Standing Waves: Remittances as Social Glue in Neo-Diasporic Communities

Abstract

Some diasporic communities are gaining in significance in the twenty-first century. Their persistent cohesion is explained by digitalization, increased mobility, and the exchange of material and immaterial resources. To analyze such flows, the concept of remittances is widely used. However, it has to be refined to match today’s dynamics of a neo-diaspora. Although the reciprocity of transfers is already being emphasized, many studies have a limited bipolar perspective on places of origin (imagined or real) and countries of residence. A historical reconstruction based on community magazines, social media communication, and qualitative interviews in Australia, the USA, and Lebanon will illustrate that multi-directional flows change in their composition, rhythm, and intensity over time due to several factors. Transmitted money, objects, symbols, information, collective narratives, emotions, and visits are here conceptualized as omnipresent “standing waves” that function as social glue in neo-diasporic communities, whose place of assumed origin thereby becomes “sacred.”

Introduction: Diasporic Communities and Remittances

The technological innovations of the twenty-first century enable members of diasporic communities to share information, emotions, and money almost in real time. The resulting connections are decentered, lateral, and not solely “formed around a teleology of origin/return” (Clifford 1994, p. 306). Nevertheless, research on diasporic remittances often focuses on economic, social, cultural, and political relations along the origin-residence axis. Many studies tend to neglect multi-directional flows over time and their cohesive effects on diasporic communities.

Apart from this, remittance research indicates that remittance practices change (Meyer 2020), that the size of remittances depends on trust and intended use (Lianos and Pseiridis 2014), that remittances have moral dimensions (Simoni and Voirol 2020) as well as affective significance (Huennekes 2018), and that remittances partly mirror the social and political fragmentation of the homeland (Tabar 2014). The specifics are captured in framing “diasporic remittances” as “the outcome of a process of power struggle between home-bound actors specific to the diaspora” (Tabar 2020, p. 456, emphasis in original). Although these findings help to understand complex interdependencies, historical evidence is missing on the changing motivations of diasporic actors. Little is known about how their societal inclusion in their countries of residence influences diasporic remittances.

Despite multifaceted transformations, diasporic communities have not dissolved. Against this backdrop, a historical perspective on remittances based on the following questions enables a better understanding of bonding effects: which types of remittances are rather one-directional and which are reciprocal? Why do the types of remittances change over time? And how do remittances work as social glue or as a disruptive force in neo-diasporic communities? To answer these questions, I will here introduce the dynamic notion of standing waves, which provides a suitable metaphor of changing mutual and multi-directional material and immaterial remittance flows to analyze their impact on collective identity, group solidarity, shared practices, and emotionality. Taking into account the rhythm, amplitude, and directions of standing waves, I strive to characterize the dynamics of remittance transfers which seldom only increase or decrease over a period of time. Standing waves depict remittance transfer as a process, in constant interplay with financial support, material exchange, and emotional and social cohesion.

This chapter is divided into three parts: first, I will introduce the theoretical framework by conceptualizing the neo-diaspora as a “community of standing waves.” Second, I will present my methodological framework and the research field. Finally, I will explore the historical dynamics of diasporic remittances circulating between Lebanon, Australia, and the USA as standing waves.

Theoretical Framework: Neo-Diaspora as a “Community of Standing Waves”

In view of the fundamental transformation of former ethnic groups, a new understanding of diaspora is useful to study the role of remittances. The theory of “neo-diasporic communities” (Karner 2021) stresses that their diffuse and permeable boundaries are defined by the understanding of knowledge orders, the adoption of emotional practices, the individual commitment to the community, the identification with collective (ethnic) identity elements, and shared interests. The neo-diasporic network often extends into different specialized fields of interaction potentially substituting homeland orientation. Thus, permanent transnational relations and one-directional remittances are not of crucial importance for a neo-diaspora. Likewise, the actual origin of a person is not decisive for belonging to a neo-diasporic community. Of significance is the commitment of individuals who establish institutions, occasions, and places for communication to enhance connectivity (Karner 2021, pp. 363–380).

