Arab Migration to Argentina

While praxis variance within the Arab music field of Buenos Aires can be attributed to diverse circumstances and subjectivities, evident in the personal narratives of the practitioners is the impact of the history of Arab migration to Argentina. Settled on the western banks of the Rio de la Plata, Buenos Aires, the autonomous capital of Argentina, is a port city that long received millions of immigrants who were in search of opportunity and refuge. After gaining independence from Spain in the nineteenth century, the new Argentina, in the wake of its colonial beginnings and in pursuit of a national identity, maintained an open immigration policy that facilitated what early nationalists considered to be its most crucial import—the immigrant workforce (Gimson and Kessler Reference Gimson and Kessler2005:8). While migrant groups from multiple continents ventured to the port of Buenos Aires, it was the largest contingent, that of the European immigrants, who established the Euro-Argentine “modern” face of the developing nation (ibid.:9). Fuelled by positivist thought, the Argentine government actively recruited Europeans in the late 1880s in order to fortify rural and industrial labour forces that would allow Argentina to develop its economy and export industry (Solberg Reference Solberg1970:8).

Racial theories that were popular at the turn of the century supported preferences for the white European alongside the criollo Footnote ⁸ population, and they were critical of the dark-skinned, indigenous and mestizo Footnote ⁹ masses who were dismissed as intellectually and biologically inferior (ibid.:18). Despite political and social movements of the twentieth century that sought to reverse these attitudes and incorporate indigenous and minority populations into the national narrative, European-Argentines predominated socio-political structures and remained synonymous with Buenos Aires. Furthermore, racial-national ideologies that informed the developing mass plurality overlooked ethnicities not able to lay claim to indigenous, African, Iberian, and, primarily, European ancestry. However, the last constitutional revision, completed in 1994, which included recognition of some indigenous rights, has prompted new racial self-identification and social acknowledgement for groups previously repressed and marginalised (Warren Reference Warren2009:769). While this minor shift has affected popular representations of indigenous populations,Footnote ¹⁰ the change in overall tenor is perhaps what has also inspired communities of non-indigenous minorities to celebrate a heritage or extraction that previous generations struggled to conceal. One such group is that of the Argentines of Arab descent—broadly known as the Sirio Libanés.Footnote ¹¹

Arab immigration to Argentina began in the late nineteenth century when peoples of what was then the province of Greater Syria—individuals who sought to escape conflict and the stagnant, restrictive conditions of the Ottoman Empire—left their homeland in search of greater economic and educational opportunities (Civantos Reference Civantos2006:6). Events that would eventually lead to the fall of the Ottomans, such as the 1861 Règlemente Organique (resulting from the 1860 riots in Mount Lebanon) and the Young Turk Revolution of 1908, can be viewed as two of the main catalysts for the large surges in emigration from the region prior to 1914. Obligatory military service and the persecution of the Christian population are also often cited as significant push factors. By World War I, at least 450,000 people from Greater Syria (part of the approximately one million èmigrès to the New World from the Ottoman Empire) were working to establish themselves in the mahjar,Footnote ¹² or “place of immigration,” in the Americas (Hyland Reference Hyland2017:30).

While it is difficult to obtain the exact number of Arab immigrants who landed in Argentina due to inconsistent record-keeping at both origin and arrival points, it is believed that by 1917 more than 100,000 had settled in the country (Civantos Reference Civantos2006:7). Following an ebb during World War I, Arab immigration numbers rose again (though much less than previous waves), reaching higher levels in the 1930s, as people desired a life outside of the British and French colonial mandates. This surge lasted through the early 1950s when larger numbers of Palestinians arrived, but ebbed again until the exodus of Lebanese began in the 1980s because of the civil war. While historians often cite the Arab population as the fourth largest immigrant group in Argentina, it is possible that it is significantly larger. In an interview I conducted with an official of the Argentine Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Integration, the official stated that he estimated the Arab population to be the third largest after the Italian and Spanish (Anonymous, interview, 23 June 2013). He added, however, that an accurate census continues to be difficult to obtain because historically many Argentines of Arab descent abandoned claiming their heritage for fear of xenophobic prejudice that could result in persecution by the police and other government officials.

