Syrian migration and melancholia
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The migration of Syrians was shaped not by oppression or a continuation of ancient Phoenician patterns (an idea more rooted in Lebanese nationalist mythology than history) but by economic transformations within their homeland as it became integrated into the global capitalist economy. Internal migration had already been taking place due to Ottoman policies that encouraged relocation, offering migrants tax-free land to develop agriculture and separate local conflicts, thus stimulating economic growth. Beirut emerged as an economic and urban center, attracting migrants through the city's prosperity, foreign investment, and cosmopolitan atmosphere. This included the expansion of the Syrian silk industry, boosted by French investment in mulberry cultivation. Mount Lebanon's land became lined with mulberry trees, fueling an industry where local women endured harsh conditions in silk factories while a bourgeois merchant class emerged as intermediaries. Foreign aid and investments were often tied to concessions, enabling European powers to secure profits, favoring foreign interests over local autonomy (no surprise).
The silk industry ultimately collapsed due to disease, contributing to economic crises that furthered migration. This shift toward becoming a global economic agent was coupled with Lebanon's civil war, further setting the stage for Syrian transatlantic migration, initially with hopes of amassing wealth quickly and returning home.
The movement of Syrian women into the States complicates typical narratives of migrant order. These women were not mere followers of their husbands but entered as self-sufficient agents concerned with family, livelihood, and marital prospects, reflecting the evolving dynamics of family and migration.
The melancholia of Syrian migrants, confronting a foreign landscape marked by a whiteness that attempts to fetishize, objectify, and generalize, is palpable. Amid this alienation, familiar ties offered comfort—common language, shared cultural expressions, etc. I'm reminded of my nani and nana's journey to Texas, where they searched for people who looked and spoke like them. They founded the first Ismaili jamat in their home, creating a place that brought new arrivals a semblance of home and community. The struggle is real and painful, yet within it, there's a profound beauty in the solidarity it can kindle.