To analyze diasporic remittances, it is useful to integrate a concept which abstracts the interaction of space and time in the digital age. The “space of flows” conceptualized by Castells (2004, p. 36) “is made of nodes and networks; that is, of places connected by electronically powered communication networks through which flows of information circulate and interact, which ensure the time-sharing of practices processed in such a space.” The power system of a network is influenced by wider contexts and controlled by “programmers” determining the goals and “switchers” connecting different networks to share common goals (Castells 2004, pp. 31–34). These considerations can be applied to deterritorialized communities bound by common issues and orientations. This so-called translocal horizon of meaning reflects the connectivity of the local due to material and communicative flows that exceed national contexts (Hepp 2009, pp. 37–39). It is maintained by communication networks which exist transmedially through informal personal communication (e.g., chats) and self-produced media (e.g., magazines).

When combining “neo-diaspora” with the concept “space of flows,” one should not just speak of “communities of flows” but, as the following analysis will reveal, more precisely of “communities of standing waves.” In physics, standing waves are produced by interference as a result of the superposition of two waves traveling in opposite directions. Their waveform does not move through space, but has nodes (zero amplitude) and antinodes (maximum amplitude) at fixed places without carrying energy away from the source. This metaphor is useful to illustrate that within neo-diasporic communities, certain material resources as well as normative structures (e.g., ideas, values, and beliefs), systems of practice (e.g., religious practices), and social capital, termed “social remittances” (Levitt 1998), are continuously and iteratively exchanged. Remittances circulate within multiple interlocking transnational networks, which is why the following analysis requires a “transnational gaze” (Levitt 2011, p. 12).

Methods and Context: A Multi-sited Approach and Historical Lens to Study Standing Waves Among Kfarsghabis

To better understand standing waves in their historical dynamics, I applied a multi-sited empirical approach. My empirical data was collected in the cities of Sydney (Australia), Easton (Pennsylvania, USA), Providence (Rhode Island, USA), and Dubai (United Arab Emirates) as well as in Kfarsghab, a Maronite village in the Wadi Qadisha (Holy Valley)¹ in the north of present-day Lebanon, to which most members of the selected case study relate their assumed common origin (see Fig. 6.1).

Emigration from Kfarsghab to the USA began in 1880, driven by poverty due to the fall in silk prices, poor harvests, and a massive population growth (Khater 2001). After the first family returned to Kfarsghab in 1884, further groups settled in New Orleans, Peoria, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis, sometimes via detours through Caribbean countries. Today, the majority of Kfarsghabis reside in Easton (approximately 350 families), where the first group arrived in 1901. Thirty years later, they opened their first Maronite Catholic Church as the centerpiece of community life to date. With at least 90 percent of the congregation claiming to be from Kfarsghab these days, some members founded the Kfarsghab Club in 2009. In Providence, by contrast, Kfarsghabis were only one of many Maronite groups that settled there. In 1911, they founded St. George Maronite Catholic Church in the Federal Hill district.

Emigration of Kfarsghabis to Australia started in 1887. After the first group found work in the Broken Hill mines, many followers earned their living as hawkers, (rail-)road construction workers, and agricultural laborers. After the outbreak of World War Two, many of them moved to Sydney, where other Lebanese immigrants had opened shops, department stores, and manufacturing plants as well as the first Maronite Catholic Church, built in Redfern in 1897. Between 1946 and 1955, the largest number of families from Kfarsghab arrived. Australia’s open immigration policy caused a high population decline in the village. In 1952, the Australian Kfarsghab Lebanese Association Ltd. (AKLA) was founded in Sydney as the successor to a charitable organization which had become inactive. Additionally, the Mar Awtel Charity Fund was established in 1964.

Today, about 90 percent of Kfarsghabis live abroad. Their absolute number is estimated at between 16,000 and 20,000.² Those who migrated to countries like Brazil, the United Kingdom, and New Zealand did not establish organizational structures equivalent to those in Easton, Providence, and Sydney. In comparison to other Lebanese neo-diasporic communities, Kfarsghabis are considered one of the most loyal and economically successful.

In Lebanon, the Organization of Kfarsghab Solidarity (OKS) has implemented projects in Kfarsghab and Morh Kfarsghab since 1962. Morh Kfarsghab was acquired in the middle of the eighteenth century as winter dwelling in lower lands near the coast. This caused a seasonal migration between the two villages, where olive groves and orchards provide revenues for the majority of residents to this day. Currently, the government school in Morh Kfarsghab also educates the children of Syrian agricultural workers who brought their families when the Syrian civil war began in 2011.

