February 17, 2014
It is not uncommon to hear about the United
States as a melting pot, an allegory for the diversity of peoples
found in America. In Brazil, we like to believe that the pot has
melted already. Accurately tracking down the origins of people in a country
shaped by successive generations of migrants who arrived and mingled with scant
attention to ethnic purity is a daunting task. Indigenous populations,
Portuguese, Africans, Spaniards, Dutch, Italians, Japanese, Poles, Germans,
Lebanese, Syrians… Brazilians.
Since at least the late nineteenth century,
the Middle East has been an intrinsic part of our national narrative
of racial and ethnic blending. By some estimates, there are as many as fifteen
million Brazilians of Arab ancestry. A few go so far as to suggest that there
is Arab blood in every Brazilian. After all, the argument goes, the Moors spent
about seven hundred years in Iberia spreading their art, architecture,
food, and genes. As Darcy Ribeiro, one of Brazil’s most respected
anthropologists, once put it: “The Arab culture first arrived in Brazil in the
memory of the Portuguese.”
The Arab identity of Brazilians with Arab ancestry has
never been at odds with their profound sense of bring Brazilian. The Arab
cultural element might even reinforce the national identity of a country whose
distinctive element is, arguably, miscegenation and the absorption of foreign
influences.
One tale is inevitably trotted out whenever one
recounts the saga of Arabs in Brazil. Syrian and Lebanese immigrants and their
descendants are usually called “Turks” on Brazilian soil, in spite of the
rather tiny number of Brazilians who actually came from Turkey. As
author Jorge Amado explains, “the first to arrive from the Middle East carried
papers issued by the Ottoman Empire, which is why right down to the present
they’re all stamped as Turks, making up that fine Turkish nation, one of the
many in the amalgamation that has composed and is still composing the Brazilian
nation.”
Lebanese and Syrians largely arrived during three
historical junctures: in the aftermath of Emperor Pedro II’s visit to Beirut
and Damascus in 1876, with the crumbling of the Ottoman Empire; in the period
between the world wars; and in the wake of the Lebanese Civil War. In the eyes
of Levantines facing hardship at home, Brazil has always served as a safe haven
of tolerance halfway across the globe.
Part of the Brazilian (and indeed South American)
story is the chronicle of the Syrian and Lebanese caixeiro-viajantes—the
traveling salesmen—who thrived in business and managed to put their children
through school. The latter would wind up becoming lawyers and doctors, earning
social pedigrees and eventually paving the way for their heirs to rise to high
office. In politics, public service, business, healthcare, and arts, Brazilians
bearing an Arab name are everywhere to be found.
Many Brazilian families of Arab ancestry still keep
close touch with the lands of our forefathers. Still, for many of us,
the Middle East is a romantic, conflict-ridden land from where our
heroic ancestors came in the pursuit of a better life for their kin. For
far too long, Brazil remained relatively detached from a corner of a world to
which it is culturally and genetically tied. Foreign policy is the natural
bridge to reconnect Brazil with its indelible Middle Eastern
roots.
Especially in the last decade, the country’s leaders
have increasingly recognized this. Brazil opened embassies and consulates
across the region. As foreign minister, Celso Amorim (currently Brazil’s
defense minister) became a frequent traveler to the region. One of his
predecessors, Luiz Felipe Lampreia, also made pioneering visits to Israel and
Palestine, revitalizing Brazil’s commitment to the peace process. President
Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva was the first Brazilian head of state to officially
visit Lebanon, Syria, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel,
and Palestine. Brazil consolidated institutional ties with the Arab
League. The position of special envoy for the Middle East was created
in the foreign ministry. Trade
between Brazil and the Arab world has increased four-fold since 2000.
Perhaps the most enduring accomplishment has been the South American-Arab
Countries Summit, which has managed to build solid bridges across the two
regions over the years.
Brazil has raised its voice on Middle East issues
that have a global impact. We were a vocal critic of the 2003 invasion
of Iraq. We were one of the few non-regional, non-Muslim, non-traditional
donors to participate in the Annapolis peace conference in 2007. We
recognized Palestine as an independent state, prompting other Latin
American countries to do the same and helping to level the playing field in the
peace process. With Turkey, we brokered an agreement in 2010 addressing
Iran’s nuclear program. Last December, Brazil was invited to participate on the
Geneva conference in the Syrian crisis.
None of this has come at the expense of relations
with Israel. The capacity to talk to everyone in the region, combined with
Brazil’s blood ties to the Middle East, is what gives Brasília the diplomatic credentials to serve as an honest broker and effective
mediator. Brazil’s melted pot illustrates the possibility of peaceful
coexistence and actual integration between Jews and Arabs.
Brazil’s foreign policy is rooted in its self-image of
being a global player. It is also an expression of the tapestry of
multicultural influences that shape the Brazilian people. Brazil’s new strides
in the Middle East hardly represent the first chapter of the country’s history
with the region. They are certainly far from being the epilogue.
Filipe Nasser is a career Brazilian diplomat currently
serving in the Embassy of Brazil in Washington, DC. The opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the Brazilian Ministry of External Relations.