famaillá, and the various activists in San Miguel de Tucumán illustrated the
fragmented nature of politics within this colony, suggesting that any idea of
block voting may have been simply rhetoric. Rather, area relationships and
local concerns likely influenced the decisions to support particular candidates.21
Political Crisis and Syrian-Lebanese Political Activism
Miguel Campero won the popular vote, defeating Adolfo Piossek by a close
margin. Nevertheless, the province’s chief executive election lay in the hands
of the Electoral College, which was much closer than the popular vote. As it
stood, the Alianza Radical had twenty-five electors, the PDN won twenty-six,
and the Radical-National Committee possessed two electors. If a deal could
be arranged between the competing Radical branches, Miguel Campero
would assume the governorship. If not, Piossek would carry the day. In the
days leading up to the Electoral College meeting, several PDN operatives
requested that the federal courts remove two Syrian-Lebanese electors, arguing that Manuel Cebes and Jorge Abraham Gettas—both part of the Alianza
Radical supporting Campero—deserved to have their citizenship stripped.
The PDN claimed that Cebes was illiterate, thus contravening naturalization
law, and that Gettas’s card was never signed, hence never authorized, by the
proper authorities. Cebes resided in Río Chico district, where he worked as
a merchant and also farmed sugarcane. His prosperity had led him to become
a local Radical political boss for many years prior to his ascension as an elector. Gettas too lived in the sugarcane zone, residing in Monteros district and
working as a shop owner, where he earned “prestige” and later became a
political boss. Both electors declared they had been naturalized for more
than ten years. The challenge to Cebes and Gettas was a strategic move by
the PDN who waited to challenge until a week before the province’s constitutionally mandated deadline that compelled the Electoral College to vote.
The gamesmanship, however, threatened to cast Tucumán’s political scene
and governance into a holding pattern “without knowing how or when” it
might end, to overturn the previous eight years of political stability, and to
exacerbate the deteriorating economic conditions. Any potential delay struck
fear into the editors of local newspaper La Gaceta, which predicted harm to
“More Argentine Than You”
the economy and society and pleaded for the electors to place the public
interest ahead of political conveniences.22
The electors met at the provincial legislature amid a growing crowd of
activists and onlookers on the afternoon of November 12 to conduct a preliminary vote establishing the presiding officers of the College. As the meeting began, PDN national deputy and sugar industrialist Juan Simón Padrós
requested a postponement to the start of the College, pending a final decision
on the status of Cebes and Gettas from the federal judiciary. The Radicals
ignored this appeal and moved to nominate a set of legislators to the secretariat of the House of Deputies in order to carry out the preliminary vote.
Simón Padrós again opposed the intent of the congress, citing the unresolved
situation of the two Syrian-Lebanese electors. Provincial deputy Celedonio
Gutiérrez rose in response and mocked Simón Padrós’s claim to be following
the judicial course. He declared that the district attorney (fiscal) had bungled
the proceedings and that in fact Simón Padrós simply did not know what he
was talking about, reminding the federal deputy that according to the provincial constitution, only the Electoral College had jurisdiction in determining the validity of electors. Following these comments, PDN national deputy
Eduardo Paz began debating Gutiérrez, a debate that increased in intensity
with every exchange. In a particularly heated moment, PDN elector Juan
Carlos Cossio interrupted, blurting, “How is it possible that two Syrians
vote?” This question prompted an emotional response from Jorge Abraham
Gettas: “These two Syrians are more Argentine than you!” As tempers cooled,
Paz and Gutiérrez finished debating, and a vote establishing the secretariat
ensued. With the Radicals voting as a block, Segundo Villareal became president of the secretariat, beating out the PDN’s León Rougés—another sugar
industrialist. As Villareal made his way to the president’s seat, PDN electors
and legislators blocked his way, prompting the intervention of the Alianza
electors to forcefully clear a path to the secretariat’s stage. Once Villareal
made it to his place, León Rougés joined him in the area, declaring himself
as the president and two fellow PDN legislators as secretaries.23
This move by Rougés provoked mayhem in the legislature as electors and
legislators initiated fistfights and shouting matches. Uniformed and plainclothes policemen rushed to the scene to remove some members of the public who had made their way in and to break up the altercations between the
elected officials. Investigator Genaro Roque Galván attempted to subdue
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PDN elector Liborio Giménez Romero, who had pulled a firearm and pointed
it at the policeman. National deputy Paz then grabbed the throat of Roque
Galvan until Giménez Romero was released. Elsewhere in the chamber PDN
provincial legislator Pedro Fagalde aimed his firearm at Santos Guardia, a
police commissioner. The chaos reached a tipping point, but before things
descended further into violence, additional police forces surged into the legislature, ultimately leading to a cessation of the altercations. As a sense of
calm returned, the Radicals vacated the legislature as secretariat President
Segundo Villareal declared the meeting adjourned until the following day.
With the chamber empty of Radicals, the PDN’s electors and activists
remained and Simón Padrós declared that Rougés had been fairly elected and
that the work of the Electoral College should go ahead as planned since a
quorum had been achieved. Yet the intentions of the PDN could go no further because the stenographers, who were required for the College to
advance, had left the building. Next, a group of the PDN relocated to Juan
Carlos Cossio’s house, from which Simón Padrós called Argentina’s interior
minister, informing him that Rougés had been elected president of the secretariat.24
While the fate of the Electoral College hung in the balance, the targeting
of Cebes and Gettas provoked outrage and introspection among many sectors of the Syrian-Lebanese colony. The response to the perceived insults
hurled at the two Syrian-Lebanese men was quick and aggressive. Nagib
Baaclini led the charge, condemning the words of Cossio and Pérez
Genovessi as coming from “the deepest cesspool of their conscience.” He
continued, saying the two PDN politicians had forgotten who helped build
the grandeur of Argentina. Syrians and Lebanese offered “patriotic” contributions to the same issues, the same civic tangles through their respect for
democracy and “for love of the land that has generously adopted them
under the protection of the freest of flags and the openest of institutions.”
In addition, a new Syrian-Lebanese youth group—the Núcleo Cultural
Juventud Siriolibanés (Cultural Nucleus of Syrian-Lebanese Youth)—
emerged and published letters to the editors of the Tucumán newspapers,
denouncing the humiliation of Cebes and Gettas by PDN politicians. Referring to the affair as a “bloody disgrace to pure democratic principles” and
“a shameful event to Argentine dignity,” the young Syrian-Lebanese activists described the proud history of democracy in Argentina, which resulted
“More Argentine Than You”
from the Radical Party’s transforming the political and social spheres. The
authors reminded the PDN electors that “democracy is decency and tolerance” and that by besmirching Cebes and Gettas, the PDN was tarring the
entire colony. They concluded by declaring pride in their heritage and
the “patriotic and progressive role” their parents had carried out throughout
Argentina. A group of ‘Alawites, identifying themselves as the “SyrianLebanese nucleus of Famaillá,” expressed their solidarity for the Cultural
Nucleus’s defense of the community’s name and describing the actions by
Cossio and Pérez Genovessi as unworthy of two electors “who should be
most dedicated to safeguarding the veneration of our Constitution.” This
group concluded that the letter published by the Cultural Nucleus demonstrated “the purest ideals of traditionalist Argentinidad.”25
Interestingly, this nucleus of young Syrian-Lebanese activists and the editors of El Eco de Oriente both extended the specific criticisms levied in the
heat of the moment as an affront to the colony as a whole. In other words, by
impugning the good names of Cebes and Gettas, PDN activists assailed the
good name of the colony, a slur these activists could not let go unanswered.
By this point the Syrian-Lebanese colony was well integrated into northwestern Argentine society, yet the impolitic comments of PDN members struck
a chord among certain sectors of the community. Despite the commercial
importance and increasing power in social and political realms, Baaclini and
younger Syrian-Lebanese believed it was necessary to defend the place of the
colony in Tucumán. As a result, these groups made connections with their
peers in the press and on the university campus to express disappointment
and indignation at the behavior of the PDN electors.
The outrage at the event was not isolated to Syrian-Lebanese activists. The
editors at the Tucumán daily La Reforma took exception to Cossio’s injurious
words, mocking his “hair gel” and lambasting his attempt to diminish the
Argentine nationalism of two naturalized citizens, which had been constructed through “honorable hard work and effective contribution to Argentine progress.” In addition, the Unión Juventud Universitaria (University
Youth Union) proclaimed public support for the Cultural Nucleus of SyrianLebanese Youth and repudiated the offensive declarations linked to Cossio
and Pérez Genovessi against a “dignified and hard-working community.”
More broadly, the Argentine press assailed the PDN’s tactics and behavior.
The respected Buenos Aires daily La Nación asserted that the PDN’s goal was
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not a democratic transfer of power but rather to provoke a federal intervention. El Mundo, also a Buenos Aires newspaper, bluntly noted that the PDN
had not been in power for more than a decade and were “bad losers” perpetrating “a coup of inconceivable audacity.”26
The popular view that PDN activists directed insults toward the SyrianLebanese community prompted Adolfo Piossek to publish a letter attempting
to correct the record. Piossek argued that he initially stayed out of the affair
in order to let proper channels arrest the spread of the allegations—a policy
that many observers interpreted as a sign of tacit approval if not outright
complicity. As the allegation took on the form of an unqualified truth,
Piossek consulted the transcript from the preliminary session. The only reference he could find relating to Cebes and Gettas were the words offered by
national deputy Juan Simón Padrós, saying that the two electors had no
intent to use the benefits of Argentine citizenship given under false pretense.
As far as Piossek was concerned, this revelation should be enough evidence
to resolve the dispute. Rather than mollify Syrian-Lebanese concerns,
Piossek’s letter enraged the activists who made up the Cultural Nucleus.
Publishing a response to Piossek’s explanation of events, the Nucleus offered
an enumerated list of grievances—including the specific targeting of Cebes
and Gettas—alleging that the rhetoric surrounding the court proceedings
has taken on “racial characterizations,” thus smearing the entire colony and
criticizing the “new and gratuitous humiliations” of Cebes by León Rougés.
In addition, the Nucleus took offense at Pérez Genovessi’s statement, “There
cannot be two Syrians in the [Electoral] College,” and Cossio’s question,
“How is it possible that two Syrians vote?” The group was troubled by the
singling out of Syrian-Lebanese as well as the PDN’s prejudgment of the
pending court decision. The Nucleus concluded its response by limiting
themselves to just five points, which served as an “introduction to the indescribable terms that were heard [during] the tumult of the audience and the
voices of electors that spoke simultaneously” at the preliminary session.
With this response, the Cultural Nucleus viewed the “enraging affair” now
closed and noted that Piossek deserved their respect since he was the PDN’s
candidate for governor, despite the candidate’s allegation that this group of
young Syrian-Lebanese activists was spreading falsehoods.27
The ongoing controversy surrounding the Electoral College and the criticism ascribed to the PDN by many Syrian-Lebanese prompted a defense of
“More Argentine Than You”
the embattled political party by Abdulhadi El Jatib, an ‘Alawite. In a letter
published by La Gaceta, Jatib observed that the initial criticism levied at the
PDN for their allegations and tactics against Cebes and Gettas struck him as
examples of political opportunism. For Jatib, the true indignity lay in
attempting to reframe the issue from a legal question to a characterization of
racial insensitivity. As a result, he wanted to offer his experience with the
PDN, suggesting that this political party and its members deserved the
respect of the Syrian-Lebanese community. Jatib remembered Juan Simón
Padrós’s campaign for governor. At the time, Jatib was an Arabic teacher at
the Pan-Islamic Association. In common accord with Sabino Budeguer and
other compatriots, they established the Syrian-Lebanese Political Center in
Famaillá—for which Jatib served as vice president—to support Simón
Padrós’s candidacy. During the campaign, former governor Ernesto Padilla
visited the committee, giving a speech eulogizing the “moral focus of [the]
collectivity, its commercial, social, and cultural progress.” In addition, he
came to know various distinguished members of the local PDN, including
Piossek, Simón Padrós, and national deputy José D. Mariotti. Each of these
men visited Jatib at his house, always giving words of praise to the colony. In
the most recent campaign, the Political Center organized a banquet for
Piossek, which featured the elite of the Syrian-Lebanese colony and leading
PDN figures. Jatib argued that the charges of racial insensitivity against PDN
activists countered his personal experience with this political party. Rather,
its members “have had nothing but words of praise for our community
because of its spirit of assimilation that distinguishes it among all of the
[other] communities” and because the Syrian-Lebanese colony “forms one
family with Argentines, thanks to the generosity of the Constitution.” He
further asserted that the PDN “feels a profound respect for the Arab colony”
and that the allegations by it against Cebes and Gettas were for constitutional
and not racial reasons. Jatib concluded, “the PDN can be sure that the majority of my countrymen are active in their ranks, but as our community is very
numerous, there is no shortage of opponents whose opinions I respect.”28
Elsewhere, members of the Syrian-Lebanese colony expressed public support for the embattled PDN in this moment of heightened tension. In the
town of Aguilares, Río Chico department, an “act of solidarity” was held for
the PDN at the house of provincial senator and prominent political boss
Horacio Caracotche. The host opened the event by urging his peers to keep
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faith in the party’s strategy in the Electoral College, as it was in his view a
winning one. David Nahas, who had recently been elected to the municipal
council of Aguilares, then followed Caracotche. In speaking on behalf of the
Syrian-Lebanese colony, he recounted the events that transpired in the Electoral College and the claims of offending Cebes and Gettas and thus the
broader community. Nahas asserted that no such offense could be taken, and
at the conclusion of the event he had helped coauthor a letter of support
directed to the PDN members in the Electoral College. El Jatib’s and Nahas’s
support for the PDN was important because it illustrated that there was no
uniform response to the comments by Cossio and Pérez Genovessi. Furthermore, Nahas’s views were telling because he lived in the same department as
Cebes, and as such demonstrated the multiple paths to political power and
opinions of politics that were available to Syrians and Lebanese.29
The turmoil in Tucumán’s Electoral College would become moot as the
federal government intervened on November 26, citing the passing of the
expiration deadline of the College. The intervention decree hit the province
like a tidal wave, immediately scrambling the political scene. The Radicals—
winners of the popular vote—were despondent, and the PDN jubilant. Yet,
as word spread that evening, protesters set upon Independence Plaza in front
of the executive office building of the provincial government to protest.
These demonstrations intensified, seemingly coalescing with labor agitation
and strikes. In early December the General Confederation of Labor (CGT),
whose role in labor issues in the province had grown over the course of the
previous years, organized a rally supporting the unity of “democratic forces”
in Argentina and protested forcefully the federal government’s perceived
overreach against provincial autonomy. Nine speakers from unions, political
groups (such as the communists and Radicals), university students, and democratic youth groups exhorted the crowd of more than two thousand people
to fight the intervention. The event also featured several worker delegations
from the countryside including the Sugar Industry Workers’ Syndicate of
Obanta and Famaillá and the Farmhands of Lules. The young SyrianLebanese activist Alberto Caram spoke on behalf of the student group
Tucumán University Federation (FUT). In a wide-ranging speech, he critiqued the national policy of neutrality in World War II, arguing that it hurt
Argentina’s economy. He also noted the unity of all Argentines with desires
and sympathies for democratic rule and gave specific examples of the
“More Argentine Than You”
necessity to defend popular sovereignty. He closed his speech to roars of
approval by identifying the FUT with the causes that the CGT defended.30
Cultural Politics and Belonging in Argentina
Public notoriety due to economic achievement, charity, and increasing political activism certainly figured in the Argentine public’s imagination of the
Syrian-Lebanese colonies. At the same time, how Syrian-Lebanese viewed
themselves as part of the Argentine nation was critical to forging a sense of
belonging. While accrued social capital mattered, ideas of membership were
critical too. The increasing influence and numbers of Syrians and Lebanese
participating in politics bespoke of a larger existential transformation within
the colony. Progressively as the second and third generations were coming of
age and replacing their immigrant parents and grandparents, a shift happened in how these young people understood their individual and collective
places within the Argentine social fabric. No longer did these young people—and even many pioneer immigrants who had resided in Argentina for
more than three decades—view themselves as immigrants residing in a host
country. Rather, they were Argentines from a particular ethnic community
composed originally of migrants from the eastern Mediterranean. As such,
they understood that their destiny lay in their birthplace and not that of their
parents. What it exactly meant, how it was understood, and the symbols
these people most identified with are issues as important in assessing ideas
of belonging as is identifying political participation at various levels. The
children of prosperous immigrant merchants had the resources to attend
university, and many pursued advanced degrees and liberal professions such
as medicine and law. It is less clear what options existed for children of
working-class Syrians and Lebanese. Nevertheless, it seems a certain set of
national Argentine symbols appealed to the community writ large.
Many avenues existed for young people to express their understandings
of self and community, such as theatrical productions, community events,
and newly formed social organizations. Young people experienced occasional pressure from the older generation as the latter worried about the lack
of community. Plays continued to be a venue that allowed dramaturges and
artists to explore these themes. Yubran Massuh, the editor of the nationalist
newspaper al-Zawba‘a and a long-time publisher of Arabic-language
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periodicals in Argentina, wrote a play performed in theaters in Tucumán and
Santiago del Estero. The play, entitled Umm wa Ghayr Umm (Mother and not
mother), was didactic in intent and alternated between a comedy and a sociopolitical critique in which the “events took place between the homeland
[Syria] and the mahjar.”31 Massuh produced this work while he was collaborating with the Syrian nationalist Antoun Saadeh, who had moved to
Tucumán in 1939. While Saadeh was unable to rally the broader SyrianLebanese colony to his movement, a distinct if ephemeral Syrian nationalist
form of cultural outpouring emerged, embodied in the Syrian Cultural
Ensemble (al-Firqa al-Sūriyya al-Thaqāfiyya).32 This group, which was composed of self-styled Syrian nationalists (qawmiyyūn), crafted plays designed
to engage serious issues while critiquing Syrian customs and cultural expressions. Its initial theatrical presentation offered three acts performed in Arabic before a packed audience in the social hall of the Syrian-Lebanese Society.
The first piece was entitled “Brisk Trade” (Nifāq al-Jumla) and poked fun at
the prominence of Syrian commercial power in Tucumán and the colony’s
leading merchants. The second act, entitled “Holder of a Bachelor of Science
Degree” (Hāmil Bakalūriyūs ‘Ulūm), had two parts: a musical movement,
followed by an “electrifying” nationalist speech from Pedro Llamil (Jamīl)
Neme, the secretary of the Syrian-Lebanese Society. The final act was a oneman play by Gabriel Candalaft, president of the ensemble, entitled “Sniffing
Cocaine” (Sham al-Kūkāīīn). The event was a rousing success, provoking the
Tucumán daily La Gaceta to report, “the applause for [the event] was beyond
imagination.”33
Neme’s speech roused the crowd to near delirium as he proclaimed, “Verily the Syrian nationalist rebirth [al-nahda
. al-sūriyya al-qawmiyya] is rising.
. . . And I call upon every youth [with] Syrian blood circulating in his veins
to join forces with [his fellows] because it is the one step that positions a great
people from Syria to reclaim its place among nations”34 The nationalist overtones were clearly understood, as the speech fit into the larger drama afflicting the old country. Syria, during World War II, was still under French rule;
however, activists in the old country were moving steadily toward independence, which was achieved in 1946.35 At the same time, performing in theater
troops created networks that would be of consequence in professional life.
For instance, in high school, Julio César Saleme performed in student theatrical productions along with future cultural and political luminaries, most
“More Argentine Than You”
notably the poet Gustavo Bravo Figueroa and future Radical governor and
presidential candidate Celestino Gelsi. Saleme, who was admitted to the bar
in 1943, became the first member of the Syrian-Lebanese colony to win election as mayor of San Miguel de Tucumán and was a leading member of the
Tucumán branch of the Partido Socialista Argentino, which emerged after
the overthrow of Perón in 1955.36
Poetry, a cultural expression revered within the Syrian-Lebanese colony
well into the 1940s, continued as a platform to express a sense of belonging
and to refashion symbols. As noted earlier, oral poetry figured importantly
in the pioneer generation of Arabic-speaking immigrants, especially in
important community events such as weddings and funerals. In addition,
poetry among Tucumán’s cultural and artistic elites enjoyed a renaissance
under the general patronage of Alfredo Coviello, among others. For instance,
Pedro N. Estofán, who had participated in Arab nationalist politics in the
1920s and was instrumental in the foundation of the Lebanese Patriotic Society, became a renowned poet in Argentine cultural circles. In his 1942 poetry
collection Alma, Estofán reduced his heritage to little more than a cultural
identity. At the same time, Tucumán took center stage as the point of reference. The poem “Los años míos” (My years) is illustrative:
In Tucumán, my years were born,
Near the springs, near the ferns;
For this my soul carries the murmur of rivers
And there is the flutter of pigeons in my chest
The woman from Catamarca was my stork [who delivered me]:
She gave me in the cradle a lot of fruit of the vine
How does one then not love Poetry
That weaves in its eyes the moon
The recall of Lebanon emboldens me
For its eternal fire circulates in my veins
Without pretension to the scepter, or the crown
I consider myself brother of the Nazarene.37
In this poem, Tucumán, where Estofán was born, was primary, featuring
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descriptions of the province’s geography and allusions to its wildlife. References to places in the province and even streets in the capital are predominant
throughout his later oeuvre. Lebanon, where he completed his university
studies, became a font of cultural heritage. Unlike in the 1920s when the destiny of his homeland figured prominently in his work, Lebanon’s political
reality and national composition seemed to recede in importance. This shift
in the place of the homeland in Estofán’s worldview was indicative of a general
shift for many of the first-generation immigrants. To be sure, there were many
who were politically committed; however, this fervor from the 1920s and 1930s
began to abate. A crucial example was the transformation of the Lebanese
Patriotic Society into the Lebanese Association of Mutual Aid (Asociación
Libanesa de Socorros Mutuos), in which political content was stripped and
emphasis was given to cultural identity.
Syrians and Lebanese also appropriated Argentine symbols as their own.
Muhammad Guenam produced a passionate ode to the national flag of his
adopted country, entitled “To the Argentine Flag”:
Oh, Flag of Argentina
I would like to serve you and rescue
With my soul and all that I possess
I offer freely
With the purity of my soul
My family, my children,
So if I see you flapping
Like a star shedding
Your light on their heads,
I am filled with glory
As if I were an Argentine.
If one day any ardent affection
Diverted my mind,
It is only the affection
That I profess to you, oh, Flag.
And if time makes me sad,
If I am full of sorrow
“More Argentine Than You”
It must be only for you
If darkness surrounds me
In the shadowy moors
You serve as my guide
To not perish,
If fears invade me
You protect me from danger.
Under your shadow, Flag
I feel my thirst appeased
And if I feel sick,
With the color of your sun, I recover.
Oh, Flag of Argentina,
Receive, then, a greeting
From a grateful people
that under your light lives and grows,
And I beseech you to accept
The greeting of a poet
He always refused other flags
To pay you tribute today
Oh, Flag of Argentina.38
This poem certainly conveyed the emotion many Syrian and Lebanese immigrants felt toward their adopted country and the opportunities it provided
for their children. Guenam immigrated in the 1920s during the early years of
the French Mandate in Syria, established himself as a merchant in Tucumán,
and later served as president of the Syrian-Lebanese Society. Considering
that the poem was first composed in Arabic, it is likely that Guenam presented it at an organized cultural event or informally with friends, most of
whom probably identified with the sentiments evoked. Furthermore,
Pedro N. Estofán translated the poem and Nagib Baaclini published it in El
Eco de Oriente, suggesting broad agreement among the leading cultural figures within the colony and perhaps an awareness of declining Arabic fluency
in the colony. In the poem, Guenam expresses his desire to protect the flag,
and thus his adopted homeland, with his spiritual and material resources. He
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also states his belief that the flag will protect him through tough patches.
Moreover, and here Guenam seems to speaking for the colony at large, he
offers a greeting to Argentina from a “grateful people” that, in general terms,
had achieved prosperity. Finally, he offers his fidelity to Argentina by refusing “other flags,” including that of the old country. The loyalty and ardor
articulated is important for several reasons. First, Guenam, a practicing
Muslim and an important figure at the Pan-Islamic Society, lived in Argentina, a Roman Catholic nation. Yet that was inconsequential in how Guenam
understood his place in local society. His religious identity was perfectly
compatible with his Argentine one. Second, Guenam had achieved material
wealth in the dry goods business. He recognized Argentina’s role in this success by offering his possessions in order to defend the nation in which he
prospered and raised his children. Third, by citing the protective and curative powers of the flag, Guenam suggests that Argentina was where he could
thrive as an individual and the colony could as a whole. It is clearly an idealized vision of Argentina, but it was a powerful one that was deeply felt and
widespread within the Syrians and Lebanese in the Northwest.