Fig. 6.1

The village of Kfarsghab with St. Mary’s Church. (Photo taken by Karner, 2 July 2014)

I employed a historical lens to interpret the self-produced media collected at the locations introduced above and to analyze the information shared via digital communication platforms. Such sources can only be understood properly by integrating references to past contexts and local conditions. The magazine AKLA News (Australian Kfarsghab Lebanese Association News, AN), which was published between 1968 and 2000 up to three times a year in Sydney, constitutes the main source in this chapter. Most importantly, it compiled success stories about its members. I analyzed 43 out of 49 issues, as well as several jubilee and memorial booklets.³ I gleaned further information from websites and blogs, which gained popularity in the 2000s, as well as from the following Facebook groups (FB), which I observed regularly and searched for keywords: Kfarsghab Lebanon (KL, founded on 2 May 2012, 1695 members), Australian Kfarsghab Association (AKA,⁴ founded on 18 May 2012, 1774 members), and Our Lady of Lebanon Church—Easton (OLOL, founded on 18 August 2010, 1854 members). ⁵ This material is complemented by recorded qualitative interviews with 55 Kfarsghabis, 17 experts (e.g., priests and consuls), and 2 group interviews conducted between 2014 and 2018. When interview statements are referenced in the text below, the place of residence rather than the place of the interview is given in parentheses before the date to contextualize the statements. Moreover, formal speeches and communal practices were observed at more than 40 events and gatherings. Using a qualitative content analysis, I inductively generated seven main categories of remittances, which I further differentiated with the help of MAXQDA.

Standing Waves over Time: “We Continue to Enjoy a Bond that is as Strong Today as When our Families Lived through Great Migration Adventures” (FB_KL, 6 April 2014)

The following analysis of financial and material resources as well as information, narratives, emotions, and visits exchanged among Kfarsghabis will help to understand why changes in the quantity and significance of remittances occur over time.

Remittance Money for Infrastructure: “Kfarsghab Will Become a Model Village” (AN, 1971/3, p. 16)

Donations for churches and cemeteries in Kfarsghab and Morh Kfarsghab have a long history. In 1927, two priests visited emigrants abroad to collect contributions for a new church in Kfarsghab. It is said that “most of the money was raised in one night” (AN, 1971/2, p. 17). Beyond that, the completion of St. Mary’s Church was funded by visiting emigrants who also paid for the interior, including the altar, font, statues of saints, and pews (see Fig. 6.2). These donations were and are recognizable by donor plaques, stone engravings, and reports in AKLA News. In addition, numerous private functions like barbecues with up to 500 guests were organized to aid the churches. Further money was given to the parish of Kfarsghab in the form of inheritance, for example, A$254,000 in 1988 by a member who bequeathed the same amount to his Latin Church⁶ in Sydney. To build a youth center in Kfarsghab, A$126,000 was sent by AKLA and OAKS in the year 2000. Between 1964 and 1998, Mar Awtel Charity spent the total amount of $327,954 for the restoration of churches, a church hall, and a hearse. A cooling system for a morgue was donated to allow burials to be postponed until relatives from abroad could arrive. Hence, the implementation of new technologies and investments in the built environment led to a transformation of customs and architecture in Kfarsghab. Simultaneously, they contributed to the visibility of spirituality and protected an active communal life, thus working as social glue.

Fig. 6.2

The construction of St. Mary’s Church in Kfarsghab, 1948. (Photo provided by James Haddad)

Money was also invested in infrastructure in North Lebanon. In the 1920s and 1930s, Kfarsghabi emigrants backed the Qadisha Power Company for hydroelectric energy, controlled by one of Lebanon’s leading political families from their village, known as Estephan Family (Mokarzel 1933, p. 6). This resulted in electricity being introduced to Kfarsghab and Morh Kfarsghab relatively early. In later years, between World War Two and the turn of the millennium, Kfarsghabis overseas financially and strategically supported the establishment of a post office, a public phone, generators, cable networks, and new streetlights. Moreover, the limestone terrain in situ required various strategies to supply drinking water to every house (e.g., drilling, reservoirs, pumps, or pipes). Farmland was upgraded with irrigation channels and with roads and bridges when agricultural improvements were viewed as “so vital to the livelihood of our relatives in Lebanon” (AN, 1987/1, p. 8).