Since the earliest arrivals in the late eighteenth century, and throughout the first half of the twentieth century, sentiments towards Arab immigrants and their descendants were generally negative. During this period, most Arabs, regardless of their country of origin, were referred to as “turcos” because of their Ottoman identity papers (Civantos Reference Civantos2006:viii). While Italian, Spanish, and northern Europeans were considered to be desirables who could better the nation by bolstering the workforce and improving mestizo blood, Arabs were regarded as unneeded within the developing society. They were considered to be a nuisance to an already fragile Argentine infrastructure, and were viewed as cunning and shrewd people who, in a country that was in need of agricultural labour, were merely street traders and contributed nothing significant to Argentine society (Klich Reference Klich1993:179). Thus, while the term “turco” is still in use today in Argentina, it is generally pejorative (Civantos Reference Civantos2006:viii; Klich Reference Klich1993:178; Solberg Reference Solberg1970:20). It was not until the 1920s that “Sirio Libanés”Footnote ¹³ started to gain traction as an umbrella label for the heterogeneous, pan-Arab community (Jozami, Bargman, and Bialogorski Reference Jozami, Bargman and Bialogorski1998:92). While the term homogenised the group identity for the broader Argentine society, it also reflected homeland politics and the budding, national distinctions of Syria and Lebanon (Hyland Reference Hyland2017:133).

Being Sirio Libanés in Argentina

Through personal testimonies, remaining lore, and the establishment of community institutions and publications, we can understand more about the historical formation of a Sirio Libanés identity in Argentina––an identity that was and continues to be contested as it filters through generations. As demonstrated by the various meanings inscribed by novelists and journalists of the Arab diaspora in Argentina, the meaning of “Sirio Libanés” has shifted with the volatile political situations of the homeland, the evolving social climate in Argentina, and developing national narratives of both (Reference Hylandibid.:5, 69). Despite the false cultural homogeneity that it has come to imply, it promotes essentialisms with which musickers of all diasporic origins and generations must reckon.

The ways that members of the Arab community in Buenos Aires self-identify today reflect how a previously established positionality is colliding with shifting values and allegiances influenced by current global affairs. The historical intersections of origin country politics with local social, political, and economic issues for Arab immigrants have been thoroughly explored by Steven Hyland Jr (ibid.). Focusing on the northwestern province of Argentina, he examines emigration patterns and adaptation tendencies surrounding the differential experiences between multiple generations of Arab-Argentines, including how the particular circumstances for each generation affected individuals’ perceptions of identity and thus, recognition of cultural markers such as musical tradition. It is the narrative of the Syrian elite (due mostly to pecuniary and some political success) that dominated representations of the Arab-Argentine community, hence the prevalent use of the term “Sirio Libanés.” In conjunction with transnational literary movements of the mahjar and Greater Syria, they became the cultural brokers between the diasporic community and host society in many ways (ibid.:109). Serving Arabs of any national origin, Syrian organisations such as religious establishments, charities, and social clubs stood as promising sites for the preservation of Arab culture. However, the inclinations of second- and third-generation Arab-Argentines to strive to assimilate in the new home country, and the disruptive infighting within their community, rendered the roles of such institutions impactful, but precarious. This was especially true of the community that resided in Buenos Aires.