For the second and third generations of Syrian-Lebanese, Argentina was
their homeland, and it was in the communities of their childhood and adolescence where their futures lay. This notion was a shared one despite the
great variation of social and economic standing internally. For instance, the
Syrian-Lebanese colony in the hamlet of Perico del Carmen, Jujuy province,
organized a banquet honoring Salomon Jorge’s graduation from the law
school at the University of Córdoba. During the luncheon, Jorge rose to give
a speech, beginning by thanking the young ladies from the colony who
would be future mothers. He then spoke about his heritage and his homeland, commenting on his pride for the blood in his veins that pertained to a
“noble race, strong, honorable, and hard-working.” Moreover, his achievement was testimony of an adaptable race to any region. Jorge continued,
Now, it’s our turn to conserve this rich heritage and legacy of peace,
of love, of concord; legacy of honor in the Holy Land. Behold another
sacred legacy due also to [their parents’] powerful intuition to settle in
this country—our country that is one of those whose grandeur grows
daily. While living there [in the old country] they are frightened by
the cannon’s thunder, here we offer an atmosphere of friendship, of
“More Argentine Than You”
harmony; while there they live confused, unable to understand, here we
form wreaths with our hearts, wreaths of peace; while there a culture is
lost, here we rise to teach our elders the way to happiness . . . I say with
certainty that here exist aspiring young people that live worried to meet
the highest contemplations of the spiritual atmosphere of this great
nation, the Argentine nation.39
The speech by the young attorney Salomon Jorge revealed that the event
took place in the nicest hotel in this small town, celebrating the triumphant
return of a future leader of the colony. While the community recognized
Jorge’s achievement, it first showcased him to the local population. Second, he
idealized the history of his ancestry, noting a nurturing culture of peace, love,
and harmony that produced people with honor, decency, and a strong work
ethic. Certainly this rhetoric created the impression of a people worthy of
acceptance and integration in Jujuy. Finally, Salomon Jorge’s sentiment for
Argentina acknowledged a broader feeling among large sections of these colonies: Argentina was a land of opportunity. When speaking of the responsibility of the youth to carry on the values of the community, he remarked on
the “powerful intuition” of their older generation to find their way to Argentina, a nation whose greatness was on the march. Jorge then contrasted his
homeland with that of his parents, noting the insecurity and strife of the old
country. The backdrop of World War II was ever-present as accounts of the
events in Syria and Lebanon filled the immigrant and national press. Argentina’s neutral position simply added to the belief of a country of friendship,
harmony, and peace. Furthermore, Jorge perceived that although cultural
development was dying in the old country, he believed its future in Argentina
rested in the hands of the younger generation. In a rousing conclusion, he
affirmed his belief that the rising generation would meet the challenge before
them, contributing to the advancement of Argentina.
The rising generation of Syrian and Lebanese youth also viewed their
future as transcending the limits of conventional politics and the colony’s
established institutions. The editors of El Eco de Oriente, again encouraging
greater activism, noted that a good portion of the youth avoided the political
parties because these institutions were self-serving, emphasizing their candidates, their ideals, and their electoral platforms. Rather, the editors continued, “The youth are Argentinistas, they love their country, are disposed to
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defend it from all foreign threats. In their immense majority, the youth reject
exotic regimes, foreign norms, and government structures that are not
imminently democratic. . . . Young people are interested in patriotic ideals,
glorious traditions, constitutional liberalism, and the grandness of the
republic.”40 Indeed, the Argentine constitution was a symbol that many
Syrian-Lebanese revered.
Yet the very nature of an emphasized Argentine identity that could diminish connection to an ethnic community provoked concern among their
elders about the possibility of failing to pursue common interests as a coherent unit. Put another way, the elder generation perceived a threat to the idea
of a Syrian-Lebanese community. The belief of acting on behalf of a large,
closely knit ethnic group was, however, a myth. The waning membership in
key institutions, such as the Syrian-Lebanese Society, and the multiple
expressions of political activism, such as joining student unions, belied the
rhetoric of communal unity and spoke to alternative avenues to achieve
goals. As a result, the most active within the older generation of SyrianLebanese perceived a younger one as indifferent to community issues and
initiated another campaign encouraging the colony’s youth to organize and
become publicly active. This perception was intensified following the resignation of the prominent merchant Said Madkur as president of the SyrianLebanese Society in June 1941.
An initial attempt to revitalize the colony featured a group of young men
that established the Lebanese Club and the Syrian-Lebanese Youth Center.
Their efforts aspired to unite the colony’s youth, to allow for sociability, and
to search for an effective moral vigor. These groups were designed to address
the “spiritual anxieties” experienced by modern youth who, at least for the
editors of El Eco de Oriente, were living a life distinct from previous generations that rendered a sense of existential uncertainty.41 This initial idea met
a positive response by a call from the editorial board of El Eco de Oriente to
create a center to unify Syrians, Lebanese, and Arabs, free from the tutelage
of their elders. The editors challenged them to be like the Young Turks,
romantically declaring, “youth is like a clarion of renovation, of manly vigor,
of sweeping action . . . because youth is synonymous with revolution.”42 This
movement, while much lauded by the older generation, faded quickly as it
succumbed to internal bickering.
A second attempt began in the spring of 1941 under the initiative of Emilio
“More Argentine Than You”
Saad, a young physician, son of wealthy merchant Fortuna Saad, and nephew
to Selim and Alcira Saad. In a letter directed to the youth of Syrian-Lebanese
descent, he called upon them to come together as a committed group. In noting the characteristics of peace, love, and hard work that their parents
brought to this “fertile and vigorous land,” Saad declared that the colony’s
youth must carry on the “moral and material prestige” earned by the pioneer
generation. Furthermore, he called upon his compatriots to work for colony
unity and to contribute to local society in cultural, artistic, and scientific
ways. He concluded his letter by affirming that their collective efforts would
not be in vain, but rather would enhance the prestige of Tucumán and forge
a true sense of Argentinidad.43 Saad’s efforts won the immediate support of
Nagib Baaclini, who noted the start of a “grand and generous” youth movement. Baaclini further agreed that the youth had to take up actions of their
parents, work that is taken up in the cities, fields, social, and cultural spheres.
This was not a negative movement, but instead one of “love, color, and
grace.”44 Furthermore, the youth must lead the Syrian-Lebanese Society, and
though born in Argentina, the youth must not lose the love of the “distant
land” of their ancestors. The letter thus invited the youth to keep the Society
alive and vibrant. At the same time, the clearest challenge to this movement
was to keep the mood of the movement alive.45
The initial response to Emilio Saad’s call to arms proved positive. Nagib
Baaclini attempted to use his personal prestige to cheer on the efforts. Referring to the youth as a “divine treasure,” Baaclini warned that they must be
ready for hard work and combat in order to help assist the colony. Doing so
would not only protect the colony, but also the province’s and the nation’s
democratic institutions. It also initiated a period of introspection among the
children from the wealthier Syrian-Lebanese families. The newspaper El Eco
de Oriente ran a series of interviews entitled “What do our young men think
of our young ladies?” and “What do our young ladies think of our young
men?” to assess what was viewed as important in the opposite gender, such
as the most desirable trait, whether or not they were cultured, and whether
or not a cultural scene existed within the younger generation. Opinions were
mixed. For instance, the future intellectual and artist Elena Albaca suggested
that the cultural scene among Syrian-Lebanese young men was limited, citing the lack of perspective and motivation to succeed either morally or materially.46 In contrast, Isabelita Yaya believed that a cultural movement was
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alive “because the youth is highly motivated and capable.”47 Several women
critiqued the colony’s young men, observing their competitiveness among
each other, their inability to communicate with one another, and the braggadocio of the young professionals resulting from their achieving a university degree.48 The men, on the other hand, viewed women as the bearers and
reproducers of Syrian-Lebanese cultural forms, charged with passing it
down to future generations. Future paper industrialist Amin Massuh noted
a promising cultural movement emerging among the colony’s young ladies.
He also commented that there were women from the colony living a “modern
life”; however, others were held back by conservative parents. Regardless of a
particular home situation, Massuh viewed with “great satisfaction” women
who were modest, loyal, and the “loving mother of the home.”49 Simón Antonio Richa Pérez, a rising political activist of Lebanese parentage, stressed that
girls from the colony needed to play a more important role in the social life
of the community, saying they needed to organize and restore social activities, much as Emilio Saad had done for the young men. Richa Pérez, believing that a spirit of collaboration did not exist among the girls, urged them to
become more harmonized, which could be achieved by enthusiasm and sincerity among each other.50 The editors at El Eco de Oriente agreed with Richa
Pérez that the young women needed to reinvigorate the Ladies’ Commission
in order to activate the households and the community. The collective goal
of these efforts was to explain the ambitions of the Syrian-Lebanese Society,
which was effectively moribund and adrift.51
The various comments demonstrate the multiple understandings of what
was needed to form a strong community among the rising generation of the
Syrian-Lebanese colony. It is clear that this generation was no less fragmented and had no fewer ideas of what should be done to rejuvenate the
group. For the interviewed young ladies, the attitude of the men could be
off-putting, whereas the men desperately called for an increased role of
women in community affairs while noting that there were perceived fissures
among the girls. Taken together, the comments reveal the myth of a wellorganized and cohesive ethnic community and the reality that there was
much internal division as many Syrians and Lebanese chose not to identify
with community institutions or initiatives. Hence it would seem that outside
of a core group of active youths from mostly wealthy families, the efforts of
Saad would be limited and ultimately stall.
“More Argentine Than You”
Within weeks Saad published an open letter to the Syrian-Lebanese colony in Tucumán, declaring that there should be no room for apathy in the
community. Instead, the community and its descendants should feel obliged
to make it bigger and stronger. In order to unite the group, he continued, the
youth must love their elders and keep respect for the traditions that had been
passed down. Saad concluded, “Let us be worthy of our racial tradition and
return that trust with works of collective improvement.”52 In the same issue
as Saad’s letter, Nagib Baaclini published a message to the colony. He began
by reminding his readers that the goal of the newspaper since its founding in
1917 had been to serve the interests of the Syrian-Lebanese colony. He further
wished that the Syrian-Lebanese community would work in cooperation to
defend the interests of trade and industry, strive for economic stabilization,
stay away from political arguments, yet defend what they believed to be just
causes that protected democratic life in Tucumán. He concluded by declaring
that the colony had a place in the “relentless struggle for the moral and material progress of Tucumán.”53
Despite the efforts of Saad and Baaclini, the youth efforts stalled, and, as
the 1942 legislative and gubernatorial elections demonstrated, any chance of
avoiding political disagreements were fanciful. In fact, the editors at El Eco
de Oriente published a lament on the youth’s indifference. Arguing that they
had the ability to renew a people and keep society alive, the editors also commented that when young people became apathetic, society crumbled. This
disappointment also elicited contempt, which declared that the disengaged
youth had no right to feel disappointed. Without passion, these young people
had stopped seeking solidarity, lacked enthusiasm, and developed the “parasite” of apathy.54 El Eco de Oriente also published a plea from Vice President
Castillo exhorting all Argentine youth not to betray their responsibility and
to become active in public and social life in order to defend democracy in the
Americas and Europe.55 In the wake of these efforts and exhortations, young
Maronites decided to establish the San Marón Cultural Association Center
to combat the perceived threat of the contemporary ideology of materialism.
In the proposed library, the organizers envisioned a space in which young
people would have access to the works of the great humanists and, more
important, the freedom to ponder their spiritual and existential implications.56 This effort successfully organized book donations to fill the library,
and in conjunction with the opening, the president of the center, José
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Chebaia (the son of the very wealthy merchant Guettas Chebaia) gave an
interview on Tucumán radio criticizing the age of materialism. In addition,
Chebaia noted that many of his generation thirsted for something more profound and meaningful to help them understand the age they were living in.
As such, the purpose of the library would be to reintroduce the spiritual and
religious works of key Roman Catholic thinkers and provide a space to
engage the readings. While this center probably found a receptive audience,
it seems most likely that it was limited to certain members of the Maronite
collective within the larger Syrian-Lebanese colony.57
Two fruitless final attempts to organize the Syrian and Lebanese youth
emerged in the early 1940s. The first directly linked to the looming provincial
legislative elections in March 1942. Longtime Radical activists Dr. Jorge
Sawaya, Pedro N. Estofán, and Jorge Schedan tried to recruit young professionals, college students, high school students, and young workers of SyrianLebanese descent and turn them into community activists.58 This group
must have been ephemeral because Simón Antonio Richa Pérez, who was an
initial member, led the attempt to reform the Lebanese Club in June 1942
with a core of young people. This club, less open than the others, concentrated on “the most select” of the colony’s young professionals. Richa Pérez
and his vice president, Edmundo Abdelnur, wanted to completely reorganize
the organization, turning it into an active society promoting Lebanese culture to Tucumán society through festivals, dances, and other types of social
gatherings.59 This club, too, did not gain traction in the larger community
and notices of its activities stopped. In fact, the most sustained organizations
seemed to have been born out of the political controversy surrounding the
Electoral College that was to happen later in the year. Despite the personal
ties to the institutions established by the colony’s pioneer generation of
immigrants, the rising one had different ideas of community and what it
meant to be an Argentine with Syrian-Lebanese parentage.
As Juan Domingo Perón became a new political force, political allegiances
such as those of some longtime Radical activists from the Syrian-Lebanese
colony—in particular the editors of El Eco de Oriente—gravitated toward the
populist candidate. Others remained committed to their previous loyalties.60
Yet most attempted to pursue opportunities to advance their financial lot
and to raise families. The discrete religious institutions continued to succor
the faithful. The Syrian-Lebanese Society, worried about membership,
“More Argentine Than You”
started annual celebrations of Lebanese and Syrian independence from
France. The younger generation began entering professional fields, taking
over the shops of their fathers, and pursuing their personal fulfillment in a
variety of forms. In other words, they behaved like other Argentine youth
attempting to navigate the difficulties of life.
Conclusion
On the eve of the military coup in June 1943, the Syrian-Lebanese colony in
Tucumán had achieved two, perhaps counterintuitive, characteristics. First,
they were a politically consequential group that fielded candidates, established committees to support aspirants, hosted banquets that the political
class attended, and held leadership positions in political parties and unions.
The formation of political committees that hosted banquets and demonstrated in the streets for particular candidates illustrates the participation in
and influencing of local political culture. The election campaigning of a particular Syrian-Lebanese political committee provoked a dissident member of
the colony to observe that there was no equivalent in the other immigrant
groups. As a result, the political class pursued the colony in order to curry
favor and translate these relationships into support at the polls.
Second, no sense of a coherent and organized community ever materialized despite the efforts of a wide variety of the most recognized and active
members of the colony. Even the disrespect shown to Cebes and Gettas failed
to galvanize the group. In fact, several prominent members spoke out in
defense of the PDN, even criticizing some of their compatriots for political
opportunism. The colony’s key secular institution, the Syrian-Lebanese Society, simply could not attract enough interest from the broader colony, despite
the efforts of Nagib Baaclini, Emilio Saad, and others. It seems that as Syrian
and Lebanese identities transformed into cultural ones that formed part of
an Argentine identity, young people pursued interests that lay beyond the
social world of their parents. Allegiance to Argentine symbols and respect
for their parents’ birth country figured as the predominant understanding of
their place in Tucumán and elsewhere in the Northwest. The fight over the
old country simply did not matter to the majority of Syrians and Lebanese
born and raised in Argentina. They were in every sense Argentine and their
destinies lay in their homeland.
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Epilogue
Carlos Menem, the son of Syrian Muslim immigrants that settled in the
western province of La Rioja in the early years of the twentieth century,
ascended to the presidency in the winter of 1989. Positioning himself as the
embodiment of Argentine masculine virility, Menem appropriated the symbols of the nation—specifically the gaucho, the sportsman, and the child of
immigrants. He wore long, curly locks and burly sideburns in the style of the
famous nineteenth-century caudillo Facundo Quiroga from La Rioja.
Menem played a full ninety minutes with the national soccer team in a televised match and hit with tennis star Gabriela Sabatini. He deliberately laid
claim as heir of the charismatic populist Juan Domingo Perón and his multicultural Argentina. A 1989 exposé in Vanity Fair, for instance, included a
photo of a shirtless Menem lying in a bed hugging his dog, expressing his
sense of masculinity and his connection to the mythic descamisados—the
workers who rallied to Perón’s side in October 1945 and became the core of
his electoral and public support. He held rally after rally in the working-class
suburbs of Buenos Aires and throughout the country in the buildup to the
election, which he won by 15 percentage points.
While this particular story exemplifies Menem’s personal ambition and
talent, his tale is the product of a history experienced by many descendants
of immigrants from the eastern Mediterranean and commemorated in the
folklore song from the northwestern province of Catamarca entitled “Era
árabe mi abuelo” (My grandfather was Arab). His father, Saul Menem, settled
in a small town of a remote interior province, built his wealth through the
selling of dry goods and sundries, and helped establish community institutions to organize the Syrian-Lebanese of the area. As the elder Menem
achieved commercial success, the younger capitalized on the family’s wealth
and accrued social capital by attending university and earning a degree in
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Epilogue
law from the prestigious National University of Cordoba in 1955. Carlos
Menem then entered into local politics as a Peronist, founding the youth
branch the following year. His was a process experienced throughout the
Northwest by numerous immigrants and their children and with varying
levels of success.
This history thus provides important examples for societies and policymakers bound up in the era of transnational migration. Larger global processes, such as war and integration into the global economy, had a direct
impact on the decision to migrate, so-called “irresistible forces.”2 And while
economic and social considerations were very important to individual decisions, cultural changes in understanding emigration as an acceptable life
choice combined with increasing access to information about opportunities
abroad. Further, emigration merged with rising aspirations for material betterment among the young. Local economies expanded and stalled at the
same time Levantine populations had greater access to education and information about the wider world. Put another way, emigration was as much a
“fever” and a “rite of passage” for young men, women, and increasingly families as it was a financial necessity.3 Individual decisions guided immigrants’
choices, yet they were certainly influenced by these larger processes transforming much of the world.
The course of Syrian and Lebanese integration in northwestern Argentina
also provides important examples for societies currently grappling with this
phenomenon. The current movement of large numbers of sub-Saharan Africans to Spain; North Africans to Italy; Central Americans to the United States;
Syrians, Iraqis, and Afghanis to Europe; and Colombians, Paraguayans, and
Bolivians to Argentina has generated multiple policy and social responses.
Governments have enacted laws to manage migration, attempting to deny
entry to those deemed undesirable and to recruit others with desired skills.
Many societies have labeled certain newcomers as unwanted, criminal, and
diseased. Similar rhetoric plagued so-called unwanted immigrants a century
ago in Argentina, the United States, and elsewhere in the Americas. Despite
particular legal arrangements and intolerance in a given society, immigrants
arrived and continue to do so. As José Moya put it, “laws don’t matter.”4 More
important, these immigrants stayed, integrated, raised families, and joined the
social fabric of the host society. As the Syrian-Lebanese case demonstrates,
prejudicial discourses existed and likely colored many encounters between
Epilogue
Arabic-speaking immigrants and the Argentine state and society. Yet over
time, many Syrians and Lebanese viewed themselves as important contributors to the development of Argentina and a model for other immigrant groups.
This rhetoric had two important consequences. First, it gave a sense of purpose
and belonging to many Syrians and Lebanese in Argentina. Second, it did
influence the way Argentines looked at these immigrants and their children.
Indeed, many immigrants bought into the idea of a generous Argentina, and
Argentines came to view the Syrian-Lebanese colony as wealthy and generous.
Furthermore, Argentine social and political elites came to believe that the
directors of the cultural institutions, in particular the Syrian-Lebanese Society
and a recognizable intellectual class that ran newspapers, were the leaders of
the community. In turn, many unaffiliated Syrians and Lebanese also recognized the prominence of these community brokers.
The example of Syrians and Lebanese in northwestern Argentina demonstrates that immigrants lived in a milieu that was at once distinctly local and
unbounded by national borders. The destiny of the old country never fully
disappeared from the colony’s internal politics. Rather, the issues of homeland burst onto the scene at particular moments, intimately linked as much
to European conflicts and colonialism. The political transformations in the
homelands created union and discord, forced certain members to relocate,
and provoked the formation of competing social institutions across Argentina. The destiny of the homeland was important to many immigrants, but
these people fought over the meaning of that destiny. Yet the manner of commitment in Tucumán and across the Americas varied widely and ranged
from returning to fight, to publishing broadsides against colonial domination, to sending money to revolutionary organizations or family members
suffering from failed harvests. The politics of the homeland also provided the
opportunity for ideologues and nationalists at home and abroad to craft
novel identities.5 While scholars have changed the definition of ethnicity, the
example of the Arabic-speaking colonies displays that these actors were just
as involved in fashioning new ethnonational identities as scholars have been
in ascribing such classifications.
While Argentine immigration records show that more than 80 percent of
people from Greater Syria permanently settled in the River Plate region, this
number should not suggest a rupture with the homeland.6 The Arabic-language
press that was produced in Argentina and elsewhere in the Americas shows
221
222
Epilogue
clearly that many abroad considered themselves to be part of their homeland
at every level—politically, socially, and economically. Immigrants were in constant contact with family members and friends back home and in other locations throughout the Americas. These people used new technologies such as
the wire telegraph, the standardized international mail service, and the
increasingly fast service of steamships to allay fears for distant relatives, cajole
others to migrate into the diaspora, and send money back home.7 These processes experienced by migrants of the early twentieth century and those of the
present day differ by degree and not by type.
Ultimately, the transnational insinuated itself into a set of processes that
were specific to the local milieu within which these immigrants and their
children lived. Arabic speakers in northwestern Argentina established cultural institutions to organize the community, to provide spaces of sociability,
to serve as safety nets in times of deprivation and need, but most important
to solidify an internal social hierarchy. Thus, people chose to associate with
or quit the immigrant colony at particular moments. Leaders of the community moved to expel competitors or the unwanted at other moments.
Immigrant intellectuals advocated a set of behavioral norms to help solidify
the respectability of the leadership in the eyes of local Argentine elites. At the
same time, a minority of the colony comprised these social institutions while
it attempted to speak on behalf of all. More Syrians and Lebanese, however,
might be arrested for disorderly conduct and public intoxication than be a
member of the Syrian-Lebanese Society in any given year in Tucumán.
Hence the idea of community was fluid, and a Syrian-Lebanese colony never
fully incorporated this heterogeneous group of people who emigrated from
the same region, except rhetorically. For some, the connection to the homeland formed the basis of self-identification, yet in many instances the homeland was simply one aspect of a person’s identity and was not necessarily
more dominant than other competing loyalties.
This fluidity was increasingly true for the second-generation immigrants
who fashioned a cultural identity within the larger Argentine national identity. Over time, membership in the Syrian-Lebanese Society in both
Tucumán and Jujuy was as much about local political participation and
electoral success as it was about fostering a connection with the homeland.
Yet an understanding of a shared past between the generations and among
Argentines of Syrian and Lebanese descent does persist. Youth movements
Epilogue
and clubs based on a collective identity are filled with children from the colony. Parents baptize their children in Maronite and Orthodox churches.
Muslims send their children to the Arab Argentine Institute that teaches
religious precepts. Most of the current generation, however, neither speaks
Arabic nor visits the Levant. These actions and rituals inform the expression
and experience of Syrian-Argentines and Lebanese-Argentines, Maronite
Catholics and ‘Alawite Muslims. The understandings of self and group for
the subsequent generations were and are distinct from that of their parents
and grandparents.
The Syrian-Lebanese in northwestern Argentina offer an important corrective in how immigrants contributed to local politics. While assessing the
role of immigrants’ formal political involvement—such as elections and participation in organized labor—is vital, the example from the Argentine
Northwest demonstrates that political activism could manifest in multiple
ways. Members of this colony achieved important roles in provincial governments by 1917; others sought seats on the municipal council and provincial
legislature. Men resorted to work stoppages to protest against perceived
transgressions on the part of management. Still others sat on boards of directors of local institutions and trade associations. Women pursued their rights
in court, raised money for public institutions, and organized soup kitchens
to benefit the impoverished. Furthermore, as the colony grew in size and
wealth, activists and merchants influenced and shaped local political culture
through their activism, political clubs, and the courtship from the established political parties. The cumulative effect of these efforts shows that
immigrants from Greater Syria were consequential in local politics and that
this broad participation was not restricted to the second generation.8
The economic, legal, philanthropic, and political activities of Syrians and
Lebanese also dispel the emphasis often given to racist and prejudicial discourses as debilitating daily realities. Language of this sort did exist; however, there was “a gap between rhetoric and social practice.”9 Social, gender,
and economic positions influenced how prejudicial rhetoric could translate
into altercations. In fact, these discourses likely did affect the arrest rates of
Syrians and Lebanese in Tucumán by local police forces. Yet it is clear that
this immigrant group successfully utilized state institutions, joined elite
Argentine social associations, became leading merchants, and married into
local families.