These projects were managed by municipal and local councils as well as by the OKS, despite the administrative difficulties posed by the Lebanese civil war ⁷ from 1975 to 1990. Usually, successful projects were promoted by members in the diaspora in exaggerated terms. Yet, in some cases, they rated the project management as poor, accompanied by doubts about money leakage: “When they started the church hall, [the residents] said we need $300,000. After it was finished it cost $650,000. All the people who live abroad, they don’t understand that. They have a very big question mark about that” (Mayor, Kfarsghab, 27 August 2014). The unrealistic perceptions of the emigrants and their accusations about the implementation processes, costs, and effects express misunderstandings and tensions between local leaders and donors from overseas.

Compared to the civil war years, remittance money for projects decreased after 2000. According to a young businessman who grew up in Kfarsghab before leaving Lebanon to study abroad and work in a Gulf state, this was not only due to the world financial crisis of 2007/2008:

In the old days, money was sent much easier. Now there is always, you know, second guessing: ‘Should we send? Do they really need it? Who is in charge?’ […] We’ve had lots of trust problems before. There have been many projects, but because there is no transparency, this is the problem [emphasized], then suspicion appears and it becomes very complicated, because we are such a small community. (Anonymous, Kfarsghab, 18 July 2014)

Apart from financial support, many early emigrants used their savings to buy property which expanded the village boundaries. The restoration of 65 old buildings and the construction of 72 new buildings between 1980 and 1994, some of which constituted palatial houses, was largely financed from abroad by members who thereby developed Kfarsghab “especially as a summer resort” (AN, 1974/2, p. 12). This trend continued until the mid-2000s, when recessions overseas sparked interest in the sale of land. To counteract this development, community leaders kept reminding members to register their children with the Lebanese embassies to enable the inheritance of land: “Kfarsghabis in Australia and USA, let’s keep our flame bright! We encourage you to register as Lebanese to share Kfarsghab’s magic with our future generations” (FB_KL, 18 September 2014).

Such appeals indicate that the preservation of Kfarsghab is a diminishing concern for future generations. Although the success of many community members as entrepreneurs (e.g., in the building sector and fruit trade in Sydney) and the number of high-level positions in all areas of employment (e.g., doctors and school directors) and society (e.g., politicians, judges, and priests) would allow for high future investments in infrastructure, remittance money is decreasing regardless of local needs. As I will show in the following, the (re-)construction of the neo-diasporic community has become detached from localities and transferred into the imaginary.

Knowledge, Medicine, and Sport: “Education in Lebanon is a Very Critical Tool” (AN, 1988/2, p. 31)

Education in Kfarsghab was highly dependent on remittances from Australia and the USA during the twentieth century. The first school for girls opened in Kfarsghab in 1931, followed by a girl’s school in Morh Kfarsghab built in 1936 and later extended through donations (see Fig. 6.3). Moreover, emigrants decided to promote income opportunities and potential migration by paying teachers for English and sewing classes in Kfarsghab: “In Lebanon they will have had a basic training in skills which would enable them to pursue careers more promising than that of their forefathers; and if they decide to migrate, they will have proficiency in a language and skill training” (AN, 1970/1, p. 8). Training in sewing was only provided to girls and young women. This illustrates the gendered implications of remittances.

Fig. 6.3

School in Morh Kfarsghab with a “thank you” note for the committee in Australia, 1936. (Photo provided by Joseph Stephan)

In 1964, representatives of AKLA purchased a plot of land in Morh Kfarsghab for the construction of a secondary school. The plans were never realized despite their continuous enquiries to the Lebanese government and local council. With more success, they intervened in the 1970s when schools in Kfarsghab were to be closed. In the 1980s, money was even sent for textbooks and petrol to cover the inflationary transportation costs of teachers.

Members overseas tried to encourage tertiary education by monetary rewards for boys and girls with top marks in high school certificates in Kfarsghab and abroad. They also helped to pay for the college education of descendants of the Estephan family. As the only family from Kfarsghab who held a ministerial post and first represented North Lebanon in parliament in 1927, this support for the prestige of the honorable family receives special attention. The covering of tuition fees enabled the oldest son to graduate from the London School of Economics: “This was an opportunity for the community [overseas] to repay the family” (Scudder 2003). Until today, male descendants of the Estephan family are designated with the Arabic honorary title “sheikh” to acknowledge their present-day role as symbolic representatives of the Kfarsghabi community.