Despite their evolving roles, Syrian and Lebanese social clubs continue to thrive in the major urban centres of each state in Argentina. Some serve as cultural centres that host regular programmes and events such as classes on Middle Eastern cooking and dance, and ḥaflāt Footnote ¹⁴ and heritage festivals that frequently employ the talent of Arab musicians. But unlike those that provide such activities in the cities of Rosario, Tucumán, and Santiago del Estero, the Club Sirio Libanés of Buenos Aires functions as an upscale sports and social club without Middle Eastern cultural offerings. Aside from housing a reputable Middle Eastern restaurant, it fails to offer events that celebrate a Sirio Libanés heritage. Once, during fieldwork, I proposed that the club offer a Middle Eastern music concert, one that would provide variety among the many Western classical chamber music concerts that are frequently performed there. Seemingly puzzled by the idea, the club secretary explained that it would have to pass through the upper administration for approval—a process that I initiated but for which I never received a response. While visiting the club one evening, I asked one of the council members (who is a successful and prominent businessman) about the absence of any Arab cultural events or activities, and what this meant in terms of the club’s role within the Arab-Argentine community in Buenos Aires. He replied, “Ah, you are from the U.S., and in the U.S., you are salad. You are Syrian-American, [someone else] is Chinese-American…but here in Argentina, we are soup. I am Argentine. I have a Syrian background, but I am one hundred percent Argentine” (Anonymous, interview, 21 July 2014).Footnote ¹⁵ He went on to explain that while learning about one’s heritage and past is always good, the members of the club were not particularly interested in participating in or providing Middle Eastern cultural activities. He added, “These [cultural activities] might have been for my grandparents” (ibid.). His reaction to my prompt reflects his position as a third-generation Syrian-Argentine who was raised in a milieu where assimilation was prioritised over the preservation of an Arab identity. As Nabeel Abraham and Andrew Shryock have keenly observed in Detroit, Michigan, when Arabs, as an ethnic minority, have experienced upward mobility and economic success, individuals may choose to remain “mainstream” and imagine themselves within the host, non-Arab society, or remain in the margins, as they position themselves in relation to the Arab world and culture (Abraham and Shryock Reference Abraham and Shryock2000:16). In Buenos Aires, the capital federal and centre of the European face of Argentina, the cultural praxis of the Arab community reflects an overall favouring of the mainstream over the celebration of ethnic difference in order to survive and succeed. This is in contrast to counterparts in other states, where communities and individuals may more easily sway in and out of marginality as they are distanced from the “face” of Argentina and among other minorities, who did not have to suppress their Arabness to the same extent.

The response from the Club Sirio Libanés council member was not unique, but similar to the sentiments expressed by many within the community in Buenos Aires. Most of the people that I interviewed identified as Argentine with some Arab background.Footnote ¹⁶ Furthermore, I found that higher levels of resistance to an Arab nationality or duality of a national identity often corresponded with one’s acceptance of orientalist notions and depictions of Middle Eastern culture. As I discuss further in this essay, this inclination has had a tremendous effect on the musicking of Arab-Argentines. The formation of such attitudes, however, are deeply rooted in Arab-Argentine history.

Providing critical insight into the historical representations of the Orient prevalent in Argentine literature, Christina Civantos observes how representations shifted with the arrival of Arab immigrants, and how Argentine orientalisms affected Arab-Argentines’ self-perceptions (Civantos Reference Civantos2006). The textual dialogue between Argentines of European descent and Arab immigrants in Argentina beginning in the mid-1800s through the late twentieth century provides insight into the ways that early Arab immigrants accepted certain orientalisms and reiterated them as truths, leading to a practice of self-essentialism that was passed on to younger generations. This background provides a foundation for interpreting socio-cultural practices of second, third, and fourth generations of Sirio Libanés. Many musickers, in particular, continue to misrepresent an already orientalised past through what they perceive and present as traditional performance practice.

Misrepresentations notwithstanding, the Arab-Argentine community has and continues to thrive and influence Argentine economic, political, social, and cultural spheres. The previously disliked class of Arab-Argentine merchants turned out to serve as important trade liaisons with Middle Eastern countries during the initial neoliberal structural adjustments of Argentina in the 1990s.Footnote ¹⁷ The election of Syrian-Argentine Carlos Menem as president of Argentina (his two terms lasted from 1989 to 1999) was initially perceived as an opportunity to bring positive change to popular perceptions of the Arab-Argentine. While Menem managed to achieve a significant turnaround of the economic crisis that he inherited with his induction as president, his legacy was ultimately tainted by another economic fallout towards the end of his second term, in addition to numerous legal and ethical controversies. Currently, the first lady of Argentina, Juliana Awada, serves as what the media perceives as a positive face of Arab-Argentines. She is the daughter of a Lebanese immigrant father and a third-generation Syrian mother who has made waves in popular realms because of her chic fashion and public displays of affection with her husband. Referred to by the media as a “liberal half Muslim,” her persona contrasts with the extremist images overplayed by the media—images that have had an impact on the country’s willingness to participate in relief efforts as a host country to Syrian refugees amid the current crisis (Rebossio Reference Rebossio2015).