223
224
Epilogue
The religious institutions established in the early part of the twentieth
century remain. A clergyman from Lebanon heads the Maronite Church
in Tucumán. The Orthodox Church continues its works of charity, running
a soup kitchen in the township of Mariano Moreno. The Pan-Islamic Society provides a space of sociability. The Syrian-Lebanese Society is still an
important fixture for political aspirants and merchants of the colony. Other
institutions also serve an important purpose for socializing. The Lebanese
Association and the Arab Argentine Institute, a largely ‘Alawite organization, are two examples of entities that cater to particular segments of the
community. The occasional visit by the Syrian or Lebanese ambassadors on
the respective days of independence generates broad excitement, if only
fleeting.
The most important lesson to draw from the example of the SyrianLebanese experience in the Northwest may be how a group of foreign nationals and their descendants evolve into an ethnic minority group undeniably
identified with the host nation. Syrian and Lebanese intellectuals, poets, and
newsmen consistently appropriated national symbols and deliberately tied
aspects of the colony’s cultural forms to the Argentine nation. Their offspring
deepened this process as they matriculated through the school systems and
viewed themselves as Argentines. And as much as local society may have
guffawed at the accented Spanish of recent arrivals peddling goods throughout the streets of San Miguel in the earlier portion of the twentieth century,
P. Nacip
. . Estofán came to be viewed as a Tucumán poet, the Lebanese meat
pie safīha (sfija in Argentina) became regional cuisine renowned as the Arab
empanada, and Omar Hasan is a distinguished former member of the
national rugby team: los Pumas. This acceptance resulted from Syrians and
Lebanese immigrants and descendants believing they were members of the
local societies in northwestern Argentina as well as from Argentines viewing
them as such. Surely caricatures and stereotypes endure, such as the term
“turco,” which can be a term of endearment or an epithet depending on the
context, and the idea that all Lebanese are preternaturally smart merchants.10
And while ideas of a Syrian-Lebanese community changed and cultural
symbols evolved in meaning, Argentina emerged and remained a land of
opportunity. For the children of these immigrants, Argentina was home and
their Syrian-Lebanese heritage was an important part of the nation.
Notes
Introduction
1. Gustavo Rubenstein, “Evolución de los salarios de los obreros azucareros
durante el primer peronismo (1946–1949),” 5º Congreso Nacional de Estudios
del Trabajo, August 2001, http://www.aset.org.ar/congresos/5/aset/PDF/
RUBINSTEIN.PDF; Biblioteca del Congreso de la Nación (Argentina); and
Subdirección Estudios y Archivos Especiales, Perón: la comunidad organizada
(1949). Incluye la Reforma Constitucional sancionada por la Convención Nacional Constituyente en 1949, 2nd ed., organized by Oscar Castellucci (Buenos
Aires: Biblioteca del Congreso de la Nación, 2016), 259–64.
2. Adam McKeown, Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalization of
Borders (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 43–65; José C. Moya,
Cousins and Strangers: Spanish Immigrants in Buenos Aires, 1850–1930 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 13–44; Kemal Karpat, “Ottoman Emigration to America, 1860–1914,” International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies
17, no. 2 (1985): 199; and French Diplomatic Archives, Paris (henceforth ADLC),
Direction des Affaires Politiques et Commerciales, série E-Levant, carton 621,
Syriennes à l’Etranger, Ambassador to the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères
(henceforth MAE), November 28, 1930.
3. See Gildas Bregain, Syriens et Libanais d’Amérique du Sud (1918–1945) (Paris:
L’Harmattan, 2008).
4. República Argentina, Tercer Censo Nacional levantado el 10 de Junio de 1914,
vol. 2 (Buenos Aires: Talleres Gráficos de L. J. Rosso y Cía, 1916); and Estado do
São Paulo, Boletim do Departamento Estadual do Trabalho 16, no. 58 (1927).
5. The concept of ethnicization has been a staple of studies on immigrant communities in the United States. See, for instance, Kathleen Neils Conzen et al.,
“The Invention of Ethnicity: A Perspective from the USA,” Journal of American
Ethnic History 12, no. 1 (1992): 3–41.
6. Thomas Hylland Eriksen, Ethnicity and Nationalism: Anthropological Perspectives, 3rd ed. (London: Pluto Press, 2010); Marcus Banks, Ethnicity: Anthropological Constructions (London: Routledge, 1996); and Gregory Jusdanis, The
Necessary Nation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011).
225
226
Notes to Pages 5–8
7. See Akram Khater, “Becoming ‘Syrian’ in America: A Global Geography of
Ethnicity and Nation,” Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies 14, no. 2
(2005): 299–331; Sarah A. Gualtieri, Between Arab and White: Race and Ethnicity in the Early Syrian American Diaspora (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2009): 81–112; and Khater, Inventing Home, 71–107.
8. Moya, Cousins and Strangers; Samuel Baily, Immigrants in the Lands of Promise: Italians in Buenos Aires and New York City, 1870 to 1914 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press, 1999).
9. Donna J. Guy, Women Build the Welfare State: Performing Charity and Creating
Rights in Argentina, 1880–1955 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2009);
Sandra McGee Deutsch, Crossing Borders, Claiming a Nation: A History of
Argentine Jewish Women, 1880–1955 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press,
2010); Raanan Rein, Fútbol, Jews, and the Making of Argentina (Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press, 2015); and Mollie Lewis Nouwen, Oy, My Buenos
Aires: Jewish Immigrants and the Creation of Argentine National Identity (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2013). See also Lily Balloffet, “From
the Pampas to the Mashriq: Arab-Argentine Women, Ethnic Identity, and
Beneficence,” Mashriq & Mahjar 4, no. 2 (2016).
10. Carl Solberg, Immigration and Nationalism: Argentina and Chile, 1890–1914
(Austin: University of Texas Press, 1969); Ignacio Klich, “Criollos and Arabic
Speakers in Argentina: An Uneasy Pas de Deux, 1888–1914,” in The Lebanese in
the World: A Century of Immigration, ed. Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi
(London: Centre for Lebanese Studies, 1992) , 243–84; and Ignacio Klich,
“Argentine-Ottoman Relations and Their Impact on Immigrants from the
Middle East: A History of Unfulfilled Expectations, 1910–1915,” The Americas
50, no. 2 (1993): 177–205. See also Cristina Civantos, Between Argentines and
Arabs: Argentine Orientalism, Arab Immigrants, and the Writing of Identity
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006). For important reflections
on these themes in Brazil, see Jeffery Lesser, Immigration, Ethnicity, and
National Identity in Brazil, 1808 to the Present (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013).
11. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and
Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1991): 43–45; and Gualtieri, Between
Arab and White, 81–112.
12. A classic account is Samuel Baily, “The Role of Two Newspapers in the Assimilation of Italians in Buenos Aires and São Paulo, 1893–1913,” International
Migration Review 12, no. 3 (1978): 321–40. See also Moya, Cousins and Strangers,
279–81. For Syrians in the Americas, see Abdeluahed Akmir, “La prensa árabe
en Argentina,” in Huellas comunes y miradas cruzadas: mundos árabe, ibérico e
iberoamericano (Rabat, Morocco: Universidad Mohamed V, 1995), 291–305; and
Stacy Fahrentold, “Transnational Modes and Media: The Syrian Press in the
Notes to Pages 8–21
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
mahjar and Emigrant Activism during World War I,” Mashriq & Mahjar 1
(2013): 30–54.
See Jens Hanssen and Max Weiss, eds., Arabic Thought beyond the Liberal Age,
1780s–1940s: Towards an Intellectual History of the Nahda (Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 2016).
There were notable exceptions, such as Assalam (1902–1973), El Eco de Oriente
(1917–1952), Diario Siriolibanés (1929–1960), and al-Mursal (1913–1940). El Eco de
Oriente was the first newspaper to be fully bilingual in Arabic and Spanish. See
Akmir, “La prensa árabe en Argentina.”
Akmir, “La prensa árabe en Argentina,” 294.
Ibid.
For a facsimile of the July 1909 note to Schamún, see Akmir, “La inmigración
árabe en Argentina,” 820.
See George Saydah, Adabnā wa Udabāu’nā fi al-Mahājir al-Amirkiyya, 4th ed.
(Tripoli, Lebanon: Maktabat al-Sā’ih,
. 1999): 457–507.
For North America, see Khater, Inventing Home, 71–107; and Gualtieri, Between
Arab and White, 81–112.
Eliezer Tauber, “The Press and the Journalist as a Vehicle in Spreading National
Ideas in Syria in the Late Ottoman Period,” Die Welt des Islams 30, no. 1/4
(1990): 163–77; and Fahrentold, “Transnational Modes and Media.”
Chapter 1
1. Nissim Teubal, El inmigrante de Alepo a Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires: n.p., 1953),
72.
2. For a discussion of the middle class in Aleppo at the end of the Ottoman era
and into the French Mandate, see Keith David Watenpaugh, Being Modern in
the Middle East: Revolution, Nationalism, Colonialism, and the Arab Middle
Class (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006).
3. Teubal, El inmigrante de Alepo a Buenos Aires, 16–26. See also Abraham Marcus, The Middle East on the Eve of Modernity: Aleppo in the Eighteenth Century
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1989); Vital Cuinet, La Turquie d’Asie:
géographie, administrative, statistique, descriptive et raisonnée de chaque province de l’Asie-Mineure, vol. 2 (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1891), 109–84; and Walter P.
Zenner, A Global Community: The Jews from Aleppo, Syria (Detroit: Wayne
State University Press, 2000), 33–50.
4. Teubal, El inmigrante de Alepo a Buenos Aires, 50–66. See also Cuinet, La Turquie d’Asie, 2:178–81.
5. Teubal, El inmigrante de Alepo a Buenos Aires, 66–72.
6. Ibid., 70. See also Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 13–44; and McKeown, Melancholy Order, 43–65.
227
228
Notes to Pages 22–25
7. Carter Vaughn Findley, Turkey, Islam, Nationalism and Modernity: A History,
1789–2007 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010), 23–191; and Roger Owen,
The Middle East in the World Economy, 1800–1914 (London: I. B. Tauris, 1993),
57–64, 76–82, 100–121.
8. For the importance of transportation and communication innovations and
global capitalism in fostering mass migration, see, among others, James L.
Gelvin and Nile Green, eds., Global Muslims in the Age of Steam and Print
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014); Ilham Khuri-Makdisi, The
Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism, 1860–1914
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2010); Moya, Cousins and Strangers;
and McKeown, A Melancholy Order.
9. Findley, Turkey, Islam, Nationalism and Modernity, 104–6, 123–32, 133–91.
10. Jens Hanssen, Fin de Siècle Beirut: The Making of an Ottoman Provincial Capital (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2005); Akarlı, The Long Peace; and
Bruce Masters, The Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, 1516–1918: A Social and Cultural History (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 177–83.
11. Owen, The Middle East in the World Economy, 244–55, 261–66; Findley, Turkey,
Islam, Nationalism, and Modernity, 171; Cuinet, La Turquie de l’Asie, 2:156;
Khater, Inventing Home, 21–60; Kohei Hashimoto, “Silk, Information and
Migrants: The Causes of the Lebanese Migration Reconsidered,” Annals of
Japan Association for Middle East Studies 8 (1993): 1–54; and Khater, Inventing
Home, 21–31, 42–45.
12. Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 616–18; and Michelle U. Campos, Ottoman
Brothers: Muslims, Christians and Jews in Early Twentieth Century Palestine
(Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2010), 1–58, 164.
13. Matti Moosa, The Maronites in History (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University
Press, 1986); “Minister for Syrians,” New York Times, September 15, 1895; “Greek
Catholics Meet,” Buffalo Express, May 7, 1903; and “Syrian Church To Be Dedicated Sunday, June 26,” Buffalo Courier, June 6, 1904.
14. Julia Phillips Cohen, Becoming Ottomans: Sephardi Jews and Imperial Citizenship in the Modern Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014); Campos,
Ottoman Brothers; Marcus, The Middle East on the Eve of Modernity; and
Zenner, A Global Community.
15. Butrus Abu-Manneh, “The Christians between Ottomanism and Syrian
Nationalism: The Ideas of Butrus Al-Bustani,” International Journal of Middle
East Studies 11, no. 3 (1980): 287–90.
16. Ussama Makdisi, Artillery of Heaven, American Missionaries and the Failed
Conversion of the Middle East (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008), 217.
17. Randi Deguilhem, “Muslim Education in the Vilayet of Beirut, 1880–1918,” in
The Syrian Land: Processes of Integration and Fragmentation: Bilād al-Shām
from the 18th to the 20th Century, ed. Thomas Philipp and Birgit Schaebler
(Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1998), 221–50; Randi Deguilhem, “A Revolution
Notes to Pages 26–30
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
in Learning: The Islamic Contribution to the Ottoman State Schools: Examples
from the Syrian Provinces,” in Proceedings of the International Congress on
Learning and Education in the Ottoman Empire, ed. Ali Çaksu (Istanbul:
Research Centre for Islamic Art, History, and Culture, 2001), 285–95; Findley,
Turkey, Islam, Nationalism, and Modernity, 153–54, 184–90; and Hanssen, Finde-Siècle Beirut, 164–92.
Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798–1939 (Cambridge, UK:
Cambridge University Press, 1983), 67–102, 245–59; Jens Hanssen and Max
Weiss, eds., Arabic Thought beyond the Liberal Age, 1780s–1940s: Towards an
Intellectual History of the Nahda (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
2016); Najeeb E. Saliba, Emigration from Syria and the Syrian-Lebanese Community of Worcester, MA (Ligonier, PA: Antakya Press, 1992), 12–13; and KhuriMakdisi, The Eastern Mediterranean and the Making of Global Radicalism,
35–93.
Makdisi, Artillery of Heaven, 168.
Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 263–64.
Hanssen, Fin-de-Siècle Beirut, 115–38, 141, 193–209; Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 53; and Leila Tarazi Fawaz, Merchants and Migrants in Nineteenth-Century
Beirut (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1983).
Hanssen, Fin-de-Siècle Beirut, 16, 164–92; Saliba, Emigration from Syria, 12–13;
and Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 58–63.
Hanssen, Fin-de-Siècle Beirut, 115–38; Fawaz, Merchants and Migrants in NineteenthCentury Beirut, 28–120; and Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 56–58.
Watenpaugh, Being Modern in the Middle East; Cuinet, La Turquie de l’Asie,
2:162–84; Jean-Claude David, “Les espaces publics à Alep depuis la fin du
XIXe s. Urbanisme et pratiques des usagers,” Géocarrefour 77, no. 3 (2002):
235–44; and Bruce Masters, “The Political Economy of Aleppo in an Age of
Ottoman Reform,” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 53
(2010): 290–316.
Jean Gaulmier, “Note sur l’état présent de l’enseignement traditionnel à Alep,”
in Jean Gaulmier, un Orientaliste: Recueil des textes publiés dans le Bulletin
d’études orientales (1929–1972) (Damas, Syria: Presses de l’Ifpo, 2006), 83–144.
Zenner, A Global Community, 45–46.
Cuinet, La Turquie de l’Asie, 2:178–81; and Teubal, El inmigrante, 50–66.
Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 263–65, 447–50; and Dick Douwes, “Reorganizing Violence: Traditional Recruitment Patterns and Resistance to Conscription in Ottoman Syria,” in Arming the State: Conscription in the Middle East
and Central Asia, 1775–1925, ed. Erik J. Zurcher (London: I. B. Tauris, 1999),
124–25.
Makdisi, The Culture of Sectarianism, 97–138; Engin Akarlı, The Long Peace:
Ottoman Lebanon, 1861–1920 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993),
6–33; and Owen, The Middle East in the World Economy, 160–62.
229
230
Notes to Pages 30–34
30. Khater, Inventing Home, 52–55; and Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 18–25.
31. Khater, Inventing Home, 60–61.
32. Arthur Ruppin, Syria: An Economic Survey (New York: Provisional Zionist
Committee, 1918), 6; Charles Issawi, The Fertile Crescent, 1800–1914 (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1988), 20; Arthur Ruppin, “Migration to and from
Syria,” in The Economic History of the Middle East, 1800–1914, ed. Charles
Issawi (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966), 271; Karpat, “Ottoman
Emigration in America,” 185; Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et Palestine, 448; and Mark
Choate, Emigrant Nation: The Making of Italy Abroad (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 69.
33. For the Karam revolt, see Akarlı, The Long Peace, 37–38; and Makdisi, The Culture of Sectarianism, 277n21. For the story of Debes, see Jūrj ‘Assāf, “Tārīkh
al-Muhājira al-Sūriyya al-Lubnāniyya ila al-Arjuntīn,” al-Hayat (Buenos
Aires), special ed., pt. 1 (1943): 22–23.
34. ‘Assāf, “Tārīkh al-Muhājirah,” 22–23; and Estela Valverde, “Integration and
Identity in Argentina: The Lebanese of Tucumán,” in The Lebanese in the
World: A Century of Emigration, ed. Albert Hourani and Nadim Shehadi (London: I. B. Tauris, 1992), 335–37.
35. Hamad Harīz, Kitāb al-Rawda
. al-Bahiyya fī al-Durūs al-Isbāniyūliyya (Beirut:
al-Maktaba al-Lubnāniyya, 1906).
36. Centre de Archive Diplomatique de Nantes, France (CADN), Constantinople,
box 86, Affaires Politiques, Circular from Chargé d’Affaires in Constantinople, “Au sujet de l’emigration des sujets de l’Empire Ottoman aux Etats-Unis,”
June 20, 1907.
37. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, Consul General in Beirut
to French Chargé d’Affaires in Constantinople, “A/s de l’emigration a Syrie,”
July 6, 1907.
38. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, French Consul in Aleppo
to French Ambassador in Constantinople, “Emigration des sujets Ottomanes
en Amérique,” September 11, 1907.
39. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, Consul General in Jerusalem to Ambassador in Constantinople, “Au sujet de l’emigration des sujets de
l’Empire Ottoman en Amérique,” September 1, 1907; and Cuinet, Syrie, Liban et
Palestine, 659.
40. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, Consul General in Jerusalem to Ambassador in Constantinople, “Au sujet de l’emigration des sujets de
l’Empire Ottoman en Amérique,” September 1, 1907.
41. US National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), M353, roll 62,
Ravndal to US Secretary of State, “Emigration from Syria,” October 17, 1910.
42. Campos, Ottoman Brothers, 154–55, 286n85.
43. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, French Consul in Aleppo
to French Ambassador in Constantinople, “Exode des populations Chrétienne
et Israélité,” October 28, 1909.
Notes to Pages 34–38
44. Ibid.
45. Erik Jan Zurcher, “The Ottoman Conscription System, 1844–1914,” International Review of Social History 43 (1998): 437–49.
46. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, French Consul in Aleppo
to French Ambassador in Constantinople, “Article de la presse locale sue
l’exode de la population chrétienne,” November 12, 1909.
47. Campos, Ottoman Brothers, 155.
48. Arthur Ruppin, Syrien als Wirtschaftsgebeit (Berlin: Verlag Benjamin Harz,
1920), 24.
49. Ruppin, Syrien als Wirtschaftsgebeit, 22–26; and Mériem Cheikh, “Pour une
histoire de l’émigration syrienne vers l’Amérique latine. Le cas du Qalamoun,
lieu de mémoire” (master’s thesis, Université de Provence, 2005), 8n11.
50. These newspaper accounts were organized in an October 17, 1910, cable from
the US consul general in Beirut to his superiors in Washington, DC. NARA,
M353, roll 62, Ravndal to US Secretary of State, “Emigration from Syria,” October 17, 1910.
51. CADN, Constantinople, box 86, Affaires Politiques, French Consul General in
Damascus to French Ambassador in Constantinople, “Mohammed Effendi
Kurd Ali,” March 21, 1914.
52. CADN, Constantinople, Box 86, Affaires Politiques, French Consul General in
Damascus to French Ambassador in Constantinople, “Mohammed Effendi
Kurd Ali,” March 21, 1914; and Renée Worringer, “‘Sick Man of Europe’ or
‘Japan of the Near East’?: Constructing Ottoman Modernity in the Hamidian
and Young Turk Eras,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 36, no. 2
(2004): 207–30.
53. Ruppin, Syrien als Wirtschaftsgebeit, 24–25.
54. Edhem Eldem, A History of the Ottoman Bank (Istanbul: Ottoman Bank Historical Research Center, 1999); and Christopher Clay, professor emeritus,
Department of Historical Studies, University of Bristol, e-mail message to
author, September 6, 2004.
55. Archivo de Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores y Culto, Buenos Aires
(AMREC), box 1210, folder 42, Arturo de Luciano to Argentina’s Minister of
Foreign Affairs Victoriano de la Plaza, November 22, 1910. Arturo de Luciano
was an Italian subject who became the Argentine vice consul in Beirut.
56. Ruppin, “Migration to and from Syria,” 272; and Walter Laquer, A History of
Zionism (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1972), 150–52.
57. Ruppin, “Migration to and from Syria,” 272.
58. Schamún, La Siria nueva, 29.
59. See Assalam, July 1912, classified advertisements.
60. Christopher Clay, “The Origins of Modern Banking in the Levant: The Branch
Network of the Imperial Ottoman Bank, 1890–1914,” International Journal of
Middle East Studies 26 (1994): 590. See Eldem, A History of the Ottoman Bank,
233–40, 290–91.
231
232
Notes to Pages 38–45
61. Safar barlik (Seferberlik in Ottoman Turkish) actually means (military) conscription; however, the ravages of famine and war that struck the conscripted
Arabs during World War I led to this local usage. Roughly five hundred thousand people died from famine, or one-sixth of the population of Greater Syria.
See Elizabeth Thompson, Colonial Citizens: Republican Rights, Paternal Privilege, and Gender in French Syria and Lebanon (New York: Columbia University
Press, 2000), 17–23.
Chapter 2
1. Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 45–59; and Alejandro Schamún, La Siria Nueva:
obra histórica, estadística y comercial de las Repúblicas Argentina y Uruguay
(Buenos Aires: Empresa Assalam, 1917), 19.
2. Archivo General de la Provincia de Tucumán (AGPT), Caja 752, Expediente 10,
series E, “Audiencia,” October 19, 1917, Sucesión de Abraham Budeguer;
“Quiebras fraudulentas,” El Orden, March 13, 1911; and “Las quiebras fraudulentas,” El Orden, March 15, 1911.
3. For an excellent study of informal networks in the popular sectors of Cairo, see
Diane Singerman, Avenues of Participation: Family, Politics, and Networks in
Urban Quarters of Cairo (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995),
132–72.
4. “Los árabes en la República,” La Prensa, November 17, 1906.
5. Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 60–90.
6. Raymond Delval, Les Musulmanes en Amérique Latine et aux Caraïbes (Paris:
Éditions L’Harmattan, 1992), 262.
7. Memoria de la Dirección de Inmigración correspondiente al año 1909 (Buenos
Aires: Imprenta y Casa Editora de Coni Hermanoes, 1910), 32; and Boletim do
Departamento Estadual do Trabalho 16, no. 58, 1 trimester of 1927, São Paulo,
1927.
8. Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 230–32.
9. Lilia Ana Bertoni, “De Turquía a Buenos Aires,” 68; and David Rock, State
Building and Political Movements in Argentina, 1860–1916 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2002), 116–43.
10. Lilia Ana Bertoni, “De Turquía a Buenos Aires: una colectividad nueva a fines
del siglo XIX,” Estudios Migratorios Latinoamericanos 9, no. 26 (1994): 69.
11. Haim Avni, Argentina and the Jews: A History of Jewish Immigration (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1991), 100–102.
12. Jeffrey Lesser, Welcoming the Undesirables: Brazil and the Jewish Question
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 47–52.
13. Juan A. Alsina, Memoria de la Dirección de Inmigración correspondiente al año
1899 (Buenos Aires: Imprenta de M. Biedma é Hijo, 1900), 79–80. See also
María Elena Vela Rios and Roberto Caimi, “The Arabs in Tucumán,
Notes to Pages 46–47
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
Argentina,” in Asiatic Migrations in Latin America, ed. Luz M. Martínez Montiel (Mexico City: El Colegio de México, 1981), 125–44.
“Los turcos en Buenos Aires,” Caras y Caretas, March 1, 1902.
Cited in James R. Scobie, Secondary Cities of Argentina: The Social History of
Corrientes, Salta, and Mendoza, 1850–1910 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University
Press, 1988), 150.
Damián M. Torino, El problema del inmigrante y el problema agrario en la
Argentina (Buenos Aires: Imprenta de “La Baskonia,” 1912), 31–32; and Congreso Nacional, Diario de Sesiones de la Cámara de Senadores, año 1911 (Buenos
Aires: El Comercio, 1912), 1:530–34.