In 1969, AKLA bought a house in Kfarsghab to be used as a civic center. It was under the care of OKS until its sale in 1980 and provided a hall for up to 200 people, a health center, and an office. Its library was equipped with donations from Mar Awtel Charity and individual gifts “to provide the necessary books for the new generation of students in the town” (AN, 1996/1, p. 23). Books on law, politics, economics, journalism, and literature, as well as journals and periodicals, were intended to offer an integral education. The books as well as typewriters and photocopiers were moved to Morh Kfarsghab in the winter, as did the clinic established in 1971. Many of its medical supplies were brought by visiting emigrants. An ambulance was donated by a sponsor who promised to cover all future expenses. Furthermore, fundraisers for operations of two seriously sick girls were organized recently that raised $120,000 and $35,000, respectively.

“[T]o raise the status of Kfarsghab in Lebanon and overseas” (AN, 1972/1, p. 4), association services were also provided in Australia and the USA. Sponsorship, settlement assistance, and soft loans empowered immigrants arriving from Kfarsghab. In addition, the president of the AKLA established the Australian Lebanese Welfare Group of Parramatta in 1980 as a non-political and non-sectarian organization. He lobbied for resources, policies, and programs to enhance the integration of Muslims and Christians who arrived during the Lebanese civil war. Rising ethnic tensions and Lebanon’s poor media image motivated leaders to “regain the solid reputation of the [Lebanese community in the] past” (AN, 1980/2, p. 11). With this in mind, they donated not only to aid organizations who looked after children with disabilities and needy people of their own community, but supported local churches, hospitals, and the cancer council in their countries of residence.

Sporting activities in country-specific disciplines are promoted in Australia and the USA as expressions of integration. In Sydney, the cricket club “AKA Crusaders” (founded in 1984) attracts many “non-Kfarsghabi” players these days, a fact that is highlighted to demonstrate the open and welcoming attitude of the Kfarsghabi community. Moreover, the AKA has organized a wide variety of annual tournaments (e.g., golf, touch football, cricket, netball, and the card game euchre) to date. In Easton, the Lebanese American Athletic Association was founded in 1976 to hold yearly basketball tournaments. These activities are also transmitted to the youth in Kfarsghab. “[T]o promote sport in Kfarsghab” (AN, 1989/1, p. 21), donations were collected in Sydney during a function for the leading Kfarsghabi Rugby League hooker Benny Elias in 1989 after money had been sent in 1986 to purchase soccer equipment. In 2008, a basketball/soccer pitch was opened in Kfarsghab on the initiative of the sheikh who mobilized Kfarsghabis overseas: “It was a real example of solidarity. Everybody came together, Kfarsghabis in Australia, USA, and Lebanon all came together for a project that was all-embracing, you know, it’s for all the kids” (sheikh, Kfarsghab, 19 July 2014). The playground is used for sports, public screenings, and barbecues to this day.

Financial remittances to Kfarsghab remained relatively stable for many decades. One reason is the influx of new immigrants after World War Two, which revitalized social ties. Subsequently, transfers of money for infrastructure, education, medical care, and sport in the village temporarily increased, although many committed members had already successfully built their lives in the USA and Australia and encouraged the education of their children there.

Humanitarian Aid: “To Help Our Brothers and Sisters Abroad” (FB_KDF, 25 August 2020)

At the beginning of the Lebanese civil war, charitable projects were initiated “to aid the village community in Lebanon” (AN, 1975/2, p. 8). Financial remittances were sent by Mar Awtel Charity to buy staple foods and for medical treatments. Soon, humanitarian aid was extended to help over 500 refugees in Kfarsghab. In 1976, a special relief fund was created overseas to secure regular aid for food, clothing, and medicine in the village. In addition, money was given to Maronite institutions in Lebanon. To help persons with disabilities, orphans, and the elderly throughout the entire county, non-governmental organizations and foundations (e.g., the Lebanese Red Cross) were also supported. A national aid fund was also established by Kfarsghabis in 1985. This broader orientation to combat poverty and disease “irrespective of its origin throughout Australia and abroad” was formalized in the constitution of the AKA in 2001.

While humanitarian aid lost its urgency in the postwar decades, Lebanon’s recent economic collapse calls for new initiatives. The Kfarsghab Diaspora Foundation (KDF) was founded on 5 June 2020 in response to the ongoing political, financial, and liquidity crisis in Lebanon, which has been compounded by the coronavirus. Altogether A$16,425 were collected through the crowdfunding platform GoFundMe to help families in Kfarsghab pay for electricity, pesticides, and food.