As of 2016, Argentina committed to accepting 3,000 Syrian refugees—a commitment that Foreign Minister Susana Malcorra claims is important for Argentina because it is a country of immigrants and must continue to welcome those in need. The country has instituted Programa Siria, a programme that grants humanitarian visas to Syrians affected by the conflict and assists with their settlement throughout their first year in Argentina. However, as of November of 2017, there were only 320 Syrians living as participants in Programa Siria (Bernas Reference Bernas2017).

While it seems the place for the Syrian in Argentine society is precarious, popular entertainment continues to present various facets of so deemed Arab “tradition” that allow Argentines to engage with a perceived Arab culture through various mediums. Despite the misrepresentations and orientalist depictions, popular cultural products such as the megahit telenovela, O Clone,Footnote ¹⁸ and the danza árabeFootnote ¹⁹ trends, have inspired curiosity about Arab peoples and society. This has led to a rise in the performance activities of Syrian musicians and dancers in Buenos Aires, who are hired for an increasingly large number of cultural events within and outside of the Sirio Libanés community.

Diasporic Generation and Musical Tradition

Today, the Sirio Libanés of Argentina produce a complex, stratified social arena where diasporic generation greatly contributes to perceptions of the self and others within communities and provides divergent cultural platforms through which members may identify as Arab. The current surge of popular Middle Eastern cultural forms is the result of the broad accessibility of relatively recent mediums such as telenovelas, dance trends, and pop song hits that invoke orientalist notions of Middle Eastern culture and music. Thanks to the pervasiveness of danza árabe (Karam Reference Karam2010), or belly dance, performances of Arab musical forms have become popular sites for identification with and contestation of traditional music.

Two relatively recent productions are often cited as responsible for bringing Arab culture into the Latin American popular consciousness: the Brazilian telenovela O Clone, and the music and dance performances of the Lebanese-Columbian songstress known as Shakira (Aidi Reference Aidi2003:44). O Clone, a science-fiction love story that unfolds between Brazil and Morocco, first aired in 2001 on the Brazilian Rede Globo television network. Its popularity was not isolated to Brazil—it was syndicated and aired in more than thirty countries and became one of Spanish language Telemundo’s highest rated telenovelas. Footnote ²⁰ Highly popular from the airing of its first episode, O Clone brought orientalist imagery such as veiled, sexualised women and belly dancers into the homes of Latin Americans as it aired shortly after 11 September 2001 (ibid:45). While it spurred controversy due to both the cultural misrepresentation of Arabs and Islam and the recent terror attacks in the US, it also ignited a belly dance craze and Middle Eastern fashion trends that permeated urban centres throughout Latin America, including Buenos Aires (ibid.).

This coincided with the popularity of Shakira and the increased interest in the Lebanese influence on her music and identity post-September 11. Following the tragedy, rather than downplay the Middle Eastern facet to her performance persona as she was advised, Shakira celebrated it via belly dance, hip scarves, and politically themed concerts (ibid.). She fused Latin American and Middle Eastern culture in a way that resonates with many of the third- and fourth-generation Syrian-Argentine musickers who began to seek to understand their Sirio Libanés heritage through music and dance trends. Without direct contact with the Middle East or even relatives who had migrated, many younger generations of Sirio Libanés turn to popular acts such as O Clone and Shakira—acts that have erroneously portrayed belly dance as central to Middle Eastern life and identity, but have also provided an accessible medium to those who have little to no other contact with Middle Eastern culture. In fact, danza árabe has become so pervasive in Buenos Aires that, whether it was accepted as a conduit for the performance of Arab traditional music, or rejected by musicians who found it irreputable, it made a significant impact on all those I interviewed during my fieldwork.