For a full examination of this discursive struggle, consult Civantos, Between
Argentines and Arabs.
“Los Árabes en la República,” La Prensa, November 17, 1906; “La Colectividad
Siria en la Republica,” La Prensa, May 10, 1907; and Governor José Inocencio
Arias (Buenos Aires Province) to Alejandro Schamún, July 29, 1912. A facsimile
of this letter recognizing the efforts to steer Syrian immigrants into the agricultural sector is located in Akmir, La inmigración árabe a Argentina, 837.
“Arribo del Cónsul Otomano,” La Nación, October 30, 1910; and “Colonia Agrícola Turca,” La Nación, February 15, 1913.
See Leonardo Senkman, La Colonización Judía (Buenos Aires: Centro Editor de
América Latina, 1984); and Deutsch, Crossing Borders, Claiming a Nation,
14–40.
Alejandro Schamún, La Colectividad Siria en la República Argentina (Buenos
Aires: n.p., 1910), 12; and Schamún, La Siria Nueva, 29.
Raanan Rein, Argentine Jews or Jewish Argentines: Essays on Ethnicity, Identity,
and Diaspora (Leiden: Brill, 2010); Eugenia Scarzanella, Ni gringos ni indios:
inmigración, criminalidad y racismo en la Argentina, 1890–1940 (Buenos Aires:
Universidad Nacional de Quilmes Editorial, 2002); and Moya, Cousins and
Strangers.
John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860–1925
(New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1983), 3–11; and Denise Spellberg, Thomas Jefferson’s Qur’an: Islam and the Founders (New York: Alfred A.
Knopf, 2013).
Jeanne Delaney, “Immigration, Identity, and Nationalism in Argentina, 1850–
1950,” in Immigration and National Identities in Latin America, ed. Nicola
Foote and Michael Goebel (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2014), 92.
Delaney, “Immigration, Identity, and Nationalism in Argentina, 1850–1950,”
91–114; and Lilia Ana Bertoni, Patriotas, cosmopolitas y nacionalistas: la construcción de la nacionalidad argentina a fines del siglo XIX (Buenos Aires:
Fondo de cultura económica, 2001).
Matthew B. Karush, Culture of Class: Radio and Cinema in the Making of
Divided Argentina, 1920–1946 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2012).
233
234
Notes to Pages 47–56
27. Rein, Los muchachos peronistas judíos, 12.
28. Tercer Censo Nacional, 148–49, 295, 302–3, 329–30, 334–35, 343–44, 350.
29. Donna J. Guy, Argentine Sugar Politics: Tucumán and the Generation of Eighty
(Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1983), 105–32; and Patricia Juarez-Dappe,
When Sugar Ruled: Economy and Society in Northwestern Argentina, Tucumán,
1876–1916 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 2010), 8–54.
30. Guy, Argentine Sugar Politics, 106–35; and Juarez-Dappe, When Sugar Ruled,
55–118.
31. María Celia Bravo, “Liberales, socialistas, Iglesia y patrones frente a la situación
e los trabajadores en Tucumán,” La Cuestión Social en Argentina, 1870–1943
(Buenos Aires: Editorial LA Colmena, 2000), 31–48; and Lyman Johnson,
“Changing Arrest Patterns in Three Argentine Cities: Buenos Aires, Santa Fe
and Tucumán, 1900–1930,” in The Problem of Order in Changing Societies:
Essays on Crime and Policing in Argentina and Uruguay, ed. Lyman L. Johnson
(Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1990), 126–33.
32. Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año de
1909 (Buenos Aires: Compañía Sud-Americana de Billetes de Banco, 1910), 209;
and Tercer Censo Nacional, vol. 2, 296–303.
33. Censo de la Capital de Tucumán, 40–47.
34. Ibid.
35. Johnson, “Changing Arrest Patterns in Three Argentine Cities,” 117–47; and
Julia Kirk Blackwelder and Lyman L. Johnson, “Changing Criminal Patterns in
Buenos Aires, 1890–1914,” Journal of Latin American Studies 14, no. 2 (November 1982): 359–79.
36. AHT, “López Juan Pedro por muerte de José Nacusi,” box 144, folder 4, fojas
1–9v.
37. Ibid.
38. Archivo Histórico de la Provincia de Tucumán (AHT), “López Juan Pedro por
muerte de José Nacusi,” box 144, folder 4, fojas 1–9v, 13v–16.
39. Ibid., fojas 20–42; AHT, “Homicido a José Nacusse,” box 196, folder 12, fojas
1–5.
40. Archivo del Poder Judicial de la Provincia de Tucumán (APJ), “Reyep Ismael
por lesions con arma de fuego a Mustafa Isin,” Sentencias, Juzgado del Crimen,
1912–1915, October 17, 1912, 282.
41. APJ, “Reyep Ismael por lesions con arma de fuego a Mustafa Isin,” Sentencias,
Juzgado del Crimen, 1912–1915, October 17, 1912, 282–84.
42. El Orden, June 10, 1898.
43. El Orden, June 23, 1898. The letter concludes with the signatories and the note
declaring that there are additional signatures.
44. Ibid.
45. AHT, box 220, file 13, fojas 38–42, “Autos y vistos,” August 22, 1898.
46. AHT, box 226, file 3, Por falso testimonio.
Notes to Pages 56–61
47. AHT, box 226, file 3, “Audiencia,” fojas 30–31, December 19, 1899.
48. AHT, box 226, file 3, fojas 32–42v, 48–52, “Audiencia,” December 18 and 19,
1899; and “Interrogatorio de Félix Saad y de Fortunato Saad,” December 13,
1899.
49. Guy, Argentine Sugar Politics, 133–34.
50. Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año de 1899
(Buenos Aires: Compañía Sud-Americana de Billetes de Banco, 1901), 209; and
Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año de 1913
(Buenos Aires: Compañía Sud-Americana de Billetes de Banco, 1916), 211.
51. See María Celia Bravo, Campesinos, azúcar y política: cañeros, acción corporativa y vida política en Tucumán, 1895–1930 (Rosario, Argentina: Prohistoria Ediciones, 2008), 45–69. APJ, Registro Público de Comercio, vols. 1–4.
52. “Quiebras fraudulentas,” El Orden, March 13, 1911; and “Las quiebras fraudulentas,” El Orden, March 15, 1911.
53. “Las quiebras fraudulentas,” El Orden, March 15, 1911.
54. Alejandro Schamún, “La colectividad siria en la República Argentina,” El
Orden, March 21, 1911.
55. Ibid.
56. See Klich, “Criollos and Arabic Speakers in Argentina,” 243–84; and Klich,
“Argentine-Ottoman Relations,” 177–205.
57. AGPT, box 388, file 4, series C, letters dated January 9 and 19, 1902. The cash
found in Fiad’s house equaled 2,690 pesos. His merchandise amounted to 5,192
pesos.
58. AGPT, box 388, file 4, series C, Curador Ad Litem to Judge, May 10, 1902.
59. AGPT, box 757, file 9, series C, letter dated November 2, 1907. Julian’s estate was
ultimately valued at 42,858 pesos, of which 27,953 was cash. Please see AGPT,
box 757, file 9, series C, letter dated November 4, 1908.
60. AGPT, box 757, file 9, series C, letter dated April 3, 1908.
61. AGPT, box 757, file 9, series C, Sucesión de Julian Jorrat, “Autos y Vistos,” October 6, 1908.
62. “Los árabes en la República,” La Prensa, November 17, 1906.
63. “La colectividad siria en la República,” La Prensa, May 10, 1907.
64. “Arribo del cónsul otomano,” La Nación, October 30, 1910.
65. “Los Turcos en Buenos Aires,” Caras y Caretas, March 1902.
66. Karpat, “The Ottoman Emigration to America,” 193.
67. Gualtieri, Between Arab and White, 83; and Mehmet Necati Kutlu, “Ottoman
Subjects in Latin America: An Archive Document and Some Reflections on the
Probable Causes of Their Immigration,” Archivum Ottomanicum 25 (2008):
233–44.
68. Steven Hyland Jr., “‘Arisen from Deep Slumber’: Transnational Politics and
Competing Nationalisms among Syrian Immigrants in Argentina, 1900–1922,”
Journal of Latin American Studies 43, no. 1 (2011): 547–74.
235
236
Notes to Pages 62–71
69. “Buena idea,” El Tiempo (Salta), October 4, 1908; “La Colonia Siria en Salta,” La
Provincia (Salta), October 3, 1908; and “Festejos sirios,” La Provincia, October 7,
1908.
70. “Festejos sirios,” La Provincia, October 8, 1908.
71. Ibid.; “El banquete de anoche,” La Provincia, October 9, 1908; and “En el Gran
Hotel,” El Tiempo, October 10, 1908.
72. “El banquete de anoche,” La Provincia, October 9, 1908; and “En el Gran
Hotel,” El Tiempo, October 10, 1908.
73. “El gran banquete sirio,” El Tiempo, October 21, 1908.
74. Ibid.; “En el Club,” El Tiempo, October 23, 1908; and “Festejos sirios,” El
Tiempo, October 24, 1908.
75. “El banquete sirio,” La Provincia, October 23, 1908.
76. “En el Club,” El Tiempo, October 23, 1908; “El banquete sirio,” La Provincia,
October 23, 1908.
77. “El banquete sirio,” La Provincia, October 23, 1908.
78. Ibid.
79. Ibid.
80. “En el Club,” El Tiempo, October 23, 1908; and “El banquete sirio,” La Provincia, October 23, 1908.
81. “Festejos sirios,” El Tiempo, October 24, 1908.
82. Ibid.
83. “La colonia siria,” El Orden (San Miguel de Tucumán), September 10, 1908.
84. “En la colonia siria,” El Orden, September 22, 1908.
85. Elias Turbay, al-Manzumāt
al-Durriyya (Tūkūmān: Matba‘ Jarīdat al-Watan,
.
.
1917), 120.
Chapter 3
1. María Estela Fernández, Angela Landabaru, and Flavia Macías, “Esfera pública,
moralidad y mujeres de la elite. Sociedad de Beneficiencia en Tucumán (1860–
1920),” in Temas de Mujeres: Perspectivas de Género (Tucumán: Universidad
Nacional de Tucumán, 1998), 109.
2. Anuario de Estadística correspondiente al año de 1914, 253; Anuario de
Estadística correspondiente al año de 1915, 222; Anuario de Estadística correspondiente al año de 1916, 236; and Anuario de Estadística correspondiente al
año de 1917, 264.
3. Marcela Vignoli, Sociabilidad y cultura política—La Sociedad Sarmiento de
Tucumán, 1884–1914 (Rosario, Argentina: Prohistoria Ediciones, 2015).
4. Censo de la capital de Tucumán, 40–47.
5. Martha E. Caillou de Sierra and J. Patricia Ortiz de D’Arterio, “Inmigración
asiática en Tucumán (1900–1950),” Asia y África: Relaciones con America Latina 2
(1990): 174–75.
Notes to Pages 71–78
6. Valverde, “Integration and Identity in Argentina,” 317.
7. Similar to what Angel Rama noted for Latin American writers (letrados), Syrian intellectuals viewed themselves as agents of social change for the old country and defenders of the community in the mahjar. Jens Hanssen has observed
a similar role for intellectuals in Beirut in the late nineteenth century. See
Angel Rama, The Lettered City (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996);
and Jens Hanssen, “Public Morality and Marginality in Fin-de-Siècle Beirut,”
in Outside in: On the Margins of the Modern Middle East, ed. Eugene Rogan
(London: I. B. Tauris, 2002), 183–211.
8. Albert, South America and the First World War, 215; and Bravo, Campesinos,
azúcar y política, 151–79.
9. Daniel Greenberg, “‘The Dictatorship of the Chimneys’: Sugar, Politics and
Agrarian Unrest in Tucumán, Argentina, 1914–1930” (PhD diss., University of
Washington, 1985), 116–48, 293; Albert, South America and the First World War,
234–37; Vanesa Teitelbaum, “El mutualismo en el mundo del trabajo (Tucumán,
Argentina, 1877–1914),” Varia Historia 27, no. 46 (2011): 665–88; and Johnson,
“Changing Arrest Patterns in Three Argentine Cities,” 117–47.
10. Ricardo Daniel Moyano and María Lenis, “De lo nacional a lo regional. Discurso empresario e industria azucarera en el Norte argentino, 1894–1923,”
Revista Digital Escuela de Historia 1, no. 6 (2007), accessed May 18, 2016, http://
www.unsa.edu.ar/histocat/revista/revista0613.htm; and María Silvia Fleitas, “El
pensamiento político y social de la élite azucarera del noroeste argentino, 1910–
1930,” Revista de Indias 56, no. 206 (1996): 167–95.
11. Greenberg, “‘The Dictatorship of the Chimneys,’” 202–15; Bravo, Campesinos,
azúcar y política, 183–229; and Bravo, “Liberales, socialistas, Iglesia y patrones,”
53–55.
12. Greenberg, “‘The Dictatorship of the Chimneys,’” 295–308; and Bravo,
Campesinos, azúcar y política, 226–29.
13. Johnson, “Changing Arrest Patterns in Three Argentine Cities,” 134–35.
14. “Vigilancia policial,” El Orden, July 16, 1915.
15. Ibid.
16. See Blackwelder et al., “Changing Criminal Patterns in Buenos Aires, 1890–
1914,” 359–79; and Scarzanella, Ni gringos ni indios.
17. APJ, “José Abraham por robo a Manuel Tigre,” Sentencias, 1916 al 1918,
299–301.
18. “Arabe en desgracia,” El Orden, July 17, 1915.
19. APJ, “Carmen Ponce por hurto a Moises Dahan,” Sentencias, 1916 al 1918,
461–62.
20. “Arabe impulsivo,” El Orden, June 10, 1916.
21. “Una habil pesquisa sobre un asalto,” El Orden, November 6, 1916; and APJ,
“Jesus Benigno Peralta por homicidio de Fortunato Lajud,” Sentencias, 1916 al
1918, June 26, 1917.
237
238
Notes to Pages 78–81
22. APJ, “Díaz (hijo) José Modesto homicidio de Salvador Amado,” September 5,
1916, Superior Tribunal de Justicia, Fallos, series C, vol. 2, 524–27.
23. APJ, “Aguilar, Segundo Telésforo y González, José Pilar por homicidio de
Antonio Neme,” September 6, 1917, Superior Tribunal de Justicia, Fallos,
series C, vol. 3, 29–33.
24. “Las víctimas del alcohol: un crimen sin precedentes, cinco puñaladas mortales,” El Orden, February 23, 1916.
25. Ibid.; APJ, “Di Santolo Sante homicidio a Abraham Marón,” December 12, 1917,
Superior Tribunal de Justicia, Fallos, series C, vol. 2, 572–74.
26. APJ, “Di Santolo Sante homicidio a Abraham Marón,” December 12, 1917, Superior Tribunal de Justicia, Fallos, series C, vol. 2, 572–74.
27. “Las víctimas del alcohol: un crimen sin precedentes, cinco puñaladas mortales,” El Orden, February 23, 1916.
28. For examples of Jewish communities in Buenos Aires, see Nouwen, Oy, My
Buenos Aires; and Rein, Fútbol, Jews, and the Making of Argentina.
29. Albert, South America and the First World War, 64.
30. Marcelo Lagos, “Conformación del mercado laboral en la etapa de despegue de
los ingenios Jujeños (1880–1920),” in Estudios sobre la historia de la industria
azucarera argentina, vol. 2, ed. Daniel Campi (Jujuy: Universidad Nacional de
Jujuy, 1992), 71; and “El asunto del Ingenio Ledesma,” La Gaceta, June 17, 1916.
31. “El asunto del Ingenio Ledesma,” La Gaceta, June 17, 1916. See also “La explotación en los ingenios,” La Vanguardia (Buenos Aires), June 20, 1916; and “Hadithat Lādasma al-Damuwiyyah,” Assalam (Buenos Aires), June 23, 1916.
32. “El asunto del Ingenio Ledesma,” La Gaceta, June 17, 1916. See also “La explotación en los ingenios,” La Vanguardia (Buenos Aires), June 20, 1916; and “Hadithat Lādasma al-Damuwiyyah,” Assalam (Buenos Aires), June 23, 1916.
33. “La masacre de obreros en el ingenio de Ledesma,” La Vanguardia, June 19,
1916; “Los sucesos del Ingenio Ledesma,” La Gaceta, June 17, 1916; Archivo de
Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores y Culto, Buenos Aires (AMREC), Caja 1637,
Expediente 1, Ottoman Consul General to Argentine Minister of Foreign Relations, June 20, 1916; and Archivo Histórico de Jujuy, Año 1916, Caja 2, “Solicita
datos sobre los hechos ocurridos con los otomanos.”
34. Adriana Kindgard and Daniel Campi, “La política azucarera argentina en las
décadas de 1920 y 1930 y la cuestión de la ‘justicia distributiva,’” in El Azúcar en
América Latina y El Caribe, ed. Horacio Gutiérrez Crespo (México: Senado de
la Republica, 2006), 377–403; and “Hadithat Lādasmā al-Damuiyyah,” Assalam,
June 23, 1916. Assalam reported that the Yapur speech was reprinted in the
Jujeño newspaper El Día.
35. Carlos Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán (Buenos Aires: Editorial Plus
Ultra, 1987), 614–21.
36. “Comercio y político,” El Eco de Oriente (San Miguel de Tucumán), October 7,
1917.
Notes to Pages 82–87
37. José Cohen-Imach, in conversation with the author, August 2007; and Ussama
Makdisi, e-mail message to author, April 22, 2008.
38. AGPT, Caja 752, Expediente 10, series E, “Audiencia” October 19, 1917, Sucesión
de Abraham Budeguer.
39. AGPT, Caja 752, Expediente 10, series E, Javier Usandivaras to Judge, August 29,
1917, Sucesión de Abraham Budeguer. Usandivaras was the attorney for Juana
Budeguer.
40. APJ, Registro Público de Comercio, vol. 1, 367; vol. 3, 239.
41. AGPT, Caja 752, Expediente 10, series E, “Autos y Vistas,” December 10, 1917,
Sucesión de Abraham Budeguer.
42. APJ, Registro Público de Comercio, vol. 2, 42.
43. APJ, Juzgado del Crimen, Sentencias 1916 al 1918, September 6, 1917, 293–95.
44. APJ, “Alejandro Meir por Defraudación,” Sentencias, 1917 al 1922, March 29,
1917, 114–15.
45. Beshara Doumani, Rediscovering Palestine: Merchants and Peasants in Jabal
Nablus, 1700–1900 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995).
46. Schamún, La Siria nueva, 130, 211. See “Kalim Handor ex contador de la casa
Saad Hermanos defraudó a esta en ochenta mil pesos,” El Orden, October 31,
1930; APJ, Registro Público de Comercio, Contratos Mercantiles, vol. 13, 310–13,
Saad Hermanos.
47. Marta A Saleh de Canuto and Susana Budeguer, El aporte de los Sirios y Libaneses a Tucumán (Tucumán: Editorial América, 1979), 67–69.
48. See APJ, Contratos Mercantiles, Registro Público de Comercio, vol. 9, 224,
June 8, 1911, Turbey Hermanos, Disolución social.
49. Economic geographers refer to these arrangements as “networks of ethnicity.”
See Mitchell, “Networks of Ethnicity,” 392–407.
50. Hugo Luis Ponsati, Aportes para una reseña de la colectividad árabe tucumana
(Tucumán: Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán, 1975), 17.
51. Thompson, Colonial Citizens, 15–38; and Eugene Rogan, The Fall of the Ottomans: The Great War in the Middle East (New York: Basic Books, 2015).
52. See Thompson, Colonial Citizens, 15–38.
53. Simón Hamati, “Tarīkh al-Sahafat al-‘Arabiyyah fī al-Tūkūmān,” al-Nasr (San
Miguel de Tucumán), January 1923, 73. This history of the Arabic press in
Tucumán largely informs the following narrative.
54. See al-Nasr, January 20, 1913; Yerab al-Hawi, August 5, 1912; and Hamati,
“Tarīkh al-Sahafat al-‘Arabīyyah fī al-Tūkūmān,” al-Nasr, January 1923,
73–74.
55. Hamati, “Tarīkh al-Sahafat al-‘Arabīyyah fī al-Tūkūmān,” 74. Hamati would
later coauthor a serialized novel with Baaclini. See Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs, 202–12.
56. “Tahiyya al-Ikhlās b-ism al-Rābitah
. al-Adabiyya al-Tūkūmāniyya,” al-S‘aāda
(San Miguel de Tucumán), pt. 1, May 1920.
239
240
Notes to Pages 87–92
57. Mohamed Yassine Abderrahman, Adalid Rioplatense (Buenos Aires: n.p., 1954),
159–61; Akmir, “La inmigración árabe en Argentina (1880–1980),” 422–31; and
Hyland, “‘Arisen from Deep Slumber,’” 547–74.
58. AGPT, box 860, file 17, series E, “Contador Interventor al Juez,” May 14, 1914,
Sucesión de Andrés Getar.
59. AGPT, Sucesión de Andrés Getar, box 860, file 17, series E, “Contador Interventor al Juez,” May 14, 1914; Hamati, “Tarīkh al-Sahafat al-‘Arabiyya fī
al-Tūkūmān,” 75–77.
60. Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs, 165.
61. Turbay, al-Manzumāt
al-Durriyya, 53; “El Líbano,” La Gaceta, October 20, 1915;
.
and “El Líbano,” La Gaceta, October 21, 1915. In introducing the essay, Baaclini,
the editor of El Eco de Oriente, declared that although he did not entirely agree
with Eleas’s arguments, the essay merited continued discussion and debate
within the colony. See Eco de Oriente, December 1, 1917. For the consequential
role played by Arslan as a literary author, see Civantos, Between Argentines and
Arabs, 114–26, 164–75.
62. “El Líbano,” La Gaceta, October 21, 1915.
63. Newton, German Buenos Aires, 1900–1933, 49.
64. “La piratería alemana,” El Orden, April 16, 1917.
65. Ibid.
66. “Fi Sabīl al-Wājeb,” al-Nasr, no. 3, May 1, 1917, 73–77.
67. “La piratería alemana,” El Orden, April 16, 1917.
68. “Fi Sabīl al-Wājeb,” al-Nasr, no. 3, May 1, 1917, 77. Baaclini’s speech was
reprinted in Arabic by al-Nasr.
69. “Sr. Nagib Baaclini: su fallecimiento,” La Gaceta, October 23, 1963; Civantos,
Between Argentines and Arabs, 240n35.
70. Gualtieri, Between Arab and White, 99.
71. Quoted in Akmir, “La inmigración árabe en Argentina,” 421.
72. See “al-Fakāha, aw Saif al-Din Rahāl,” al-Nasr, no. 3, May 1, 1917; and “Ila al‘Alam al-‘Uthmāni,” al-Nasr, no. 6, June 15, 1917.
73. “as-Suriyyun wa al-Atrāk,” al-Mursal, June 2, 1917. For Massuh’s recollection,
see “Suwāl wa jawābuhu,” al-Ikhā’ (San Miguel de Tucumán) 11, June 1925, 2–5.
For a revisionist study of the Turkification argument, see Kayalı, Arabs and
Young Turks.
74. Quoted in Akmir, “La inmigración árabe en Argentina,” 101–2.
75. “Aniversario de la Toma de la Bastilla,” La Prensa, July 15, 1917; “El Aniversario
francés. Su celebración. Los actos de hoy,” La Nación, July 15, 1917; “La Fiesta de
Francia,” La Razón, July 14, 1917; “La fiesta de la República Francesa,” La Razón,
July 16, 1917; and AMREC, División Política, Turquía, box 1691, file 7, Bobrik to
Pueyrredón, Interim Minister of Foreign Affairs, July 30, 1917.
76. AMREC, División Política, Turquía, box 1691, file 7, Bobrik to Pueyrredón,
Interim Minister of Foreign Affairs, July 30, 1917.
Notes to Pages 92–98
77. Akmir, “La inmigración árabe en Argentina,” 102–7.
78. Eliezer Tauber, The Arab Movements in World War I (London: Frank Cass,
1993), 208–18; and Archive Diplomatique de La Courneuve, “Dr. César Lakah to
Foreign Minister Stéphen Pichon,” April 16, 1918, Guerre 1914–1918, Turquie,
box 893.
79. Hamati, “Tarīkh as-Sahafat al-‘Arabiyyah fī at-Tūkūmān,” al-Nasr, January
1923, 78; Mario Gómez, Tucumán: sus Bellezas y sus Personalidades (Buenos
Aires: Federación Gráfica Argentina, 1953), 86; “Sr. Nagib Baaclini: su fallecimiento,” La Gaceta, October 23, 1963; and Civantos, Between Argentines and
Arabs, 240n35.
