The mass emigration of Syrians, Lebanese, and Palestinians fleeing the Ottoman Empire at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century has today resulted in an influential community of almost 20 million people.
Just before setting sail for Latin America, Rahme went to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. From the mythical grotto where the Bible says Jesus was born, she took a small piece of rock and put it in her pocket. It was 1920, and Palestine was under Ottoman rule. Rahme was 19 years old. She had just married Khalil Daccarett, and a few days later, she boarded a ship bound for Bolivia to work in the tin mines. She never returned to her homeland. That fragment of stone accompanied her throughout her life, an invisible thread eternally connecting her to her people. Today, a century later, the relic is carefully kept in some drawer belonging to the mother of Jorge Daccarett, Chile’s ambassador to the United Arab Emirates.
The Daccarett family had already emigrated years earlier to Paris, where they ran a prosperous business. From there, they built commercial networks across Latin America. Khalil Daccarett, the younger brother, was sent to Cuzco. He settled there until returning to Palestine to marry Rahme and resume his migration project—first in Bolivia and later in Chile. Jorge Daccarett’s father was born in Cochabamba in 1936, and in Santiago, his grandfather opened a fabric business and a rubber factory, which became one of the most prominent in the country.
The story of the Daccaretts is emblematic of the hundreds of thousands of Arabs who emigrated from Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine in the late 19th and early 20th centuries seeking better prospects in the emerging lands of South America. Today, their descendants approach 20 million people, many of them already in the fourth generation. The vast majority have abandoned their mother tongue, Arabic, but many still maintain a nearly intact sense of identity decades later.
Jorge Daccarett descends from Palestinians but also from Syrians on his mother’s side. He has studied the migration phenomenon extensively and possesses an extraordinary wealth of information. “The peak of emigration came with the First World War. Most were Christians and attended schools run by priests. To protect them and prevent them from being conscripted by the Ottoman Empire, priests sent them to France. From there, they departed for America. Many had no idea where they were going. First, they arrived in Brazil, where the Lebanese settled. In Buenos Aires, the Syrians established themselves. And the Palestinians wanted to go further. They reached Mendoza and crossed the Andes on muleback until they arrived in the Chilean mountains.”
The largest Arab community in South America is in Brazil: nearly 12 million people. Argentina has an estimated 3.5 million, many of them Syrian descendants from 19th- and 20th-century migrations. Chile has about one million, half of whom are of Palestinian origin, making it the largest Palestinian community outside the Arab world. Next are Honduras (250,000), El Salvador (150,000), and Peru (50,000), in addition to hundreds of thousands of Syrian and Lebanese descendants scattered across the Americas.
Alberto Benjamín López is an Arabist and the author of a doctoral thesis on Arab press published in Chile by the Palestinian community. Hundreds of newspapers in Arabic were published in Latin America in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, most of which eventually gave up the original language to publish in Spanish. Alberto Benjamín focused his research on the Chilean newspaper Al Islah [The Reform], published in bilingual format between 1930 and 1942. Many have disappeared, but others, such as the Diario Sirio-Libanés, based in Argentina, have remained active for almost a century.
“In Chile, the first wave began around 1880. The main cause of migration was religious, due to the Ottoman Empire’s pressure on Christians, although economic reasons also played a role. Many were merchants and farmers.” In the early years, integration was difficult. They were disparagingly called “Turks” because they all traveled with Ottoman passports. After the 1929 crash, according to Alberto Benjamín, the Arab community directed its investments toward the textile industry, and their gradual economic rise facilitated social integration.
Mixed marriages began to occur more frequently, accelerating acceptance by the native population while also heightening fears of losing identity. A somewhat paradoxical process occurred. “Due to the racism the first generation suffered, immigrants tried to ensure their descendants had a more successful integration,” explains the Arabist from the University of Granada. For this reason, they hid the Arabic language and downplayed many of their identity markers. For example, they changed their names. Khalil, Jorge Daccarett’s grandfather, became Carlos, and Rahme became known as Carmen.
Randa Hasfura was born in El Salvador and is the granddaughter of a Palestinian who arrived in the Central American country in 1917 at just 17 years old. Her father was born by the Pacific coast. He studied Civil Engineering and in 1960 traveled to Palestine to inspect the lands the family still held in the Bethlehem area. By chance, during this brief stay, he met Randa’s mother, married her in just three months, and returned with her to El Salvador. “My mother didn’t know a word of Spanish when she arrived,” she says. Some of the family’s lands were gradually sold, while others were confiscated by Israel, as happened to many other Palestinian immigrants.
Randa Hasfura laments the apathy of many Salvadorans of Palestinian descent. “Here, there isn’t the sense of pride that exists in Chile. Perhaps because in El Salvador, immigrants were mistreated and most avoided speaking Arabic. For many, identity was a source of shame,” she says. Nevertheless, there are some associations of Palestinian descendants, organized no more than 15 years ago, inspired by the last intifada.
The Arab-origin community in Latin America is thriving. Jorge Daccarett provides concrete data on Chile that perfectly illustrate their economic and social weight. In the Andean country, they make up 3.5% of the population, yet their contribution to GDP exceeds 50%. “Many business leaders in Latin America are of Arab descent. In politics, there are quite a few ministers and high officials, as well as doctors, architects, and artists. Arabs did well, though they faced hardships,” he emphasizes.
Indeed, the list of notable people of Arab ancestry spans all fields—from singer Shakira to actor Ricardo Darín, magnate Carlos Slim, actress Salma Hayek, and politician Carlos Menem. “We have a former Peruvian vice president of Arab descent, Ómar Chehade,” recalls Cahuas. “But there is also the president of El Salvador, Nayib Bukele; the Minister of Health, Francisco Alabi; and the Presidential Secretary of Ecuador, Ómar Simón. It is a very strong community.”
Many grandchildren of the diaspora have had the opportunity to travel to the Middle East to visit their countries of origin. Jorge Daccarett is one of them. “The first time I went to Bethlehem, it felt like I had always lived there. My grandmother had always spoken to me as if she had never left. That was her level of connection to Palestine. And when I arrived, I moved around freely. I didn’t feel like a stranger. People asked about my surname and said, ‘Of course, you are so-and-so’s son.’ They would identify the family relationship and invite me to eat at their house.” His grandmother spoke to him in Arabic, which is why the Chilean ambassador to the Emirates understands the language, though his pronunciation is less precise.
Jorge Daccarett actively collaborates with a foundation dedicated to Palestinian diaspora studies, which managed to recover all the birth records from the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. “We have retrieved all records since 1632 and traced all the family roots in Bethlehem. Any child or grandchild who wants to research their origins can consult our archives.” It has been a massive and highly valuable effort to reconstruct family lines scattered across the Americas. “We have cousins in Honduras, El Salvador, Colombia, Mexico, and even France. We’ve created WhatsApp and Facebook groups and plan to have a big reunion.”
His family story is exemplary. His maternal grandparents were Syrians from Homs. They had a business in Senegal and emigrated to Tenerife in the first third of the 20th century. The Spanish Civil War (1936–1939) forced them to emigrate again, this time to Brazil and later to Chile, where they founded a sock factory. “All my uncles are professionals today because Arabs were very entrepreneurial. Every peso they saved was invested in a business. The ground floor was used as a store, and the upper floor was their home. They didn’t squander their resources; they spent them to send their children to the best schools and universities.”