The cultural misconceptions that these popular mediums engender have nonetheless resulted in an increased interest in perceived traditional Arab music practice. The renewed interest in the Arab music scene in Buenos Aires has attracted more porteños to the neighbourhood where most of the Arab musicking takes place: Palermo.Footnote ²¹ Located in north-eastern Buenos Aires, Palermo is the largest barrio in the city and was a popular neighbourhood for settlement among the early migrants who arrived from Greater Syria. It continued to grow with Sirio Libanés chain migration throughout the twentieth century and today, although there are few new Syrian migrants arriving, many choose to settle in Palermo where Middle Eastern religious centres and restaurants are still located.Footnote ²²

Within Palermo, Sirio Libanés can attend Divine Liturgy at La Catedral Ortodoxa San Jorge—a church that began with the forming of an Antiochian Orthodox worship community of migrants in 1923 and resulted with the construction of the church on Avenida Raúl Scalabrini Ortiz that opened in 1946.Footnote ²³ It is also home to the Centro Cultural Islámico “Custodio de las dos Sagradas Mezquitas, Rey Fahad,” the largest mosque in Latin America—a product of the collaboration between Carlos Menem and the Saudi Arabian government.Footnote ²⁴ During his presidency, Menem granted the land for the building of the mosque, and the Saudi Arabian government gifted the entire structure. Also in Palermo are Middle Eastern restaurants, many offering halal cuisine, and a few that regularly showcase Middle Eastern music and dance. For the Arab musicking scene in Buenos Aires, two of the most important venues are the restaurants known as Al Shark and Fairuz, both located on Avenida Raúl Scalabrini Ortiz in Palermo. These two restaurants, decorated with Moorish design elements and orientalist imagery including paintings of pyramids and belly dancers, have stages to host Middle Eastern music ensembles and dance floors both for the audience and professional dancers of danza árabe. The most legendary performers of Arab music and dance in Buenos Aires have all passed through these two venues (Figures 1 and 2).

Figure 1.

The ensemble stage at El Restaurante Árabe Fairuz, set for an evening dinner concert (photo by A. Shaheen Espinosa, 2014).

Figure 2.

The façade of Restaurante Al Shark on Avenida Raúl Scalabrini Ortiz (photo by A. Shaheen Espinosa, 2014).

El Restaurante Árabe Fairuz—an important centre for Arab-Argentine musicking—opened its doors for the first time on 10 December 1999. Including an upstairs dance academy, it was a dream of the famed Argentine dancer known as Fairuz and husband Gamal Murad. Footnote ²⁵ Fairuz, the dancer, has been performing since the 1970s, but shot to fame when she belly danced with President Carlos Menem on the famed Argentine television series Almorzando con Mirtha Legrand in 1991.Footnote ²⁶ By the time she opened her restaurant, interest in danza árabe was on the rise, and restaurants such as Fairuz and Al Shark became popular sites for porteños curious about Arab culture. Fairuz observes that danza árabe exploded in the early twenty-first century likely due to “menemismo”, fascination with Arab culture post-September 11, and Shakira,Footnote ²⁷ and with it the Arab musicking scene intensified. This forced musicians to rethink how they were representing tradition and what would be accessible to audiences who had no prior contact with the music. Arab music repertoire, instrumentation, and song form became critical topics for consideration.

Arab urban art music, including styles performed by takht ensembles, waṣla suite forms of Aleppo, and film and long-song styles popularised by Umm Kulthum and her contemporaries, dominate the Arab musicking scene in Buenos Aires.Footnote ²⁸ While Syrian-Argentines of multiple diasporic generations perform these genres and claim them as an important part of Syrian heritage, there is much disagreement regarding the manner in which they are traditionally performed. However, tension surrounding traditional performance practice is common among musickers in Syria as well.