80. Hamati, “Tarīkh as-Sahafat al-‘Arabiyyah fī at-Tūkūmān,” 77; and Davíd and
Victor Massuh, in conversation with the author, Buenos Aires, September 2007.
81. Antonio Arida was a prominent member of the Syrian colony in Buenos
Aires who led the Syrian-Ottoman Commission and organized a party on
September 8, 1908, to celebrate the restoration of the Ottoman constitution.
“La Constitución Otomana: la demonstración de anoche,” La Nación, September 9, 1908.
82. “Lajna I‘ana Mankūbī Suriyya wa Lubnān,” al-Mursal, June 9, 1917.
83. Ibid.
84. “Mahliyya,” al-Mursal, April 20, 1916.
85. “Jam‘iyya khairiyya jadīda,” al-Nasr, 4, May 15, 1917.
86. Maronite Patriarchate Archives (Bkerke, Lebanon), Howaik Papers, box 73,
Patriarch Howaik from Lebanese Society for Mutual Aid, June 23, 1919. This
organization, which was founded in June 1899, was originally named the Syrian
Society of Mutual Aid; however, in the letter located in the archives the word
“Syria,” both in Arabic and Spanish, is scratched out. The Arabic word is
replaced with “Lebanese.”
87. Donna J. Guy, “Women’s Organizations and Jewish Orphanages in Buenos
Aires, 1918–1955,” Jewish History 18 (2004): 75–93; and Donna J. Guy, “Feminists, Philanthropists, the Rise of the Welfare State, and Child Welfare Policies,” Brújula 4, no. 1 (2005): 45–59.
88. “Kalimatunā al-Aūla,” al-Hadīqa, January 3, 1922.
89. Ibid.
90. Ibid.
91. “Tahiyya al-Shabība,” al-Shabība al-Mutahida, February 3, 1923.
92. Ibid.
Chapter 4
1. D. Greenberg, “‘The Dictatorship of the Chimneys’: Sugar, Politics and Agrarian Unrest in Tucumán, Argentina, 1914–1930” (PhD diss., University of Washington, 1985), 355–67.
241
242
Notes to Pages 99–103
2. Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 626, 630–31; Greenberg, “‘Dictatorship of
the Chimneys,’” 401–3; and Daniel J. Greenberg, “Sugar Depression and Agrarian
Revolt: The Argentine Radical Party and the Tucumán Cañeros’ Strike of 1927,”
Hispanic American Historical Review 67, no. 2 (May 1987): 322–25.
3. Greenberg, “‘Dictatorship of the Chimneys,’” 435, 466.
4. Greenberg, “‘Dictatorship of the Chimneys,’” 435–38, 466; El Orden, January 5,
1930; Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 635–38; and Carlos Páez de la
Torre, “Juan Luís Nougués y la Bandera Blanca,” Todo es Historia 93 (February
1975): 7–18.
5. María Ullivarri, “Sindicatos en ‘la capital del azucar.’ Organización y lucha en
el mundo del trabajo de la provincia de Tucumán (Argentina), 1930–1943,” Historia Agraria 55 (December 2011): 113.
6. “La provincia atraviesa un grave periodo de crisis,” El Orden, January 5, 1930.
7. Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 640–41; and Páez de la Torre, “Juan Luís
Nougués y la Bandera Blanca,” 17–19.
8. “Levantan una Ciudad de Miseria en pleno suburbio de Tucumán,” El Orden,
August 23, 1932; and Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 640–42.
9. Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 641–42; and Páez de la Torre, “Juan Luís
Nougués y la Bandera Blanca,” 19–33.
10. Ullivari, “Sindicatos en ‘la capital del azucár,’” 117–23. For classic accounts of
labor organization in the Decada Infame, see David Tamarin, The Argentine
Labor Movement, 1930–1945: A Study in the Origins of Peronism (Albuquerque:
University of New Mexico Press, 1985); and Joel Horowitz, Argentine Unions,
the State, and the Rise of Perón (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990).
11. Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 649–55; and David Rock, “Argentina,
1930–1946,” in Argentina since Independence, ed. Leslie Bethell (Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 180–81.
12. Nancy Foner, “The Immigrant Family: Cultural Legacies and Cultural
Changes,” International Migration Review 31, no. 4 (1997): 961.
13. Akram Khater, “‘Queen of the House?’: Making Immigrant Lebanese Families
in the Mahjar,” in Family History in the Middle East: Household, Property, and
Gender, ed. Beshara Doumani (Albany: State University of New York Press,
2003), 271–72, 278.
14. Foner, “The Immigrant Family,” 970.
15. Emin Arslan, Los Árabes: reseña historico-literaria y leyendas (Buenos Aires:
Editorial Sopena Argentina, 1941). For a close reading of this text, see Civantos,
Between Argentines and Arabs, 124–25.
16. Arslan, Los Árabes, 38.
17. Ibid., 41.
18. Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs; and A. Vargas, “Migration, Literature,
and the Nation: Mahjar Literature in Brazil” (PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2006).
Notes to Pages 104–111
19. Jūrj ‘Assāf, Dīwān al-nāzih. (Buenos Aires: n.p., n.d.); and Jūrj Saydah,
.
. Adabunā
wa-udabā’unā fī al-mahājir al-Amīrīkīyah, 4th ed. (Tripoli, Lebanon: Maktabat
al-Sa’ih, 1999), 463–65.
20. Sabra Webber, Romancing the Real: Folklore and Ethnographic Representation
in North Africa (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991), xx.
21. Richard Bauman and Charles L. Briggs, “Poetics and Performance as Critical
Perspectives on Language and Social Life,” Annual Review of Anthropology 19
(1990): 69.
22. Nadia Yaqub, Pens, Swords, and the Springs of Art: The Oral Poetry Dueling of
Palestinian Weddings in the Galilee (Leiden: Brill, 2006); and Steven C. Caton,
“Peaks of Yemen I Summon”: Poetry as Cultural Practice in a North Yemeni
Tribe (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). For an example of an
immigrant in North America, see Howard Barrett Wilson, “Notes of Syrian
Folk-lore Collected in Boston,” Journal of American Folklore 16, no. 62 (1903):
133–47.
23. Turbay, al-Manzumāt
al-Durriyya, 75.
.
24. For an early twentieth-century account of a Maronite baptism, see “Syrian
Christening,” Buffalo Express, February 17, 1902.
25. Turbay, al-Manzumāt
al-Durriyya, 64.
.
26. “Suwāl wa juwābahu,” al-Ikhā’ (San Miguel de Tucumán), June 1925, 1–7.
27. Turbay, al-Manzumāt
al-Durriyya, 104–5.
.
28. José E. Guraieb, Ratiba: una obra teatral (Tucumán: Casanovas y Cossio,
1932), 5.
29. Saleh de Canuto, El aporte de los sirios y libaneses a Tucumán, 46–48; and APJ,
Registro Público de Comercio, vol. 3; Civantos, Between Arab and Argentine,
126–27.
30. See M. M. Badawi, Early Arabic Drama (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 101–20.
31. Guraieb, Ratiba: una obra teatral, 5.
32. Civantos, Between Arabs and Argentines, 126–27; and Saleh de Canuto, El
aporte de los sirios y libaneses a Tucumán, 46–48.
33. Hanssen, “Public Morality and Marginality in Fin-de-Siècle Beirut,” 183–211.
34. See Khater, Inventing Home, 19–47, 146–90.
35. Hanssen, Fin-de-Siècle Beirut, 17.
36. Ibid., 115, 121–36.
37. Samir Khalaf, “Correlates of Prostitution: Some Popular Errors and Misconceptions,” Journal of Sex Research 4, no. 2 (May 1968): 148.
38. Blackwelder and Johnson, “Changing Criminal Patterns in Buenos Aires,
1890–1914,” 359–79; Johnson, “Changing Arrest Patterns in Three Argentine
Cities,” 117–47; Donna Guy, Sex and Danger in Buenos Aires: Prostitution, Family, and Nation in Argentina (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1991); and
Masiello, Between Civilization and Barbarism.
243
244
Notes to Pages 112–119
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
Masiello, Between Civilization and Barbarism, 115.
Guy, Sex and Danger in Buenos Aires, 37–104, 141–79.
Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs, 141–87.
See, for instance, “Los ‘Niños Bien,’” El Orden (San Miguel de Tucumán), September 9, 1915.
See Paul Gootenberg, Andean Cocaine: The Making of a Global Drug (Chapel
Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2009), 15–54, 105–42, 189–226. For the
relationship between drugs and the tango, consult Anibal D’Auria, “Tango,
Marginalidad y Drogas,” Drogas (March 2003), accessed May 16, 2016, http://
www.taringa.net/posts/info/2280647/El-tango-y-las-drogas.html.
Masiello, Between Civilization and Barbarism, 7.
Guy, Sex and Danger in Buenos Aires, 161–71.
Masiello, Between Civilization and Barbarism, 142–43.
“Falleció anoche el Presbítero José Chaya,” El Orden, November 4, 1925; and
“Ecos del sepelio del Presbítero Chaya,” El Orden, November 6, 1925.
Alberto Frem Bestani and Ariel Campero, “La inmigracón libanesa y la colectividad maronita en Tucumán: Una aproximación histórica,” in La Generación
del Ochenta y su Proyección en el Noroeste Argentino 1900–1950, ed. Liliana
Massara and Nilda Flawiá de Fernández (Tucumán: Fundación Miguel Lillo,
2005), 186–90.
“Culto Maronita,” al-Mahyar, July 27, 1933.
“Desarrolla un Labor Eficiente la Sociedad de los Maronitas,” al-Mahyar,
August 24, 1933.
“Contornes Brillantes Asumió este Año la Celebración del Día del Milagro,”
al-Mahyar, September 30, 1933; and “Se Preparó el Programa Completa del
Congreso Eucaristico que se Iniciará en Tucumán el 24,” El Orden,
September 18, 1933.
“Contornes Brillantes Asumió este Año la Celebración del Día del Milagro,”
al-Mahyar, September 30, 1933; “La procesión llegando a la Iglesia de San
Marón,” El Orden, September 18, 1933; and “Durante la procesión del S. del
Milagro y S. Maron,” El Orden, September 18, 1933.
“El ‘Norte Argentino’ y la sociedad Sirio-Libanesa,” al-Hurriyya (San Miguel de
Tucumán), July 16, 1930.
“Una Aclaración,” al-Hurriyya (San Miguel de Tucumán), August 5, 1930.
“Insha’āt al-Jāliyya al-Tūkūmāniyya,” al-Mahyar, July 27, 1933; “Solicitada,” El
Eco de Oriente, March 2, 1935; and “Palabras del Presbitero Filippos Apud, en
los actos conmemorativos del 9 de Julio,” El Eco de Oriente, July 17, 1937.
“El Ignominioso Suceso que Conmueve a Nuestra Colectividad,” El Eco de Oriente, November 13, 1937; and “Ma‘ārik Damawiyya Tajrī fī Wasat. Hayy
al-Jāliyya fī Madīnat Tūkūmān,” El Eco de Oriente, November 13, 1937.
“Ma‘ārik Damawiyya Tajrī fī Wasat. Hayy al-Jāliyya fī Madīnat Tūkūmān,” El
Eco de Oriente, November 13, 1937.
Notes to Pages 119–125
58. Ibid.
59. “Palabras del Presbitero Filippos Apud, en los actos conmemorativos del 9 de
Julio,” El Eco de Oriente, July 17, 1937; and “Se Encuentra en Esta Ciudad Monseñor Elías Dip,” El Eco de Oriente, February 20, 1937.
60. María Esther Silberman de Cywiner, Asociación Israelita Sefaradi de beneficiencia de Tucumán, 1921–2006: memoria y testimonios de su fundación y evolución (Tucumán: Universidad Nacional de Tucumán, 2006), 21–23; and Clara
Lucía Calvo de Picón, Los espacios culturales de las comunidades árabes, sefaradí e hispana en la provincia de Tucumán (Argentina) (Tucumán: Universidad
Nacional de Tucumán, 1999), 23–24.
61. Silberman de Cywiner, Asociación Israelita Sefaradi, 27; Libro de Actas de la
Asociación Israelita Sefaradi (LAAIS), Act 1, October 23, 1921; and LAAIS,
Act 8, June 4, 1922.
62. LAAIS, Act 4, February 12, 1922; LAAIS, Act 5, March 12, 1922; and LAAIS,
Act 6, April 16, 1922.
63. Silberman de Cywiner, Asociación Israelita Sefaradi, 24.
64. See, for instance, LAAIS, Act 52, August 16, 1925; and LAAIS, Act 56, September 20, 1925.
65. LAAIS, Act 40, December 21, 1924; and LAAIS, Act 51, August 9, 1925.
66. Silberman de Cywiner, Asociación Israelita Sefaradi, 28–31.
67. LAAIS, Act 58, December 2, 1925; and “al-Nazha al-Sanawiyya,” El Eco de Oriente, November 28, 1936.
68. Lucía Mercado and Roberto Roja, Famaillá es mi casa (Tucumán, Argentina:
n.p., n.d.), 97–101.
69. “Se inauguro el edificio de la Pan-Islamismo,” El Orden, September 10, 1933; “La
inauguración de la Sede de Pan-Islamismo,” El Orden, September 11, 1933; and
“al-Jāma‘a al-Islāmīyya fī Tūkūmān,” al-Mahyar, September 30, 1933.
70. “Se Efectuó la Inauguración del Local Social de la Asociación Pan-Islámico el
Día 10,” al-Mahyar, September 30, 1933.
71. “Discurso,” al-Mahyar, September 30, 1933. For the importance of criollo culture in Tucumán and Argentina, consult Oscar Chamosa, The Argentine Folklore Movement: Sugar Elites, Criollo Workers, and the Politics of Cultural
Nationalism, 1900–1955 (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2010).
72. Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs, 34–42.
73. “Insha’āt al-Jāliyya al-Tūkūmāniyya,” al-Mahyar, July 27, 1933.
74. “ ‘Id Ramadan
. al-Mubārak,” El Eco de Oriente, December 12, 1935.
75. “ ‘Id Ramadan
. al-Mubārak,” El Eco de Oriente, December 19, 1936.
76. “La Fiesta de Adha-Al-Kabir celebraron los mahometamos residentes entre
nosotros,” El Eco de Oriente, February 27, 1937; and “Ihtifāl
al-Jāmi‘a
.
al-Islāmiyya bi-‘Id al-Adha
al-Mubārak,”
El
Eco
de
Oriente,
February 27, 1937.
.
77. “Khutāb
Ra’īs
al-Jāmi‘a
al-Islāmiyya,”
El
Eco
de
Oriente,
March
6, 1937.
.
245
246
Notes to Pages 125–138
78. “Enlace Leila-Elías,” El Eco de Oriente, May 18, 1935; and “Zufāf Mimūn,” El Eco
de Oriente, May 18, 1935.
Chapter 5
1. Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año
1929 (Tucumán: Iurcovich Hnos, 1930); Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia
de Tucumán correspondiente al año 1930 (Tucumán: Imprenta M. Violetto
and Cía, 1933); Anuario de Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año 1931 (Tucumán: Imprenta M. Violetto and Cía, 1933); Anuario de
Estadística de la Provincia de Tucumán correspondiente al año 1934
(Tucumán: Talleres de la Penitenciaria, 1937); and Anuario de Estadística de
la Provincia de Tucumán. Año de 1935 (Tucumán: Talleres de la Penitenciaria,
1938).
2. AGPT, Primera Instancia en lo Civil y Comercial, 3ra Secretaría, Libro de
Entradas.
3. For the suit regarding the failure to pay taxes, see AGPT, box 1335, file 9,
series E, February 5, 1936.
4. “Kalim Handor, Ex Contador de la casa Saad Hermanos defraudó a esta en
ochenta mil pesos,” El Orden, October 31, 1930.
5. Actas de Asamblea General, Syrian-Lebanese Society, Act no. 7, May 11, 1930.
6. “Kalim Handor, Ex Contador de la casa Saad Hermanos defraudó a esta en
ochenta mil pesos,” El Orden, October 31, 1930.
7. AGPT, Box 1703, File 8, Series E, “Selim Saad al Juez,” October 3, 1930.
8. “Kalim Handor, Ex Contador de la casa Saad Hermanos defraudó a esta en
ochenta mil pesos,” El Orden, October 31, 1930; AGPT, box 1703, file 8, series E,
“Renta Provincial al Juez,” October 29, 1930.
9. AGPT, box 1703, file 8, series E, “Calim Amdor al Juez,” July 28, 1939.
10. AGPT, box 1703, file 8, series E, “Calim Amdor al Juez,” October 9, 1939.
11. “Comercial Selim Saad,” El Eco de Oriente, March 2, 1935.
12. APJ, Registro Público de Comercio, September 22, 1906, vol. 2, 2; APJ, Registro
Público de Comercio, October 28, 1912, vol. 3, 235; Balloffet, “From the Pampas
to the Mashriq”; “San Martín, la estancia de Rosas,” accessed May 27, 2016,
http://www.revisionistas.com.ar/?p=2487; and “Club Libanes de Buenos
Aires,” accessed May 27, 2016, http://www.galeon.com/libano/clba/.
13. “He Aquí un Hecho Que Deja a la Boca la Sensación de la Amargura,” El Eco de
Oriente, June 6, 1936.
14. “Fue Levantada a la Quiebra de Chaker Farah Apás,” El Eco de Oriente, June 27,
1936.
15. AGPT, box 1503, file 1, series E, “José Domingo Almiron [Kairuz’s attorney] al
Juez,” October 19, 1936. Kairuz also hired Juan Terán as legal counsel.
16. AGPT, box 1503, file 1, series E, “Fallo,” October 22, 1936.
Notes to Pages 138–145
17. AGPT, box 1503, file 1, series E: “José Domingo Almiron al Juez,” April 12, 1937;
“Marcos M. Muñoz [Apás’s attorney] al Juez,” April 28, 1937; “Autos y Vistas,”
June 5, 1937; “Autos y Vistas,” July 28, 1937; “Almiron al Juez,” September 13,
1937; and “Chaker Farah Apás al Juez,” February 24, 1938.
18. “Lajnat al-tamthāl,” al-Shabībah al-Muttahidah, February 3, 1923.
19. “Solicitamos la Intervención del Fiscal de Gobierno a la Comisión Provisoria,”
El Eco de Oriente, March 16, 1935.
20. “Es nula la labor de la Comisión Pro Monumento,” al-Mahyar, September 1,
1932.
21. “La Comisión pro-Homenaje está en deuda con nuestra colectividad,” al-Mahyar,
September 9, 1932,
22. “Solicitamos la Intervención del Fiscal de Gobierno a la Comisión Provisoria,”
El Eco de Oriente, March 16, 1935.
23. “Nada Tiene que Hacer con Nosotros el Dichoso Minarete,” El Eco de Oriente,
June 1, 1935.
24. “Mu‘dila
al-Marma,” El Eco de Oriente, December 5, 1936;
.
. al-Tamthāl Asabnā
“Un miembro de la Comisión Pro-Homenaje al C. Argentino nos proporcionó
una lista,” El Eco de Oriente, December 5, 1936; and “Vuelve a quedar en la nada
la actividad de la Comisión Pro Homenaje al Centenario,” El Eco de Oriente,
December 19, 1936.
25. “Monumento de los Sirios-Libaneses a Erigirse en Honor de la Argentina,” El
Eco de Oriente, March 7, 1942; “El monumento de los Sirios-Libaneses ha de erigirse en esta,” El Eco de Oriente, March 14, 1942; “El Monumento de los sirios
libaneses a la Argentina debe ser una magnifica realidad,” El Eco de Oriente,
April 25, 1942; and “Espera que la Colectividad Sirio-Libanesa Que el P. E.
Llame a Asamblea General,” El Eco de Oriente, May 30, 1942.
26. For a remembrance of the United Youth’s founding and early activities, see
“al-Shabība al-Muttahida”
al-Sa‘āda, July 1922.
.
27. Civantos, Between Argentines and Arabs, 239n31.
28. “al-Shabība al-Muttahida”
al-Sa‘āda, July 1922.
.
29. “Aniversario de la ‘Juventud Unida,’” El Orden, June 5, 1922.
30. Ibid.
31. “al-Shabība al-Muttadida,”
al-Sa‘āda, July 1922.
.
32. “Odeon: ‘Juventud Unida,’” El Orden, June 5, 1922.
33. “Conmemorando el aniversario,” al-Sa‘āda, July 1922.
34. “Sociedad Juventud Unida Siria,” El Orden, June 4, 1923.
35. “1921—La Juventud Unida —1923 La conmemoración del 2º aniversario de su
fundación,” al-Shabība al-Muttadida,
June 9, 1923.
.
36. “Sociedad Juventud Unida Siria,” El Orden, June 4, 1923.
37. “Conmemorando el aniversario,” al-Sa‘āda, July 1922.
38. For a closer examination of diasporic political activism during the French
Mandate, consult Steven Hyland Jr., “‘The Summit of Civilization’:
247
248
Notes to Pages 145–152
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
58.
59.
Nationalisms among Arabic-speakers in Latin America,” in Immigration and
National Identities in Latin America, 1850–1950, ed. Nicola Foote and Michael
Goebel (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2014), 475–524; and Bregain,
Syriens et Libanais d’Amérique du Sud.
See “Habib Estefano, 1888–1946,” accessed May 16, 2016, http://www.filosofia.
org/ave/001/a347.htm.
“Mañana llegará a Tucumán el Dr. Habib Estéfano,” El Orden, November 3,
1925; and “En la Sociedad Sarmiento dissertará esta noche el doctor Stéfano,” El
Orden, November 7, 1925.
Hugo Luis Ponsati, Aportes para una reseña de la colectividad árabe
tucumana, 25.
Ibid., 25–26, 31–32.
“Habib Estéfano o Estofán,” Sada al-Sharq, October 30, 1926.
“El Centro Libanés. Causas de su fundación,” al-Hurriyya, February 3, 1931.
Classic accounts include Hourani, Syria and Lebanon, 199–229; and Khoury,
Syria and the French Mandate. See also Brégain, Syriens et Libanais, 167.
Mario N. Turbay, “Asociación Libanesa de Socorros Mutuos. Una parte importante de su historia,” La Casa, November 1993, 48; Ponsati, Aportes, 31.
Libro de Actas, Sociedad Patriótica Libanesa, Acta no. 1, Sesión Ordinaria, September 2, 1937. This document is reproduced in “Documentos provistos por la
Prof. Susana Salim,” El Viejo Tucumán en la Memoria: Cartas y Documentos 7
(2001): 104–7.
“¿Hay una Nacionalidad ‘Siriolibanesa’?”, al-Difah (Buenos Aires), Numero
Extraordinario, May 1943.
Greenberg, “Sugar Depression and Agrarian Revolt,” 313–19.
“La Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán se ha dirigido ayer a la Dirección de
La Gaceta,” La Gaceta, June 2, 1927.
Greenberg, “Sugar Depression and Agrarian Revolt,” 322.
Libro de Actas de Comisión Directiva y Comisión de Hacienda de la Sociedad
de Siriolibanesa (hereafter ACD), Sesión extraordinaria de la C.D., June 27,
1929.
Actas de la Comisión Directiva de la Sociedad Siriolibanesa (ACD), Acta no.
125, November 23, 1930; and ACD, Acta no. 126, December 10, 1930.
Actas de la Asamblea General de la Sociedad Siriolibanesa (AAG), Acta no. 8,
January 28, 1931.
Ibid.
“Jam‘iyyat al-Sūriyya al-Lubnāniyya fī Tūkūmān,” al-Hurriyya, March 5, 1931.
“Dictadura en la Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán,” al-Hurriyya, February 3, 1931.
Ibid.
“Una Asamblea Ilegal,” al-Hurriyya, February 3, 1931.
Notes to Pages 152–157
60. “La Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán y la ayuda que merece,” al-Mahyar,
September 9, 1932; and “Regresó de Buenos Aires Comisión Destacado por
Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” al-Mahyar, August 24, 1933.
61. “Dictadura en la Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán,” al-Hurriyya, February 3, 1931.
62. “Una figura destacada de nuestra Colonia es D. Rosendo Allub,” al-Mahyar,
August 24, 1933; “La colectividad sirio-libanesa de Salta realiza una obra eficaz
por el prestigio y bienestar de nuestros compatriotas,” al-Mahyar, March 1,
1934; and “Nuestra Constitución en Jujuy,” al-Mahyar, March 1, 1934.
63. “La colectividad sirio-libanesa como agrupación política,” al-Hurriyya, July 16,
1930.
64. “La colectividad sirio-libanesa y el radicalismo,” al-Hurriyya, August 5, 1930.
65. “al-Jāliyya wa al-Sīyāsa,” al-Hurriyya, August 5, 1930.
66. Ibid.
67. “Los residentes sirios y libaneses y sus deberes y derechos civiles,” al-Mahyar,
September 1, 1932.
68. “La Colectividad Sirio-Libanesa como Factor de Triunfo en la Lucha Política
del País que nos Acoge con Tanta Cordialidad y Simpatía,” al-Mahyar, July 27,
1933.
69. “Politiquerías,” al-Mahyar, July 27, 1933.
70. “Por Ahi se dice,” al-Mahyar, July 27, 1933.
71. “‘Un Libanés’ se expresa de acuerdo con la opinión de nuestra hoja al respecto,”
al-Mahyar, August 24, 1933.
72. “La Intervención de nuestros connacionales en política,” al-Mahyar, March 1,
1934.
73. Ibid.
74. “Los connacionales no ocupan el lugar que les corresponde en el ambiente en
que viven,” El Eco de Oriente, February 27, 1937.
75. “Wadi Dip ha resultado electo diputado a la Legislatura de ésta por sus propios
méritos,” El Eco de Oriente, March 13, 1937.
76. “Dip Hnos.,” Registro Público de Comercio, APJ, vol. 3, April 23, 1910; and
“Wadi Dip y Cía,” Registro Público de Comercio, APJ, vol. 6, 100, August 5,
1924.
77. “Wadi Dip y Cía,” Contratos Mercantiles, Registro Público de Comercio, vol. 38,
404–6, July 1, 1937; and Leandro Lichtmajer and María Graciana Parra,
“Revisando la crisis de los partidos desde una escala provincial. Radicales y conservadores en Tucumán (1940–1943),” Revista de historia américa y argentina 49,
no. 1 (2014), accessed May 27, 2016, http://ref.scielo.org/4j8j8h.
78. “Concejales electos en Aguilares,” El Eco de Oriente, May 9, 1936. Tucumán’s
Concurrencistas, in defiance of national Radical party policy of abstaining from
elections following the 1930 coup d’état, chose to stand for elected office, holding
the governorship from 1935 to 1943. See Marcela Vignoli and María Celia Bravo,
249
250
Notes to Pages 158–164
“La formación de la Unión Cívica Radical concurrencista de Tucumán durante la
primera mitad de la década de 1930,” Revista Fundación Cultural 35 (June 2008),
accessed November 6, 2016, http://www.fundacioncultural.org/revista/nota11_35.
html.
79. “‘Joanya’ Hace un Llamado a la Juventud Libanesa,” El Eco de Oriente, April 6,
1935; and “Despertó Gran Interés el llamado de Joanya a la Juventud Libanesa,”
El Eco de Oriente, April 20, 1935.
80. “Quedó Constituido el Centro Social Libanés-Argentino,” El Eco de Oriente,
May 18, 1935; and “Una Nueva y Entusiasta Asamblea del Centro S. LibanésArgentino,” El Eco de Oriente, June 1, 1935.
81. “En Pleno Prestigio Cumplió su Primer Año el Club Libanés,” El Eco de Oriente, May 23, 1936; “El Club Libanés,” El Eco de Oriente, June 27, 1936; “Una profunda inactividad mina el deseo de cultura espiritual de la colonia,” El Eco de
Oriente, February 20, 1937; “Nuestro llamado a la juventud encuentra eco
propicio para pensar en una próxima reacción,” El Eco de Oriente, February 27,
1937; and “Hace falta en la juventud la expresión de sinceridad en los actos que
realiza,” El Eco de Oriente, March 20, 1937.
Chapter 6
1. Manuel Horacio Solari, Historia de la educación argentina (Buenos Aires: Editorial Paidos, 1991); and J. C. Tedesco, Educacion y Sociedad en la Argentina
(1880–1945) (Buenos Aires: Ediciones Solar, 1993).
2. For discussion on experiences of non-elite women in northwestern Argentina,
consult Steven Hyland Jr., “Arabic-speaking Immigrants before the Courts in
Tucumán, Argentina, 1910–1940,” Journal of Women’s History 28, no. 4 (2016):
41–64.
3. Schamún, La Siria Nueva, 20.
4. Gualtieri, Between Arab and White, 139–40. See also “haula Muhājira
al-Mar’a
.
al-Duruziyya,” al-Salām (Buenos Aires), June 30, 1914.
5. Quoted in Khater, “‘Queen of the House?,’” 284–85.
6. Gualtieri, Between Arab and White, 148–49; Guy, Sex and Danger; Carol Woodall, “Decadent Nights: A Cocaine-Filled Reading of 1920s Post-Ottoman Istanbul,” in Mediterranean Encounters in the City: Frameworks of Meditation
between East and West, North and South, ed. Michela Ardizzoni and Valerio
Ferme (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2015), 17–36; Mona L. Russell, Creating
the New Egyptian Woman: Consumerism, Education, and National Identity,
1863–1922 (New York: Palgrave McMillan, 2004); and Katherine Elaine Bliss,
Compromised Positions: Prostitution, Public Health, and Gender Politics in Revolutionary Mexico (College Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002).
7. “al-Tarbiyya
al-‘Ā’iliyya,” El Eco de Oriente, February 2, 1929.
.
8. Jurj Assaf, Dīwān al-nāzih. (Buenos Aires: n.p., n.d.), 26–27.
Notes to Pages 165–169
9. Abboud, “Los árabes musulmanes,” 242.
10. Veneroni et al., “Los Principales Colegios Fundados Por Los Siriolibaneses,”
556.
11. Rita Veneroni, Eduardo A. Azize, and Emmanuel Taub, “Los Principales Colegios Fundados Por Los Siriolibaneses,” in Sirios, Libaneses y Argentinos: Fragmentos Para Una Historia De La Diversidad Cultural Argentina, ed. Hamurabi
Noufouri et al. (Buenos Aires: Fundación Los Cedros, 2004), 557, 562–63; and
Libro de Actas de la Sociedad de Damas Ortodoxas, Estatutos de la Sociedad de
Damas Ortodoxas, chap. 1, article 2, October 6, 1926, 1.
12. Silberman de Cywiner, Asociación Israelita Sefaradí de Beneficencia de
Tucumán, 32–33.
13. For a recent discussion of al-Afghani’s importance in Islam, see Pankaj Mishra,
From the Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012), 46–123.
14. Hanssen, Fin-de-Siècle Beirut, 171–78.
15. It is unclear whether or not the school in Berisso was registered with the
state. In a photograph from a party celebrating a religious holiday, the students seem to be wearing a school uniform, perhaps suggestive of a formal
dress code and a more formal arrangement than Rahhal’s outfit. See
“al-T‘alīm al-Islāmī,” al-Fitra, ‘Adad Mumtāz, January 1927; “La Educación
Moral,” al-Fitra, ‘Adad Mumtāz, January 1927; Abboud, “Los Árabes Musulmanes,” 242; and “Lahi’a al-Idāriyya li-J‘amiyya al-Itihād al-Islāmī fī Bārīsū,”
al-Fitra, ‘Adad Mumtāz, January 1927.
16. “Eid al-Nahr al-Mubarak,” El Eco de Oriente, April 20, 1935. The excerpted
poem is quoted in Dalya Abudi, Mothers and Daughters in Arab Women’s Literature: The Family Frontier (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 298. See also Russell, Creating
the New Egyptian Woman, 99.
17. “Eid al-Nahr al-Mubarak,” El Eco de Oriente, April 20, 1935.
18. For education in Syria during the French Mandate, consult Thompson, Colonial Citizens, 87–89; and Jennifer Dueck, “Educational Conquest: Schools as a
Sphere of Politics in French Mandate Syria, 1936–1946,” French History 20, no. 4
(2006): 442–59. For education in Egypt, see Russell, Creating the New Egyptian
Woman, 99–163.
19. Abboud, “Los árabes musulmanes,” 242.
20. “La Sociedad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán se ha dirigido ayer a la Dirección de
La Gaceta,” La Gaceta (San Miguel de Tucumán), June 2, 1927.
21. ACD, Acta no. 103, Sesión extraordinaria de la C.D., November 7, 1929.
22. For instance, the board of directors received a thank-you letter for their donation from the directors of the state-run Hospital Padilla. ACD, Acta no. 96, Sesión extraordinaria de la C.D., June 27, 1929.
23. Ahmed Abu Sa‘ad, Mu‘ jam Asma’ al-Usru wa al-Ashkhās (Beirut: Dar al-‘Alam
li al-Milāyyeen, 1997), 944; and ACD, Acta no. 100, September 4, 1929.
251
252
Notes to Pages 169–172
24. Abu Sa‘ad, Mu‘ jam Asma’ al-Usru wa al-Ashkhās, 517–18.
25. ACD, Acta no. 101, September 18, 1929; and Acta no. 102, October 2, 1929.
26. ACD, Acta no. 102, October 2, 1929; and Acta no. 4, November 20, 1929.
Michel Maxud, brother of the deceased, sent a letter to the board of directors,
which included a donation of one hundred pesos, thanking them for their
gesture.
27. Director of Public Assistance to Alcira M. de Saad, December 7 and 20, 1927,
Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
28. Syrian-Lebanese Society Vice President Pedro Caram to Alcira Maluf de Saad,
October 6, 1927, Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
29. Libro de Actas de la Sociedad de Damas Ortodoxas (hereafter SDO), Estatutos
de la Sociedad de Damas Ortodoxas, chap. 1, article 2, October 6, 1926.
30. “Jam‘iyya al-Sayidāt al-Urdhuduksiyyāt fī Tūkūmān,” El Eco de Oriente (San
Miguel de Tucumán), February 2, 1929.
31. Report of the General Account of the Orthodox Women’s Society (hereafter
RGA) [Bayān al-maşraf al-‘Ām li-Jam‘iyya al-Sayidāt al-Urdhuduksiyyāt fī
Tūkūmān], years 1926 and 1927.
32. SDO, Acta no. 70, July 26, 1928.
33. SDO, Acta no. 95, June 27, 1929.
34. “Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
35. “En el local de la Sociedad Sirio-libanesa se inauguró el comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 1, 1932.
36. Alcira Maluf de Saad, Emilia K de Chebaia, and Rosa Canz de Chaya to Said
Madkur, July 24, 1932, Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
37. “Los pobres podrán comer a su gusto . . . ,” El Norte Argentino, July 30, 1932; “‘El
pan nuestro de cada día’ se distribuirá hoy a las 12 horas en la Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” El Norte Argentino, July 31, 1932; and “La Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa
inaugura comedor popular,” La Gaceta, July 30, 1932.
38. “ ‘El pan nuestro de cada día’ se distribuirá hoy a las 12 horas en la Sociedad
Sirio-Libanesa,” El Norte Argentino, July 31, 1932.
39. “Fue un acto imponente y altamente hermoso el que realizó la Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” El Orden, August 1, 1932.
40. “Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
41. “Fue un acto imponente y altamente hermoso el que realizó la Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” El Orden, August 1, 1932.
42. “En el local de la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa se inauguró el comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 1, 1932.
Notes to Pages 172–176
43. “Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
44. “Fue un acto imponente y altamente hermoso el que realizó la Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” El Orden, August 1, 1932.
45. “El ejemplo del comedor obrero sirio-libanesa,” La Gaceta, August 8, 1932.
46. “Solidaridad en el infortunio,” La Gaceta, August 9, 1932.
47. Ibid., emphasis added.
48. “Les ofrecerá comida dos días más por semana el Centro Carlos Pellegrini,” La
Gaceta, August 15, 1932.
49. “Ejército de Salvación inaugurará en breve los comedores populares,” El Orden,
August 16, 1932.
50. “El comedor para obreros desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 21, 1932.
51. “Se dio una conferencia filantropica,” El Orden, August 16, 1932; and “Siguen
funcionando los comedores para obrero desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 31,
1932.
52. “Siguen funcionando los comedores para obreros desocupados,” La Gaceta,
August 31, 1932.
53. “Realmente digna de aplauso la obra que la colectividad sirio-libanesa de
Tucumán está realizando en favor de los desocupados,” La Razón, August 21,
1932.
54. “Hoy más que nunca, la desgracia ajena debe conmover a la sociedad Cristiana,” El Orden, August 25, 1932.
55. “El Intendente Municipal en el comedor popular,” La Gaceta, September 24,
1932.
56. “La Señora Saad iniciadora de los comedores populares,” El Norte Argentino,
October 7, 1932.
57. “Hoy mas que nunca, la desgracia ajena debe conmover a la sociedad Cristiana,” El Orden, August 25, 1932.
58. “Obreros desocupados se apersonaron hoy a nuestra redacción,” La Gaceta,
September 24, 1932.
59. Miguel A. Gilgorrio to Alcira de Saad, August 9, 1932.
60. Donna J. Guy, Creating Charismatic Bonds in Argentina: Letters to Juan and
Eva Perón (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2016).
61. “Los obreros desocupados agradecen a la señora Alcira Maluf de Saad,” La Flecha, no date. The article is located in a scrapbook Alcira kept of these events.
Personal Collection of Aida Saad de Napadensky.
62. “ ‘Pro-Tuc’ está Invitando a la Cita de Honor de la Exposición de Industrias,” El
Orden, August 1, 1932; and “Realmente digna de aplauso la obra que la colectividad siriolibanesa de Tucumán está realizando en favor de los desocupados,” La
Razón, August 21, 1932.
253
254
Notes to Pages 176–179
63. George Tselos, “Self-Help and Sauerkraut: The Organized Unemployed, Inc., of
Minneapolis,” Minnesota History 45, no. 8 (1977): 306–20; William H. Mullins,
“ ‘I’ll Wreck This Town if It Will Give Employment’: Portland in the Hoover
Years of the Depression,” Pacific Northwest Quarterly 79, no. 3 (1988): 109–88;
and William H. Mullins, “Self-Help in Seattle, 1931–1932: Herbert Hoover’s
Concept of Cooperative Individualism and the Unemployed Citizens’ League,”
Pacific Northwest Quarterly 72, no. 1 (1981): 11–19.
64. “Ampliacion del comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 26, 1932.
65. “Una junta de abastecimiento dinamica, constituye el imperativo de la hora que
vivimos,” El Orden, September 5, 1932.
66. “Los comedores,” La Gaceta, September 24, 1932.
67. “Un acto simpatico en el comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, September 17,
1932; and “El comedor popular sirio-libanés está siempre concurrido,” El
Orden, September 17, 1932.
68. “Nos visitó una dolorosa caravana de desocupados,” La Flecha, October 3, 1932.
69. “Más de mildoscientos desocupados agradecerion al comedor siriolibanés,” El
Orden, November 17, 1932.
70. Ibid.
71. “El reparto de carne por la señora Alcira M. de Saad se inició,” El Orden, January 17, 1933; “El comedor Sirio Libanés y La Gaceta,” La Gaceta, March 5, 1933;
and “Las benefactoras sirio libanesas agradecen a ‘El Orden’ su concurso,” El
Orden, March 3, 1933.
72. “‘El Pan Nuestro de Cada Día’ se Distribuirá hoy a las 12 horas en la Sociedad
Sirio Libanesa,” El Norte Argentino, July 31, 1932.
73. “Realmente digna de aplauso la obra que la colectividad siriolibanesa de
Tucumán está realizando en favor de los desocupados,” La Razón, August 21,
1932.
74. Cynthia Jeffress Little, “Education, Philanthropy, and Feminism: Components
of Argentine Womanhood, 1860–1926,” in Latin American Women: Historical
Perspectives, ed. Asunción Lavrin (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1978), 248.
75. “Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
76. “Obreros desocupados se apersonaron hoy a nuestra redacción,” La Gaceta,
September 24, 1932.
77. See, for instance, Thomas Miller Klubock, Contested Communities: Class, Gender, and Politics in Chile’s El Teniente Copper Mine, 1904–1951 (Durham, NC:
Duke University Press, 1998), 49–80, 127–87.
78. See, for example, the special collection of essays in The Americas 58, no. 1
(2001).
79. Karen Mead, “Gender, Welfare and the Catholic Church in Argentina: Conferencias de Señoras de San Vicente de Paúl, 1890–1916,” The Americas 58, no. 1
Notes to Pages 179–181
80.
81.
82.
83.
84.
85.
86.
87.
88.
89.
90.
91.
92.
93.
(2001): 91–119; and Christine Ehrick, The Shield of the Weak: Feminism and the
State in Uruguay, 1903–1933 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press,
2005).
Fernández et al., “Esfera pública, moralidad y mujeres de la elite,” 97–110.
James E. Wadsworth and Tamera L. Marko, “Children of the Patria: Representations of Childhood and Welfare State Ideologies at the 1922 Rio de
Janeiro International Centennial Exposition,” The Americas 58, no. 1 (2001):
76; Okezi Otovo, Progressive Mothers, Better Babies: Race, Public Health,
and the State in Brazil, 1850–1945 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2016);
Ann Blum, Domestic Economies: Family, Work, and Welfare in Mexico City,
1884–1943 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2010); and Enrique
Ochoa, “Coercion, Reform, and the Welfare State: The Campaign against
‘Begging’ in Mexico City during the 1930s,” The Americas 58, no. 1 (2001):
39–64.
Notable exceptions are Donna Guy, Sandra McGee Deutsch, and Lily Balloffet.
See Guy, Women Build the Welfare State; Deutsch, Crossing Borders, Claiming a
Nation; and Balloffet, “From the Pampas to the Mashriq.”
Guy, Women Build the Welfare State; Deutsch, Crossing Borders, Claiming a
Nation, 205–35.
“Solidaridad en el infortunio,” La Gaceta, August 9, 1932.
“En el local de la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa se inauguró el comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 1, 1932.
Felix Carrizo to Alcira Maluf de Saad, undated, Personal Collection of Aida
Saad de Napadensky; “Más de mil doscientos desocupados agradecieron al
comedor sirio libanés,” El Orden, November 17, 1932; and “‘El Pan Nuestro de
Cada Día’ se Distribuirá hoy a las 12 horas en la Sociedad Sirio Libanesa,” El
Norte Argentino, July 31, 1932.
“En la local de la Sociedad Siriolibanesa se inauguró el comedor para desocupados,” La Gaceta, August 1, 1932.
“Fue un acto imponente y altamente hermoso el que realizó la Sociedad SirioLibanesa,” El Orden, August 1, 1932.
“Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
Ibid.
“Levantan una ciudad de miseria en pleno suburbia de Tucumán,” El Orden,
August 23, 1932.
“‘El Pan Nuestro de Cada Día’ se Distribuirá hoy a las 12 horas en la Sociedad
Sirio Libanesa,” El Norte Argentino, July 31, 1932
“Brazos fraternalmente abierto, se extendieron el domingo pasado, hacia los
desvalidos, en la Sociedad Sirio-Libanesa de Tucumán,” Sada al-Sharq/El Eco
de Oriente, August 6, 1932.
255
256
Notes to Pages 181–189
94. “Hoy más que nunca, la desgracia ajena debe conmover a la sociedad Cristiana,” El Orden, August 25, 1932.
95. “Levantan una Ciudad de Miseria en Pleno Suburbio de Tucumán,” El Orden,
August 23, 1932.
96. “Hoy más que nunca, la desgracia ajena debe conmover a la sociedad Cristiana,” El Orden, August 25, 1932.
97. “El Intendente Municipal en el comedor popular,” La Gaceta, September 24,
1932.
98. “Los comedores,” La Gaceta, September 24, 1932.
99. “Las damas sirio-libanesas del sud de la provincia han levantado una colecta,”
El Eco de Oriente, November 21, 1936.
100. “El intendente ha agradecido a la Assoc. Pan-Islamismo,” El Eco de Oriente,
July 25, 1936.
101. “La agitada vida de una arquitecta que dejó su sello en Tucumán,” La Gaceta,
March 8, 2013.
102. Also consult Sandra McGee Deutsch, Crossing Borders, Claiming a Nation: A
History of Argentine Jewish Women, 1880–1955 (Durham, NC: Duke University
Press, 2010), 148–235.
Chapter 7
1. Páez de la Torre, Historia de Tucumán, 655–58.
2. Ibid.; Ullivari, “Sindicatos en ‘la capital del azúcar,’” 123–28. Alfredo Coviello
was also the secretary of finance and public works for the provincial capital
from 1927 to 1929. In 1931 he was named treasurer of the National University of
Tucumán. At the time of his death in June 1944 he was codirector of La Gaceta.
See Albert R. Sutter, “Notes and News,” Philosophy and Phenomenological
Research 5, no. 3 (1945): 443–48.
3. María Ullivarri, “‘Si es como para morirse de desesperación.’ Trabajadores, carestía y política en tiempos de Guerra Mundial: Tucumán (Argentina) 1939–
1943,” Revista Mundos do Trabalho 4, no. 7 (2012): 266–91.
4. “Grave Problema: La Falta de Trabajo,” El Eco de Oriente, March 22, 1941; “El
Convenio Sobre Azúcar se Firmará,” El Eco de Oriente, April 12, 1941; “Problemas del Agro y de lo Industria Argentina,” El Eco de Oriente, April 19, 1941;
and Ullivarri, “‘Si es como para morirse de desesperación.’”
5. “Formula Declaraciones Oficiales el Presidente del Centro Azucarero Regional
Doctor José Frías Silva,” El Eco de Oriente, April 5, 1941.
6. “Se Agrava el Conflicto Azucarero,” El Eco de Oriente, April 5, 1941.
7. “El Convenio Sobre el Azúcar se Firmará,” El Eco de Oriente, April 12, 1941.
8. “Cañeros y peones del surco exijen precios compensatorios a los propietarios de
fábricas azucareras,” El Eco de Oriente, May 3, 1941; and “Algunas Realidades
Sobre el Problema Azucarero,” El Eco de Oriente, May 31, 1941.
Notes to Pages 189–198
9. “El Grave Problema Agrícola Industrial y la Huelga de los Cañeros Independientes,” El Eco de Oriente, May 17, 1941; “Dentro de una Correcta Organización
Desfilaron por la Ciudad los Cañeros Independientes de Tucumán,” El Eco de
Oriente, May 31, 1941; “El Grave Momento Actual de la Industria Azucarera,” El
Eco de Oriente, June 7, 1941; “Pidió el Arbitraje del Presidente de la Nación la
F. Agraria Argentina,” La Gaceta, June 14, 1941; and “Prosiguen Activamente
los Gestiones Para Solucionar el Pleito de los Cañeros,” La Gaceta, June 15, 1941.
10. “En Río Chico se Ofreció un Banquete a los Nuevos Legisladores del Partido
Demócrata Nacional,” El Eco de Oriente, April 19, 1941; and “Ecos del Banquete a los Legisladores Demócratas a Villa C. Hileret,” El Eco de Oriente,
April 26, 1941.
11. “El Centro Político Sirio-Libanés de Famaillá Apoya al Caudillo Moisá,” El Eco
de Oriente, May 17, 1941; “Los Sirios y Libaneses de Famaillá Lucharon en pro del
Caudillo Don Rodolfo A. Moisá,” El Eco de Oriente, June 7, 1941; and “El
C. Político Siriolibanés de Tucumán Ofrece a Dn. R. A. Moisá la PreCandidatura a D. Nacional,” El Eco de Oriente, June 14, 1941.
12. “Nuevas autoridades del C. Comercial de Tartagal (Salta),” El Eco de Oriente,
Jan 1, 1940; “Tiene nuevo Presidente el C. D. de Concepción,” El Eco de Oriente,
April 5, 1941; “Concejal Electo,” El Eco de Oriente, March 28, 1942; and “Se
reunió el C. Deliberante,” El Eco de Oriente, April 18, 1942.
13. “Sirios y Libaneses en la picota,” El Eco de Oriente, March 21, 1942.
14. “Solicitada,” El Eco de Oriente, March 28, 1942.
15. Ibid.
16. “El Gobernador de Santiago del Estero Dr. J. I. Cáceres defendió enérgicamente
a todos los Sirios y Libaneses,” El Eco de Oriente, March 21, 1942; and “Las
Expresiones Injustas e Hirientes del Candidato Derrotado Dr. Cordero en Contra de Políticos Santiagueños,” El Eco de Oriente, March 28, 1942.
17. “Castro y Cordero han injuriado a sirios y libaneses por la tremenda derrota
comicial sufrida en Santiago,” El Eco de Oriente, April 11, 1942.
18. “¿Hay en Santiago del Estero más siriolibaneses que santiagueños?” Aquí Está
(Buenos Aires), February 11, 1943; and “En Aquí Está se Revela el Desconocimiento que Existe Respecto a los Libaneses y Sirios,” al-Difah (Buenos Aires),
March 12, 1943.
19. “Se Realizará una Demostración en Honor del Dr. Miguel Campero,” El Eco de
Oriente, September 26, 1942.
20. “Se Inauguró el Centro Político ‘Juventud Sirio-Libanesa Argentina,’” El Eco de
Oriente, September 26, 1942.