Historically, the music and instrumentation of the takht ensemble has served as a basis for these styles and for composers and performers of Arab contemporary Arab art music practice, who proceeded to develop the older traditions into new styles and song forms (Racy Reference Racy2003:75). While features of newer styles can still be traced back to various pre-twentieth century practices that developed in Ottoman-ruled urban centres throughout the Middle East, there is no solid consensus on which twentieth- and twenty-first-century styles constitute traditional music. (Racy Reference Racy1986:414; Shannon Reference Shannon2006). Furthermore, beginning around the mid-twentieth century, “traditional” song styles in Lebanon and Syria began to reflect the incorporation of multiple influences including Western classical and popular, Arab, Russian, and Balkan folk (among other) music (Racy Reference Racy1986:415; Stone Reference Stone2004:20). As Jonathan Shannon demonstrates, Syrian musicians and composers continue to struggle to improvise a modern identity while maintaining an authentic aesthetic within urban art music in a post-colonial Syria (Shannon Reference Shannon2006). He observes that there is no general agreement on what is traditional and authentic in Syria, and while there are regional tendencies towards one genre or another, there are many subjectivities that affect individuals’ considerations of authenticity (ibid.). While these issues are not unique to musicians functioning in diaspora, in diasporic communities the tenor of such discussions is heavier—there is more at stake. Syrian-Argentines are performing traditional styles that have recourse to past practices and therefore, a past Syria. However, as musickers of multiple diasporic generations have formed multiple diasporic imaginaries of homeland, there are multiple Syrias to preserve, and each is represented by a different understanding of tradition.

In the case of the Arab music field of Buenos Aires, individuals’ migratory experiences also inform assessments of peer performances. Whether interviewing a Syrian immigrant, a second, or even third-generation Syrian-Argentine, concepts of tradition directly corresponded to personal alignment with a migration story. Furthermore, when discussing fellow performers, individuals often anchored their subjective assessments to one’s familial proximity to a Syrian migrant. Thus, as musicians and dancers promote and perpetuate various perceptions of tradition, they compete for gigs and cultural legitimacy both within and outside of the Syrian diaspora.

I turn now to individual testimonies and performances that took place in Buenos Aires that are each representative of a specific diasporic generation. As performers describe their varied diasporic experiences, they systematically identify their conceptions of Arab music through their relationship to Syria. Applying Christopher Small’s concept of “musicking” allows for consideration of all of the interrelated processes involved in a musical performance. Small coined the term with his controversial text of the same name in 1998, arguing that music is not an object, or noun, but rather a verb, and that the process of musicking encompasses all actions of every participant in a performance—from the performer, to the audience, to the cashier accepting tickets and the custodial staff that prepares the venue (Small Reference Small1998:9). Thus, in my observations of the Arab music scene in Buenos Aires, I have considered the testimonies of every participant, or musicker, involved: musicians, restaurant owners, patrons, dancers, and audience members. The musickers discussed below are performers, dancers, and connoisseurs who are exemplary of the type of musicking that is critical to understanding how diasporic generation affects notions of tradition within the community.

Syrian-Argentine Musickers

Daniel Binker Duek

Daniel Binker Duek is a second-generation Syrian-Argentine who identifies as Syrian. He is primarily a teacher, composer, and performer of the ‘ud (short-necked fretless lute). Born and raised in Argentina, he lived in Aleppo, Syria (his family’s hometown) during the 1980s. He is fluent in Modern Standard Arabic and makes it a priority to teach it to his children who also speak Hebrew and Spanish. Trained in Arab art music styles prior to his residency in Aleppo, Binker became active as a member of the legendary classical Arab music community in the city famed for its unique waṣla style. After returning to Argentina, he was determined to revitalise the Arab art music scene—one that had been well-established mid-twentieth century, but which had diminished with the passing of its most active singers, such as Selim Zeitune, Elias Hamui, and Said Azar (Binker Reference Binker Duek2011). Once back in Argentina, Binker eventually formed the Wurud Halab Orquesta, which now consists of a few of his children and members of the Syrian-Argentine community.Footnote ²⁹ Wurud Halab performs one to two concerts per year, as learning the repertoire requires a time commitment that is difficult for members of the ensemble, who all work in occupations outside of the music field in order to maintain a livelihood within the precarious Argentine economy. While Binker’s concerts are promoted in Sirio Libanés and Arab cultural centres and embassies, the majority of attendees are members of the Syrian Jewish community in Buenos Aires.