21. “Recibe expresivas demostraciones de adhesión el Dr. Almonaiar por la fundación del centro ‘Ramón S. Castillo,’” El Eco de Oriente, October 31, 1942; “El
Dr. Amado Almonaiar en la actividad política,” El Eco de Oriente, October 31,
1942; and “El Partido Demócrata Nacional y la Colectividad Sirio-Libanesa,” La
Gaceta, November 21, 1942.
257
258
Notes to Pages 199–207
22. “Los Demócratas Piden el Retiro de la Carta de Ciudadanía de Electores de
la Alianza,” La Gaceta, November 8, 1942; “La Impugnación de Electores,” La
Gaceta, November 9, 1942; and “La Ultima Etapa del Proceso Político,” La
Gaceta, November 11, 2014.
23. “En nombre del Sector Demócrata, Simón Padrós pidió esperar la decisión de la
justicia federal,” La Gaceta, November 13, 1942; and “La Cuestión del Colegio
Electoral de Tucumán Ocasiono Incidencias,” al-Difah (Buenos Aires), November 28, 1942.
24. “Como se produjeron las incidencias Dentro y Fuera del Recinto del Colegio,”
La Gaceta, November 13, 1942.
25. “Toda la colectividad sirio-libanesa vibra de indignación ante la ofensa gratuita inferida por deslenguados,” El Eco de Oriente, November 14, 1942; and
“Las injurias proferidas contra la colectividad siriolibanesa,” La Gaceta,
November 15, 1942. The Nucleus’s letter is also reprinted in the November 14,
1942, edition of El Eco de Oriente. “Publicación Solicitada,” La Gaceta,
November 15, 1942; and “La Cuestion del Colegio Electoral de Tucumán Ocasionó Incidencias,” al-Difah (Buenos Aires), November 28, 1942.
26. “Estos dos sirios son más argentinos que Ud.,” La Reforma, November 13, 1942;
“Una adhesión universitaria a la protesta por las ofensas inferidas a la colectividad SirioLibanesa,” El Eco de Oriente, November 14, 1942; “Obstrucción contumaz,” La Nación (Buenos Aires), November 15, 1942; and “El episodio
tucumano,” El Mundo (Buenos Aires), November 15, 1942.
27. “Solicitada,” El Eco de Oriente, November 14, 1942; and “Punto Final,” La
Gaceta, November 18, 1942.
28. “El Partido Demócrata Nacional y la Colectividad Sirio-Libanesa,” La Gaceta,
November 21, 1942.
29. “Acto de Solidaridad Con los Electores Demócratas en Aguilares,” La Gaceta,
November 22, 1942.
30. “Agrupaciones Obreras y Partidos Políticos Partidos Participaron del Acto Pro
Unidad Nacional,” La Gaceta, December 6, 1942.
31. “Rawāyāt Jibrān Massūh al-Tamthīliyya,” al-Zawba‘a, June 1, 1941.
32. “La Colectividad Siria Realizará un Festival hoy en su Sede Social,” La Gaceta,
June 14, 1941. For more on Saadeh’s nationalist activities in Argentina, see
Hyland, “‘The Summit of Civilization.’”
33. “al-Firqa al-Sūriyya al-Thaqāfa,” al-Zawba‘a, July 1, 1941; and “Festival de la
Colectividad Siria,” La Gaceta, June 16, 1941.
34. “al-Firqa al-Sūriyya al-Thaqāfa,” al-Zawba‘a, July 1, 1941.
35. For further information regarding diasporic politics in Tucumán and the
Americas related to Lebanese and Syrian independence, see Hyland, “ ‘The
Summit of Civilization,’ ” 270–76; and Bregain, Syriens et Libanaises, 135–245.
36. See Osvaldo Pellettieri and Nidia Burgos, eds., Historia del teatro argentino en las
provincias, vol. 2 (Buenos Aires: Talleres Gráficos D.E.L. S.R.L., 2005), 518; Tony
Notes to Pages 207–216
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
52.
53.
54.
55.
56.
57.
Arnedo, “Los incorregibles socialistas: trapisondas y traiciones,” http://www.
estoesTucumán.com.ar/index.php/2009/04/05/los-incorregibles-socialistastrapisondas-y-traiciones-en-las-ultimas-decadas/; and APJ, Actas de Corte
Suprema de Justicia de la Provincia de Tucumán, vol. 2, 398.
P. Nacif Estofán, Alma (Poesías) (San Miguel de Tucumán: Talleres Gráficos de
El Eco de Oriente, 1942), 73.
Mohamed Guenam, “A la Bandera Argentina,” El Eco de Oriente, July 1945.
“Fue Agasajado en Jujuy el Joven Abogado Salomón Jorge,” El Eco de Oriente,
February 1, 1941.
“El llamado a la juventud,” El Eco de Oriente, February 8, 1941.
“La juventud Sirio-Libanesa debe unirse en un solo haz,” El Eco de Oriente,
January 18, 1941.
“Llamado a la Juventud,” El Eco de Oriente, January 25, 1941.
“La Carta del doctor Emilio Saad,” El Eco de Oriente, October 4, 1941.
“Un Grande y Generoso Movimiento de Juventud,” El Eco de Oriente, October 4,
1941.
“Se inicia un vibrante movimiento de juventud para la renovación de valores en
nuestra sociedad,” El Eco de Oriente, October 4, 1941.
“Que Opinan Nuestros Jóvenes de Nuestras Niñas: Albaca,” El Eco de Oriente,
October 18, 1941.
“Que Opinan Nuestros Jóvenes de Nuestras Niñas: Yaya,” El Eco de Oriente,
October 4, 1941.
“Que Opinan Nuestras Niñas de Nuestros Jóvenes: Albaca,” El Eco de Oriente,
October 18, 1941; “Que Opinan Nuestras Niñas de Nuestros Jóvenes: Reston,” El
Eco de Oriente, December 20, 1941; and “Que Opinan Nuestras Niñas de
Nuestros Jóvenes: Yaya,” El Eco de Oriente, October 4, 1941.
“Que Opinan Nuestros Jóvenes de Nuestras Niñas: Masuh,” El Eco de Oriente,
November 29, 1941.
“Que Opinan Nuestros Jóvenes de Nuestras Niñas: Pérez,” El Eco de Oriente,
October 11, 1941.
“Prosigue Organizándose con Singular Entusiasmo el Movimiento Renovatorio
Iniciado por la Juventud,” El Eco de Oriente, October 18, 1941.
“Llamado a la Colectividad Sirio Libanesa de Tucumán,” El Eco de Oriente,
November 29, 1941.
“Mensaje a la Colectividad,” El Eco de Oriente, November 29, 1941.
“La Apatía de la Juventud,” El Eco de Oriente, January 10, 1942.
“El Dr. Ramon S. Castillo y la Juventud Argentina,” El Eco de Oriente, December 20, 1941.
“Centro de la A. C. de San Marón,” El Eco de Oriente, February 28, 1942.
“Con gran entusiasmo sigue llegando donaciones a la Biblioteca de jóvenes de
A. C. de San Marón,” El Eco de Oriente, March 7, 1942. See also “Obra Cultural
del Centro de A. C. de San Marón,” El Eco de Oriente, March 7, 1942.
259
260
Notes to Pages 216–224
58. “Un Llamado a la Juventud Sirio-Libanesa,” El Eco de Oriente, March 7, 1942.
59. “Será Reorganizado el Club Libanés,” El Eco de Oriente, June 30, 1942.
60. See, for instance, “Se ha Constituido en Tucumán la Unión Cívica Radical
Irigoyenista: Alem—Irigoyen—Perón,” El Eco de Oriente, November 21, 1945;
“En su Triunfal Jira Proselitilista Pasó por Tucumán el Candidato a Presidente
Coronel Juan D. Perón,” El Eco de Oriente, December 31, 1945; and “Se ha Constituido en Yerba Buena la Unión C. Radical Yrigoyenista,” El Eco de Oriente,
December 31, 1945.
Epilogue
1. For a close inspection of Menem’s crafting of an “Arab gaucho,” see Christina
Civantos, “Ali Bla Bla’s Double-Edged Sword: Argentine President Carlos
Menem and the Negotiation of Identity,” in Between the Middle East and the
Americas: The Cultural Politics of Diaspora, ed. Evelyn Alsultany and Ella Shohat (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2013), 108–29.
2. Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 13–44; and Gregory B. Weeks and John R. Weeks,
Irresistible Forces: Latin American Migration to the United States and Its Effects
on the South (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 2010).
3. Moya, Cousins and Strangers, 95–117. For contemporary assessment of the cultural recognition of emigration, see Douglas Massey, “Understanding Mexican
Migration to the United States,” American Journal of Sociology 92 no. 6 (1987):
1372–1403.
4. José C. Moya, “Immigration and Assimilation in Latin America in a Global
Perspective,” paper given at the 54th International Congress of Americanists,
Vienna, Austria, July 17, 2012.
5. For a fuller discussion, see Hyland, “‘The Summit of Civilization.’”
6. “La colectividad siria en la República Argentina,” El Orden, March 21, 1911.
7. Moya, “A Continent of Immigrants: Postcolonial Shifts in the Western Hemisphere,” Hispanic American Historical Review 86, no. 1 (2006): 1–23.
8. Nancy Foner has called for more research on immigrants and local politics;
however, her suggestions are limited to conventional notions of political participation such as electoral politics. Nancy Foner, “The Challenge and Promise of
Past-Present Comparisons,” Journal of American Ethnic Studies 25, no. 4
(2006): 146; and Jeffrey Lesser and Raanan Rein, “Challenging Particularity:
Jews as a Lens on Latin American Ethnicity,” Latin American and Caribbean
Ethnic Studies 1, no. 2 (2006): 258.
9. Lesser and Rein, “Challenging Particularity,” 257.
10. For an informed discussion on the pervasive use of ‘turco’ as a pejorative, see
Civantos, “Ali Bla Bla’s Double-Edged Sword,” 114–22.
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between East and West, North and South, edited by Michela Ardizzoni and
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Worringer, Renée. “‘Sick Man of Europe’ or ‘Japan of the Near East’?: Constructing
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Yaqub, Nadia. Pens, Swords, and the Springs of Art: The Oral Poetry Dueling of Palestinian Weddings in the Galilee. Leiden: Brill, 2006.
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Zurcher, Erik Jan. “The Ottoman Conscription System, 1844–1914.” International
Review of Social History 43 (1998): 437–49.
Index
Page numbers in italic text indicate illustrations.
Aleppo. See Greater Syria; Ottoman
empire
al-Fitra (newspaper), 166
al-Hadīqa (The garden), 94
al-Hāwiyya (The Abyss), 109–11
al-Hāwiyya (The Abyss), 109–11
al-Hilāl, 111
al-Ikhā’ (The Brotherhood; periodical),
106
al-Khoury, Fares, 125
al-Khoury, Fares, 125
Alliance Israélite Universelle, 20, 29
Allub, Rosendo, 153, 194, 196
Alma (Estofán), 207–8
al-Mahyar (Emigration, newspaper),
115, 140
Almonaiar, Amado, 197
al-Mursal (newspaper), 91
al-Nasr (newspaper), 91–92
al-Rābi’a al-Adabiyya al-Tūkūmāniyya
(Tucumán Literary League),
86–87
Abalos, Humberto, 122
Abboud, Ahmed, 165
Abduh, Muhammad, 165–66
Abecassis, Elias, 62–63
Abraham, José, 76
The Abyss (al-Hāwiyya), 109–11
activism, 157–59, 196–206, 211–17
adīb. See intellectualism
agriculture, 17, 17
Aguilar, José, 52–53
al-A‘āzār, Butrus, 119
al-’Alam al-‘Uthmāni (newspaper), 91
al-Atassi, Hashim, 125
Albaca, Elena, 213
Albaca, Emilio, 65
Albaca, Sucre, 140
al-Barudi, Fakhri, 125
Alcorta, Figueroa, 63
Ale, Fortunato, 157
Ale, Hamame Saleh, 129
Alegre, Felipe, 192
Alejandro, Felipe, 83–84
277
278
Index
al-Saba’, Fayyād, 119
al-Saba’, Tanūs, 119
al-Shabība al-Mutahida,
95, 143
.
al-Shams (The sun), 91
Alsina, Juan B., 45–46
al-Tamaddun (civilization; newspaper),
145
al-Taqaddum (newspaper), 34–35
Altina, José, 121
de Alvear, Marcelo T., 99
al-Watan (periodical), 87–89
Amado, Nicolás, 61–66
Amado, Salvador, 78
Amdor, Calim, 136
America: Christians in, 27; economics
in, 20–21; emigration to, 30; identity in, 47; Judaism in, 33; law in,
45; media in, 27, 90–91, 176
American University of Beirut, 27
Andelnur, Edmundo, 216
Andreozzi, Manuel, 150
“Los años míos” (Estofán), 207–8
Apás, Chaker Farah, 114, 137–39, 141, 151
Apud, Antonio, 82–83
Apud, Fillipos, 118–20
Aquí Está (newspaper), 195–96
Aráoz, Abraham, 116
Argentina: activism in, 198–205; class
in, 13; constitution of, 1; crime in,
111–13; economics in, 4, 46, 95,
150–51, 186, 204–5; gender in, 111–
12; history of, 39; identity in, 96,
156, 195–96, 200–201, 205–17;
immigrants in, 1, 13, 21–22, 41–43,
179–80; industry in, 185–86; Islam
in, 12, 24–25; Judaism in, 6–7; law
in, 44–45; map of, 16, 16–17;
Maronite churches in, 7, 12; military in, 89, 217; monument commission for, 139–41; politics in, 1,
13, 219–20; prejudice in, 46–47,
59–61; public services in, 43;
religion in, 2, 44, 210, 224; sugar
industry in, 98–101, 187–90; Syrians in, 43–47; “To the Argentine
Flag” (Guenam, M.), 208–10;
United Youth in, 94–95, 128, 141–
45; women in, 161–62. See also
northwest Argentina; Tucumán
Argentine Agrarian Federation, 74,
148–49
Arida, Antonio, 241n81
Arlt, Roberto, 113
Arslan, Emin (Emir), 44, 88, 103
Asad al-Helu, Nakhla, 93
Assaf, Jurj (Nāzih), 104, 163–64
Assalam (newspaper), 9, 38, 46
Atlanta Athletic Club, 6
Azize, Moises, 158
Baaclini, Nagib, 65–66, 81, 86, 90, 105; in
community, 143, 149–50, 209;
Eleas and, 240n61; politics for, 92,
94–95, 139–41, 146, 149, 178, 189,
195, 200, 213, 215; religion for, 122,
124
Banco Londres y Río de la Plata, 38
The Bandits of the Forest (Bey Kfoury),
142–43
Barudi, Shukri, 83
Bascary, Juan Bautista, 74–75, 81
Bazan, Aníbal, 52–53
Beirut. See Greater Syria
Bestani, Rafael, 118
Bichara, Antonio, 117–18, 142, 151–54
Bobrik, Rodolfo, 92
Bodewig, Arthur, 80
Bravo, María Celia, 73
Brazil: for immigrants, 32; nationalism
in, 91; Ottoman empire in, 44;
politics in, 45
The Brotherhood (al-Ikhā; periodical),
106
Budeguer, Abraham, 82–83
Index
Budeguer, Juana, 82–83
Budeguer, Sabino, 191–93, 198
Buenos Aires, 9, 38; Islam in, 166; law
in, 21; military in, 100; northwest
Argentina compared to, 3–4;
Ottoman empire and, 61–66;
reform in, 49–50; “Los Turcos en
Buenos Aires” (Caras y Caretas),
45–46
Cáceres, José I., 194
Campero, Miguel, 98–101, 185, 196–98
Candalaft, Gabriel, 94–95, 206
Canz, Davíd, 82–83
Canz de Chaya, Rosa, 171–72
Caracotche, Domingo, 190
Caracotche, Horacio, 203–4
Caram, Alberto, 204–5
Caram, Amado, 57–58
Caram, Luis A., 197
Caram, Pedro A., 140–41, 169
Caras y Caretas (journal), 45–46
Castillo, Ramón, 188–89, 215
Castro, Juan, 194–95
Cebes, Manuel, 198–204, 217
Chain, Domingo, 62, 66
charity, 130–31, 252n26; class in, 173;
education and, 251n22; gender
and, 168–70; Madkur for, 174;
media for, 176–78; El Orden (newspaper) for, 174, 176–77, 181; religion
in, 181; Syrian-Lebanese and,
12–13, 170–82; women in, 169–72,
175, 182–83
Chaya, José B., 114–16
Chaya, Julian A., 57–58
Chebaia, José, 215–16
Chelala, Nametalah, 115–16
Christians: in America, 27; Islam and,
91; as pioneers, 43–44. See also
religion
Civantos, Christina, 103, 123
class: in Argentina, 13; in charity, 173; in
community, 51–52; economics of,
82, 195–96; in Greater Syria,
227n2; in identity, 5–6, 134, 221; for
immigrants, 7–8, 11, 43, 56, 139–41,
154–55, 159; intellectualism and,
10, 27–28; in labor, 102; in northwest Argentina, 67; politics and,
79–81; for Syrian-Lebanese, 9–10,
133–39, 152, 159–60, 168–69; for
women, 179
Colegio San Marón, 164–65
Committee of Union and Progress, 35
community, 205–6; Baaclini in, 143,
149–50, 209; class in, 51–52; El Eco
de Oriente/Sada al-Sharq (newspaper) for, 149–50, 157–59; for education, 167; for Greater Syria, 96;
for immigrants, 51, 55–56; in
Islam, 166–68; in northwest
Argentina, 11–12, 131, 144–45; politics and, 5; public services and,
54–55; religion and, 42, 88, 122; for
Syrian-Lebanese, 97–98, 124, 148–
59; for Syrians, 65–66, 71, 96. See
also institutional life
conchabo labor law, 49
conscription: in Ottoman empire,
33–34, 232n61; religion in, 35, 39
constitution, of Argentina, 1
Cordero, Octavio, 194–95
Correa, Antonio, 75
Cossio, Carlos, 199–202
Coviello, Alfredo, 186, 207, 256n2
crime: in Argentina, 111–13; drugs in,
112–13; immigrants in, 73–74, 136;
media and, 75, 78–79, 87; Syrians
in, 71, 75–76, 81–82. See also law
Critto, Miguel, 141, 185, 188–89
Culaciatti, Miguel, 194
culture: Alma (Estofán), 207–8; “Los
años míos” (Estofán), 207–8; The
279
280
Index
culture (continued)
Bandits of the Forest (Bey Kfoury),
142–43; Caras y Caretas (journal),
45–46; education and, 38–39; “Era
árabe mi abuelo,” 219; in Greater
Syria, 22–30; al-Hadīqa (The garden), 94; al-Hāwiyya (The Abyss),
109–11; al-Ikhā (The Brotherhood;
periodical), 106; for immigrants,
64, 101–9; labor and, 29–30; from
nationalism, 145–46, 208–10; in
northwest Argentina, 222, 224;
politics and, 185–87, 205–16; Ratiba
(Guraieb), 109–10, 113–14; religion
in, 87, 120–21, 123; Saad for, 168; in
Syria, 43; for Syrian-Lebanese,
109–14, 150; al-Tamaddun (Civilization; periodical), 145; in
al-Taqaddum (newspaper), 34–35;
in Tucumán, 86–87; Umm wa
Ghayr Umm (Massuh, Y.), 205–6
Dahan, Moises, 76, 120, 122
Danturs (family), 83–84
Debes, Julian, 57–58
Debes, Yacoub, 31
the Depression, 69–72
Díaz, José Modesto, 78
Dimani, Julian, 124, 155, 166–67
Dip, Elías, 120, 151
Dip, José, 83
Dip, Wadi, 156–57, 160, 191
Di Santolo, Sante, 78
drugs, 112–13
Duarte de Perón, Eva, 175
Duna, Nacif, 153
economics: in America, 20–21; in
Argentina, 4, 46, 95, 150–51, 186,
204–5; of class, 82, 195–96; the
Depression and, 69–72; education
and, 50–51, 94–95; emigration
and, 30, 33, 35–36; in Greater Syria,
22–25, 85; for immigrants, 37–38,
44, 133, 135–39; intellectualism
and, 9; Islam and, 21; of labor, 70;
in northwest Argentina, 48; in
Ottoman empire, 19–20, 38, 71–72;
politics and, 11–12, 187–98; social
networks and, 81–85; of sugar
industry, 48–49, 56–57, 72–73; in
Syria, 23–24; Syrian-Lebanese in,
4, 13, 152; for Syrians, 56–57; in
Tucumán, 41–42, 72–79, 98–101;
before World War I, 38
Eddé, Emile, 147–48
education: Alliance Israélite Universelle, 20, 29; charity and, 251n22;
Colegio San Marón, 164–65; community for, 167; culture and,
38–39; economics and, 50–51,
94–95; emigration and, 26, 29;
family and, 183; Franciscan Holy
Land College, 28; government in,
28; Greater Syria and, 25–30,
43–44; Herut (newspaper) on, 35;
identity in, 210–11, 221; labor and,
48; National University of Córdoba, 109; Ottoman Education
Commission, 25; Ottoman Ministry of Public Instruction, 29; religion and, 25–26, 28–29, 164–67,
251n15; Saint-Jean Maron, 26;
Saint Joseph University, 27; for
Syrian-Lebanese, 161–62; women
in, 162–68, 183
Egyptian Gazette (newspaper), 36
Ehrick, Christine, 179
El Diario (newspaper), 45
Eleas, Antonio, 87–90; Baaclini and,
240n61
El Eco de Oriente/Sada al-Sharq (newspaper), 81, 88, 92, 141, 240n61; for
activism, 211–16; for community,
Index
149–50, 157–59; in politics, 156,
192–93, 201; scandal in, 118–19,
137–38
Electoral College, in Tucumán, 13
Elías, Emilio, 125–26
El Jatib, Abdulhadi, 190–91, 203–4
El Mundo (newspaper), 202
El Norte Argentino (newspaper), 117–18,
171, 178
El Orden (newspaper), 55, 75, 78, 144; for
charity, 174, 176–77, 181; scandal
in, 57–58
El Paraíso de los Pobres, 60
Elvira, Elena Leila, 125
emigration: to America, 30; economics
and, 30, 33, 35–36; education and,
26, 29; from Greater Syria, 2,
19–22, 27, 30–39, 221–22; in history, 220; in Judaism, 20–21; law
and, 31–32, 37; al-Mahyar (Emigration), 115, 140; media and, 31,
231n50; military and, 34–35; religion and, 24–25, 32, 36–37; World
War I and, 24, 35–36, 39, 93; after
Young Turk Revolution (1908), 4,
6, 32–33, 39
“Era árabe mi abuelo,” 219
Estofán, Pedro N., 142–45, 153–54, 207–
9, 216, 224
Estofáno, Habib, 145–46
ethnic identity, 225n5; for immigrants,
32
Fagalde, Pedro, 200
Fagre, Alberto, 57–58
Faisal I (King), 93–94, 145
family: education and, 183; for immigrants, 102–3; for Syrian-Lebanese,
105–7
Fares, Nami, 147
Fiad, Elías, 151–52
Fiad, Jorge, 59
Fiads (family), 84
Figueroa, Gustavo Bravo, 206–7
Foner, Nancy, 101–2, 260n8
Franciscan Holy Land College, 28
Frías Silva, José, 188
funerals, for Syrian-Lebanese, 107–8
Galván, Genaro Roque, 199–200
Gálvez, Manuel, 113
Gelsi, Celestino, 207
gender: in Argentina, 111–12; charity
and, 168–70; labor and, 171–72,
178–79; in law, 178; in politics, 172;
for Syrian-Lebanese, 12–13, 101.
See also women
Genovessi, Pérez, 200–202
Getar, Andrés, 87
Gettas, Jorge Abraham, 198–204, 217
Gibran, Kahlil, 26, 109, 129
Gilgorrio, Miguel, 175
Gonzalez, Joaquín V., 46
González, José Pilar, 78
González, Ramon, 59
government: in education, 28; for immigrants, 7; sugar industry and,
74–75, 148–50
Greater Syria: Alliance Israélite Universelle in, 20; class in, 227n2; community for, 96; culture in, 22–30;
economics in, 22–25, 85; education
and, 25–30, 43–44; emigration
from, 2, 19–22, 27, 30–39, 221–22;
identity and, 2–3, 88–89, 91–92,
237n7; intellectualism in, 26, 161–
62; Islam and, 44; law in, 30; map
of, 15; military in, 22–23; politics
in, 15, 22–23, 26–27; public services in, 28; religion in, 15, 19–20,
24; World War I and, 3, 85–86
Great Syrian Revolt, 96
Guardia, Santos, 200
Guenam, Miguel A., 151
281
282
Index
Guenam, Mohamed, 208–10
Guenam, Warda, 166–67
Guizot, François, 25
Guraieb, José, 109–11, 113–14, 142
Gutiérrez, Celedonio, 142, 199
Guzman, José Lorenzo, 77
Haddad, Dergham, 119
Hadīqa al-Akhbar (newspaper), 27
Hadla, Wadi, 94–95, 143
Hadle, Miguel, 87, 92
Hamati, Simón, 86, 87
Hamdar, Amin, 107–8
Hamid II, Abdul (Sultan), 20, 22–23, 61,
63–64, 90
Hanssen, Jens, 111
Hasan, Omar, 224
Herut (newspaper), 35
history: of Argentina, 39; emigration in,
220; poetry for, 10; from scholarship, 7–10; of Syria, 23
Hobeika, Amelia, 105
Hobeika de Baaclini, Amlia, 163
“How Beautiful Is Freedom and the
Constitutional Country” (Turbay), 65
Ibrahim, Hafez, 166–67
identity: in America, 47; in Argentina,
96, 156, 195–96, 200–201, 205–17;
class in, 5–6, 134, 221; in education, 210–11, 221; ethnic identity,
32, 225n5; Greater Syria and, 2–3,
88–89, 91–92, 237n7; for immigrants, 1–2, 13, 61–62, 69–70, 144–
45, 148; intellectualism and,
143–44, 237n7; for jāliyya suriyya,
2–3; for jāliyya ‘uthmāniyya, 2–3;
nationalism and, 4–5, 13; Ottoman
empire in, 42–43; poetry for, 103–
8; in politics, 54, 66–67; religion
in, 90, 223; for Syrian-Lebanese, 7,
11–12, 97–98, 101–2, 219–24,
241n86
immigrants, 6; in Argentina, 1, 13,
21–22, 41–43, 179–80; Brazil for, 32;
class for, 7–8, 11, 43, 56, 139–41,
154–55, 159; community for, 51,
55–56; in crime, 73–74, 136; culture
for, 64, 101–9; economics for,
37–38, 44, 133, 135–39; ethnic identity for, 32; family for, 102–3; government for, 7; identity for, 1–2, 13,
61–62, 69–70, 144–45, 148; intellectualism for, 12, 86, 95, 111; labor
for, 11, 33, 57, 99–100, 233n18; law
for, 59–60, 220–21; from Lebanon,
147–48, 158–59; media and, 8–9,
44–45, 80–81, 162–63, 187; nationalism for, 107, 133–34; in northwest
Argentina, 1–2, 11; from Ottoman
empire, 10–11; El Paraíso de los
Pobres for, 60; Patriotic Committee for, 47; patriotism for, 61–62;
as pioneers, 30, 66–67; in politics,
155–57, 223; politics and, 13, 147–
48, 155–57, 160, 223, 260n8; prejudice against, 52–54, 123; public
services for, 42, 73; in reform, 153–
54; religion for, 98; in scholarship,
4–5; social networks for, 70–71;
stereotypes against, 46–47;
Syrian-Lebanese as, 1–2, 114, 126,
127–32, 219–24; Syrians as, 41–43,
61–66; in Tucumán, 3–4, 47–51,
127–28
Inderi, Miguel Latuf, 147
industry: in Argentina, 185–86; Judaism
in, 24; Laudo Alvear for, 99, 101,
187–89; law and, 57, 189–90; pioneers in, 41–42; in Tucumán, 48,
187–88. See also sugar industry
institutional life: in religion, 114–26;
scandal in, 117–19; for
Index
Syrian-Lebanese, 114–26; in
Tucumán, 148–49
intellectualism: class and, 10, 27–28;
economics and, 9; in Greater
Syria, 26, 161–62; identity and,
143–44, 237n7; for immigrants, 12,
86, 95, 111; in media, 24–25, 27;
from reform, 29–30; for SyrianLebanese, 139–41, 145–46, 186, 216;
in Tucumán, 94–95
Iraq. See Greater Syria
Isin, Mustafa, 53–54
Islam: in Argentina, 12, 24–25; in Buenos Aires, 166; Christians and, 91;
community in, 166–68; economics
and, 21; Greater Syria and, 44;
marriage in, 125; in Syria, 23;
ulama in, 22. See also religion
Istanbul, 14. See also Ottoman empire
Iza, Fernando, 76
jāliyya suriyya, 2–3
jāliyya ‘uthmāniyya, 2–3
Jorge, Salomon, 210–11
Jorrat, Elias, 60
Jorrat, Julian, 59–60
Jorrat, Nefnefe, 60
Jorrat, Pedro, 59–60
José, Alejandro, 76, 83
José, Salvador, 77
Journalistic Stimulus Commission
(Lajna T‘azīz al-Sahāfa), 86–87
Juárez Celman, Miguel, 44
Judaism: in America, 33; in Argentina,
6–7; emigration in, 20–21; in
industry, 24; in scholarship, 6. See
also religion
Justo, Augustín P., 137
Kairuz, Domingo, 55–56, 114, 137–39, 147
Kairuz, José M., 143–45
Kairuz de Chebaia, Emilia, 171
Kan‘ān, As’ad, 124–25
Kanaydir, Shukri, 35
Karam, Afifa, 162–63
Bey Karam, Yusef, 31
Bey Kfoury, Assaf, 143
Ibn Khaldun, 166
Khater, Akram, 102
Khoueiry, José, 87–88
Khoury, Pedro Butrus, 170, 17
Khoury, Pedro Nasif, 117–19
Khoury, Simón, 117
Klich, Ignacio, 7
Kurd Ali, Mohammad, 36–37
La Bandera Otomana, 91
labor: class in, 102; conchabo labor law
in, 49; culture and, 29–30; economics of, 70; education and, 48;
gender and, 171–72, 178–79; for
immigrants, 11, 33, 57, 99–100,
233n18; in northwest Argentina,
21; in politics, 175–76, 180–81;
reform for, 73, 80–81, 189; for
sugar industry, 79–80; for SyrianLebanese, 11; for Syrians, 43, 46,
50, 76, 84
La Flecha (newspaper), 176–77
La Gaceta (newspaper), 88, 149, 173, 175–
77, 182; politics in, 198–99
Lahoud, Rafael, 148
Lajna T‘azīz al-Sahāfa (Journalistic
Stimulus Commission), 86–87
Lajud, Fortunato, 77–78
Lakah, César, 92
La Nación (newspaper), 201–2
Lanza Colombres, Juan Carlos, 89
La Prensa, 176–77
La Razón, 174, 176–77
La Reforma (newspaper), 201
Laudo Alvear, 99, 101, 187–89
law: in America, 45; in Argentina,
44–45; in Buenos Aires, 21;
283
284
Index
law (continued)
conchabo labor law in, 49; Egyptian Gazette (newspaper) on, 36;
emigration and, 31–32, 37; gender
in, 178; in Greater Syria, 30; for
immigrants, 59–60, 220–21;
industry and, 57, 189–90; in Ottoman empire, 35–37, 63; politics in,
44–45; prejudice and, 51, 55, 67, 75,
77, 79; religion and, 20; Residency
Law (1902), 45; Syrian-Lebanese
in, 190–91; in Tucumán, 135–36
Law of Social Defense (1902), 45
Lebanon: immigrants from, 147–48,
158–59; map of, 14; nationalism
for, 91; in Ottoman empire, 87;
Syria and, 241n86. See also Greater
Syria
Léon XIII (pope), 114
“El Líbano” (Eleas), 88
Linares, José María, 62–65
Lisan al-Hal (newspaper), 36
literary arts. See culture
Llobril, Jorge, 82–83
Lludgar, Elias, 194, 196
Llumplat, Julian, 55–56
López, Juan Pedro, 52–54
López, Santiago M., 64
Lugones, Leopoldo, 103
Madkur, Said, 118, 140, 150–51; for charity, 174; in politics, 155, 212; for
women, 166–67, 171
Maizel, Marcos, 122
Malcún, Manuel, 55–56, 65
Maluf de Saad, Alcira, 169–77, 179–80,
182–83
map: of Argentina, 1900, 16–17; of
Greater Syria, 1900, 15; of Istanbul,
1900, 14; of Lebanon, 1900, 14; of
northwest Argentina, 1900, 17; of
Ottoman empire, 1900, 14; of
Syria, 1900, 15; of Tucumán, 1900,
16–17
Mardam, Jamil, 92
Marino de Ketlún, Mercedes, 137
Mariotti, José D., 193, 203
Marón, Abraham, 78
Maronite churches: in Argentina, 7, 12;
religion and, 7–8
marriage: in Islam, 125; for Syrians,
104–5
Massuh, Amin, 214
Massuh, Yubran, 91, 106–7, 145, 205–6
Maxud, Adib, 169
Maxud, Alfredo David, 1
Maxud, Michael, 252n26
Mead, Karen, 179
media: al-’Alam al-‘Uthmāni (The Ottoman Standard), 91; in America, 27,
90–91, 176; Aquí Está (newspaper),
195–96; Assalam (newspaper), 9,
38, 46; for Banco Londres y Río de
la Plata, 38; La Bandera Otomana,
91; for charity, 176–78; crime and,
75, 78–79, 87; El Diario (newspaper), 45; El Eco de Oriente/Sada
al-Sharq (newspaper), 81, 88, 92,
118–19, 137–38, 141, 149–50, 156–59,
192–93, 201, 211–16, 240n61; Egyptian Gazette (newspaper), 36; emigration and, 31, 231n50; La Flecha
(newspaper), 176–77; La Gaceta
(newspaper), 88, 149, 173, 175–77,
182, 198–99; Hadīqa al-Akhbar
(newspaper), 27; Herut (newspaper), 35; al-Hilāl, 111; immigrants
and, 8–9, 44–45, 80–81, 162–63,
187; intellectualism in, 24–25, 27;
Lisan al-Hal (newspaper), 36;
al-Mahyar (Emigration, newspaper), 115, 140; El Mundo (newspaper), 202; al-Mursal (newspaper),
91; La Nación (newspaper), 201–2;
Index
al-Nasr (newspaper), 91–92; New
York Herald (newspaper), 36; El
Norte Argentino (newspaper), 117–
18, 171, 178; El Orden (newspaper),
55, 57–58, 75, 78, 144, 174, 176–77,
181; patriotism in, 63, 66; politics
in, 9, 55, 92–93, 140–41, 192–93;
poverty in, 180–81; La Prensa, 176–
77; La Razón, 174, 176–77; La
Reforma (newspaper), 201; religion
in, 181–82; in scholarship, 8;
al-Shabība al-Mutahida,
95, 143;
.
al-Shams (The sun), 91;
al-Taqaddum (newspaper), 34–35;
al-Watan (periodical), 87–89;
Young Turk Revolution (1908)
for, 9
Meir, Alejandro, 83–84
Melhem, Musa, 122
Melin, Amado, 158
Menchaca, Eduardo M., 172
Menem, Carlos, 1, 219–20
Menem, Saul, 219
migration. See emigration; immigrants
Miguel, Eduardo, 194
Miguel, Salomón, 64
military: in Argentina, 89, 217; in Buenos Aires, 100; emigration and,
34–35; in Greater Syria, 22–23; in
Ottoman empire, 31; in public services, 174; religion in, 33–34
Moisá, Rodolfo A., 190–91, 193
monument commission, 139–41
Morad, Kawa, 10
Moya, José, 220
muslims. See Islam
Mustafa, Mahmoud, 166
Nacusse, José, 52–54
Nadra, Asis, 70, 165
Nadra, Nallib, 70, 169
Nahas, David, 157, 204
Nallar, David, 169
Nasīf, Esber, 93
nationalism, 141–44; in Brazil, 91; culture
from, 145–46, 208–10; identity and,
4–5, 13; for immigrants, 107, 133–34;
for Lebanon, 91; politics in, 134; for
Syrians, 85–86, 89–90, 241n81
National University of Córdoba, 109
Nazar, Felipe, 57–58
Nazar, Félix Antonio, 1
Nāzih. See Assaf, Jurj
Neme, Juan Antonio, 78
Neme, Pedro Llamil, 206
New York Herald (newspaper), 36
northwest Argentina: agriculture in, 17,
17; Buenos Aires compared to,
3–4; class in, 67; community in,
11–12, 131, 144–45; culture in, 222,
224; economics in, 48; immigrants
in, 1–2, 11; labor in, 21; map of, 17;
politics in, 42–43; religion in, 125–
26; for Syrian-Lebanese, 5–6; Syrians in, 47–51, 93
Nougués, Juan Luis, 99–100, 123, 154,
172, 174
Ojeda, Juan B., 121
Oliva, Moises J., 62–63
Ottoman Education Commission, 25
Ottoman empire: in Brazil, 44; Buenos
Aires and, 61–66; Committee of
Union and Progress in, 35; conscription in, 33–34, 232n61; economics in, 19–20, 38, 71–72;
Hamid II for, 20, 22–23, 61, 63–64,
90; in identity, 42–43; immigrants
from, 10–11; law in, 35–37, 63; Lebanon in, 87; map of, 14; military in,
31; politics in, 7, 21–22; reform in,
22–23, 29, 38–39; Règlemente Organique in, 30, 38–39; safar barlik for,
38; Syrian-Lebanese and, 85–95
285
286
Index
Ottoman Imperial Bank, 37
Ottoman Ministry of Public Instruction, 29
The Ottoman Standard (al-’Alam
al-‘Uthmāni; newspaper), 91
Padilla, Rafael, 89–90
Padilla y Barcena, Pablo, 115
Padrós, Juan Simón, 199–200, 202–3
Palacios, Alfredo, 9
Palestine. See Greater Syria
Parmele, Benjamín J., 176
Pasha, Davud, 31
Pasha, Midhat, 63–64
Patriotic Committee, 47
patriotism: “How Beautiful Is Freedom
and the Constitutional Country”
(Turbay), 65; for immigrants,
61–62; in media, 63, 66; “To the
Argentine Flag” (Guenam, M.),
208–10
Paz, Eduardo A., 193, 199
Peralta, Jesus Benigno, 77–78
Perón, Juan Domingo, 1, 47, 101, 141; in
politics, 175, 186, 216, 219
Piedrabuena, Bernabé, 116
Pinchon, Stéphen, 92
pioneers: Christians as, 43–44; immigrants as, 30, 66–67; in industry,
41–42
Piossek, Adolfo, 196, 198, 202
poetry: for history, 10; for identity, 103–8;
for Syrian-Lebanese, 207–10;
women in, 163–64. See also culture
politics: in Argentina, 1, 13, 219–20; for
Baaclini, 92, 94–95, 139–41, 146,
149, 178, 189, 195, 200, 213, 215; in
Brazil, 45; class and, 79–81; community and, 5; culture and, 185–87,
205–16; El Eco de Oriente/Sada
al-Sharq (newspaper) in, 156, 192–
93, 201; economics and, 11–12,
187–98; in La Gaceta (newspaper),
198–99; gender in, 172; in Greater
Syria, 15, 22–23, 26–27; identity in,
54, 66–67; immigrants and, 13,
147–48, 155–57, 160, 223, 260n8;
labor in, 175–76, 180–81; in law,
44–45; Madkur in, 155, 212; in
media, 9, 55, 92–93, 140–41, 192–93;
in nationalism, 134; in northwest
Argentina, 42–43; in Ottoman
empire, 7, 21–22; Perón in, 175, 186,
216, 219; for public services, 172–76;
reform for, 249n78; religion and, 2,
123–25; in scholarship, 9; in Syria,
61–66; Syrian-Lebanese and, 3–4,
11, 141–48, 183, 190–92, 198–205; in
Tucumán, 72–79, 98–101, 222–23;
women in, 213–14
Ponce, Carmen, 76
Posse, José C., 82
poverty, 180–81
Prebisch, Julio, 121
prejudice: in Argentina, 46–47, 59–61;
against immigrants, 52–54, 123;
law and, 51, 55, 67, 75, 77, 79;
against religion, 7, 117–18; against
Syrian-Lebanese, 162–64, 223;
against women, 177–78. See also
stereotypes
press. See media
prostitution, 112
public services: in Argentina, 43; community and, 54–55; in Greater
Syria, 28; for immigrants, 42, 73;
military in, 174; politics for, 172–
76; by religion, 121; in Tucumán,
100. See also charity
Rahhal, Saifuddin, 165–66
Ratiba (Guraieb), 109–10, 113–14
Rechmani, José, 92–93, 115–16, 140,
154–56
Index
reform: in Buenos Aires, 49–50; immigrants in, 153–54; intellectualism
from, 29–30; for labor, 73, 80–81,
189; in Ottoman empire, 22–23,
29, 38–39; for politics, 249n78;
Règlemente Organique in, 30,
38–39; Tanzimat for, 22; Young
Turk Revolution (1908) for, 23, 30
Règlemente Organique, 30, 38–39
religion: in Argentina, 2, 44, 210, 224;
for Baaclini, 122, 124; in charity,
181; community and, 42, 88, 122;
in conscription, 35, 39; in culture,
87, 120–21, 123; education and,
25–26, 28–29, 164–67, 251n15; emigration and, 24–25, 32, 36–37; in
Greater Syria, 15, 19–20, 24; in
identity, 90, 223; for immigrants,
98; institutional life in, 114–26;
law and, 20; Maronite churches
and, 7–8; in media, 181–82; in military, 33–34; in northwest Argentina, 125–26; politics and, 2,
123–25; prejudice against, 7, 117–18;
public services by, 121; stereotypes
from, 163; for Syrian-Lebanese,
146–47; in Tucumán, 130
Residency Law (1902), 45
Reyep, Ismael, 53–54
Ribet, Santiago, 156–57
Richa Pérez, Simón Antonio, 214, 216
The Robbers (Schiller), 143
Rodríguez, Eduardo, 136
Romero, Liborio Giménez, 199–200
Rougés, León, 75, 199, 202
Rougés, Marcos, 190
Ruppin, Arthur, 37–38
Rustom, Rachid, 148
Saab, Antonio, 148
Saad, Blanca, 183
Saad, Emilio, 212–15
Saad, Fares, 143
Saad, Fortuna, 136, 145
Saad, Jorge, 78
Saad, Selim, 114, 136, 146, 149, 170–71; for
culture, 168
Saadeh, Antoun, 206
Saads (family), 84, 136–37
Saba’, Antūniyūs, 119
Sabra, Razuk, 169
Sada al-Sharq. See El Eco de Oriente/
Sada al-Sharq
Sadir, Jorge, 192
safar barlik, 38
Saint-Jean Maron (school), 26
Salazar, Miguel, 59
Saleme, Julio César, 206–7
Salomon, Isa, 169
Sansón, Jose, 31, 64
Saravia, José, 62
Sarmiento, Domingo, 47, 103, 123
Satle, Merhi, 141
Sawaya, Jorge, 216
scandal: in El Eco de Oriente/Sada
al-Sharq (newspaper), 118–19, 137–
38; in institutional life, 117–19; in
El Orden, 57–58; in Tucumán,
199–205
Schamún, Alejandro, 9, 38, 46, 58, 60–61
Schamún, Anis, 150–51, 168–69
Schamún, Wadi, 46, 60–61
Schedan, Jorge, 65, 150–51, 155, 216
Schiaffino, David, 89
Schiller, Friedrich, 143
scholarship: history from, 7–10; immigrants in, 4–5; Judaism in, 6;
media in, 8; politics in, 9
Sephardic Jews. See Judaism; religion
Serrano, Ramón, 109–10
Sicardi, Francisco, 113
social networks: economics and, 81–85;
for immigrants, 70–71. See also
community
287
288
Index
Sociedad Turco-Argentina, 54–56
society. See culture
Society of Greek Orthodox Women, 170
Solberg, Carl, 7
Solis, Fortunato, 57–58
Sortheix, Federico Guillermo, 157
Sortheix, José G., 99–100, 150, 154
soup kitchens. See charity
state institutions. See government
stereotypes: by Caras y Caretas (journal), 45–46; against immigrants,
46–47; from religion, 163; against
Syrian-Lebanese, 54; against Syrians, 44–45, 57–58
sugar industry: in Argentina, 98–101,
187–90; economics of, 48–49,
56–57, 72–73; government and,
74–75, 148–50; labor for, 79–80;
Tucumán Sugar Company in, 49
The Sun (al-Shams; newspaper), 91
Syria: culture in, 43; economics in,
23–24; history of, 23; Islam in, 23;
Lebanon and, 241n86; map of, 15;
politics in, 61–66; World War I
and, 2. See also Greater Syria
Syrian-Lebanese: charity and, 12–13,
170–82; class for, 9–10, 133–39, 152,
159–60, 168–69; community for,
97–98, 124, 148–59; culture for,
109–14, 150; in economics, 4, 13,
152; education for, 161–62; family
for, 105–7; funerals for, 107–8; gender for, 12–13, 101; identity for, 7,
11–12, 97–98, 101–2, 219–24,
241n86; as immigrants, 1–2, 114,
126, 127–32, 219–24; institutional
life for, 114–26; intellectualism for,
139–41, 145–46, 186, 216; labor for,
11; in law, 190–91; northwest
Argentina for, 5–6; Ottoman
empire and, 85–95; poetry for,
207–10; politics and, 3–4, 11,
141–48, 183, 190–92, 198–205; prejudice against, 162–64, 223; religion for, 146–47; stereotypes
against, 54; in Tucumán, 123, 193–
94, 196; youth activism for, 157–59,
196–97, 205–6, 211–17
Syrian Protestant College, 27
Syrians: in Argentina, 43–47; community for, 65–66, 71, 96; in crime, 71,
75–76, 81–82; in the Depression,
69–72; economics for, 56–57; as
immigrants, 41–43, 61–66; labor
for, 43, 46, 50, 76, 84; marriage for,
104–5; nationalism for, 85–86,
89–90, 241n81; in northwest
Argentina, 47–51, 93; stereotypes
against, 44–45, 57–58; in
Tucumán, 51–61
Talaat Bey, 36–37
Tanzimat, 22
Tarraf, Julian, 83–84
Taymur, Muhammad, 109–11, 113
Telesforo Aguilar, Segundo, 78
Terán, Juan Brígido, 75
Teubal, Ezra, 20–22, 29, 31
Teubal, Nissim, 19–22, 29, 31, 39
Tigre, Manuel, 76
Toranzo, Nicasio Sanchez, 197
Torino, Damián, 46
Torres, José Luis, 123, 176
“To the Argentine Flag” (Guenam, M.),
208–10
transnationals. See immigrants
transportation, 228n8
Tucumán: agriculture in, 17, 17; conchabo labor law in, 49; culture in,
86–87; economics in, 41–42,
72–79, 98–101; Electoral College
in, 13; immigrants in, 3–4, 47–51,
127–28; industry in, 48, 187–88;
institutional life in, 148–49;
Index
intellectualism in, 94–95; law in,
135–36; map of, 16–17; politics in,
72–79, 98–101, 222–23; public services in, 100; religion in, 130; scandal in, 199–205; Sociedad
Turco-Argentina in, 54–56;
Syrian-Lebanese in, 123, 193–94,
196; Syrians in, 51–61; World War I
for, 89–90
Tucumán Literary League (al- Rābi’a
al-Adabiyya al-Tūkūmāniyya),
86–87
Tucumán Sugar Company, 49
Turbay, Elias, 65, 86, 87, 105–8
Turbay, Nallip, 192
Turbey, José, 84
Turbey, Miguel, 84
“Los Turcos en Buenos Aires” (Caras y
Caretas), 45–46
Turkey. See Greater Syria
ulama, 22
Umm wa Ghayr Umm (Massuh, Y.),
205–6
Unión de Bazún, 57
United States. See America
United Youth, 94–95, 128, 141–45
Usandivaras, Augustín, 61–65
Vargas, Armando, 103
Ventura, Marcos, 121
Vera, Octaviano, 96, 98–99, 142–44
Villafañe, Francisco Gordillo, 190
Villafañe, Paula, 52–53
Villareal, Segundo, 199–200
Wahbeh, Dayyūb, 119
Wahbeh, Yousef Abdullah, 106
women: in Argentina, 161–62; in charity, 169–72, 175, 182–83; class for,
179; in education, 162–68, 183;
Madkur for, 166–67, 171; in poetry,
163–64; in politics, 213–14; prejudice against, 177–78; Society of
Greek Orthodox Women, 170
World War I: economics before, 38;
emigration and, 24, 35–36, 39, 93;
Greater Syria and, 3, 85–86; Syria
and, 2; for Tucumán, 89–90
Yapur, Arif, 81
Yapur, Faiek, 153
Yapur, Miguel A., 124, 192–93
Yapur, Segundo, 190
Yaya, Antonio, 55–56
Yaya, Isabelita, 213–14
Young Turk Revolution (1908), 127; emigration after, 4, 6, 32–33, 39; for
media, 9; for reform, 23, 30
youth activism, 157–59, 196–97, 205–6,
211–17
Yrigoyen, Hipólito, 74, 89, 153–54
Yrrazábal, Luciano, 172, 174–75
Zaydan, Jurji, 111
Zeballos, Estanislao, 47
289