I attended one of Wurud Halab’s concerts at a hall in the historic Centro Cultural Borges in June 2013. The concert was full, and most of the attendees were members of the Syrian Jewish community. Wurud Halab performed songs made famous by Sabah Fakhri, Umm Kulthum, Mohammad Abdel Wahhab, and Abdel Halim Hafez, among others. All members of the takht ensemble were young men of Syrian descent, and a chorus of older men would join for certain songs. At the intermission, the entire audience flocked to tables set up outside the hall, which offered traditional Aleppan fare homemade by Daniel Binker’s wife. Following the approximately 45-minute break, concertgoers returned to their seats to enjoy another hour and a half of Wurud Halab’s stylings (Figure 3).

Figure 3.

Wurud Halab performing in the concert hall at Centro Cultural Borges. Daniel Binker Duek is performing qānūn and his son, known as Yacoub Afandy is performing as the vocal soloist (photo by A. Shaheen Espinosa, 2014).

While Wurud Halab is well-known within the Syrian community of Argentina, they have received more international recognition thanks to Binker’s son, vocal soloist Iaaub. He has travelled to Cairo to perform and was most recently featured on the BBC Arabic Radio’s, Ṣunduq al-Nughum, a programme that seeks to promote musical heritage amid the current political turmoil. “There’s no one like him,” states Binker, who glows with pride when speaking about his son. “However, it is hard. Hard to keep performing this tradition when you are a young man. There’s not much interest or money in it here” (pers. comm. 14 July Reference Binker2014).

Because Binker’s earliest exposure to Arab music was through that of mid-twentieth century classical Syrian artists via records that his mother would play in the home, it is the traditional styles of Aleppo’s Mohammad Khairi and Sabah Fakhri that he believes exemplify an authentic Syrian sound.Footnote ³⁰ Encouraged to musick Syrian tradition by his parents, he listened to the records of first-generation Middle Eastern musicians such as Syrian-Argentine Selim Zeitune (1919–1999), which influenced his views of traditional practice. When Binker discusses his position in the Arab music field of Buenos Aires, he explains that his childhood in a musical home and time in Aleppo qualify him to serve as an authority on Arab music. It is his diasporic experience—his musical upbringing as a second-generation Syrian-Argentine, contact with music from first-generation Syrian-Argentines, and later his visit to the homeland—that increases his diasporicity and informs his concept of tradition. For his orchestra, Daniel Binker is not interested in current Syrian popular musics, in fusion styles, or in the popular incorporation of an “org,” or electronic keyboard, that most Syrian musicians in Buenos Aires (along with musicians in the Syria and the global diaspora) employ. When he speaks about the pervasiveness of the org on the Arab musicking scene in Buenos Aires, he expresses an understanding and need for such changes, even though he does not care to incorporate them into his own performances:

Look, if you hear a great young musician performing in traditional styles here, come back in twenty or thirty years and they will not sound or be the same. Why? Because young performers will want to make money. They will need to have a life, buy cars, you know. It is not sustainable to perform or teach traditional music for a living, musicians here will have to do something else or incorporate electronic versions of instruments through the org to save [paying additional players] and rehearsal time. Then you can perform more and for more events, but it is no longer tradition.

(ibid.)

He insists on maintaining Wurud Halab as a traditional takht, and one that performs what he considers to be authentic Syrian art music. Binker’s commitment to this tradition is consistent with the musical ideals of the of the Syrian Jewish community of which he is a part. As described by Kay Kaufman Shelemay, for the community that left Aleppo and formed diaspora in the Americas throughout the twentieth century, the Arab musical world, as they left it, continues to be an important source of musical concepts, both for the classical Arab music tradition and other genres and song styles (Shelemay Reference Shelemay1998:104; see also Kligman Reference Kligman2009). Thus, the traditions that Daniel Binker perpetuates are consistent with that of his diasporic generation and the corresponding and diasporic imaginary.