After the blast at the port of Beirut on 4 August 2020, members of the AKA in Sydney organized the freight of medicine and clothes donations. In Easton, the organization “Lehigh Valley for Lebanon” was initiated by a 23-year-old whose mother grew up in Kfarsghab. Backed by 18 Lebanese-owned businesses in the area who provided prizes for donors, she mobilized support for the victims of the disaster (see Fig. 6.4). Even Kfarsghabis in Lebanon distributed over 80 boxes of essential items and village products (e.g., olive oil) through the Maronite archdiocese of Beirut, despite their own crisis-related difficulties.

Fig. 6.4

The initiator of the organization “Lehigh Valley for Lebanon” (center, hands raised) with a group of participants of the larger “Stand up for Lebanon” demonstration in Centre Square in Easton, 9 August 2020. The posters blame political negligence for the explosion in the port of Beirut, call on the Lebanese government to resign, and express solidarity with the victims. The demonstrators’ claims for justice correspond to the symbolism of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument in the background, which is transformed into the allegedly world’s largest Peace Candle each year during the Christmas season. (This image is used with the permission of Ally Karam, 9 August 2020)

Material Objects and Symbols: “Just Make a Left into Paramatta Road When You Get to Kfarsghab” (AN, 1996/1, p. 24)

The local council of Kfarsghab decided to name the main road in the village Parramatta Road, on which the Parra Café is also located. These names refer to a western suburb of Sydney where many so-called Frozzies, a portmanteau of “Kfarsghabi” and “Ozzie” (Australian), live. A Parramatta councilor from Kfarsghab proposed this idea. The inauguration ceremony in Kfarsghab in 1995 was attended by Lebanese officials and nine Australian federal and state parliamentarians (see Fig. 6.5). In Easton, a street was named after Michael J. Khoury to honor a Kfarsghabi district judge and community leader in the USA.

Fig. 6.5

The inauguration ceremony of Parramatta Road in Kfarsghab (top) and the sign today (bottom). (Top photo provided by Antonio Jabbour from Joe Barakat’s personal archive, bottom photo taken by Karner, 9 July 2017)

Until today, the transnational lives of Kfarsghabis are accompanied by the permanent presence of national symbols. American and Australian flags wave over the roofs in Kfarsghab. In Sydney, Easton, and Providence, one encounters Lebanese flags in private spaces or hoisted at clubs and during Lebanese festivals. National flags are also wrapped around coffins to express the patriotic feelings of the deceased. In 2001, an Australian flag covered a coffin of a deceased community leader who passed away during his visit to Kfarsghab.

In their countries of residence, the respective national anthem is played at all formal gatherings, followed by the Lebanese one. Likewise, toasts are always given first to the respective head of state and second to the Lebanese president. Many present-day logos follow this principle, like the AKA emblem, which depicts the five stars of the Southern Cross on the top and a cedar on the bottom. Earlier illustrations, like the cover of an issue of AKLA News from 1970, express a strong emotional connection to Kfarsghab (see Fig. 6.6). Such images became dominant in the 1970s when multicultural policies and antiracist discourses arose. They also reflect the fear of losing one’s identification, norms, and values. Elderly members saw their lifestyle threatened by the permissive environment influencing the youth: “If we do not take enough care, we will gradually lose our tradition and national identity in our new environment of excessive individual freedom” (AN, 1975/2, p. 3).

Fig. 6.6

Cover of AKLA News, 1970. (Magazine provided by Ray Abraham, photo taken by Karner, 23 December 2014)

Before electronic communications prevailed, AKLA News was received by association members worldwide and praised as “undoubtedly something very valuable in its attempt to keep the people of Kfarsghab, in Lebanon and abroad, informed and in touch with each other” (AN, 1970/3, p. 19). Jubilee booklets about the achievements of Kfarsghabis were also handed out to government officials to advance the members’ lobbying efforts in Australia and the USA. They were even given to newspaper editors to counter defamatory articles in the local press. If such articles were reprinted in AKLA News, which is rather rare, their non-representativeness and the damage they inflict on the community was severely criticized in the framing remarks.

In exceptional cases, mortal remains are sent to the village for burial, most commonly deceased priests. Normally, Kfarsghabis are buried in close spatial proximity overseas, for example, in sections named after Maronite saints at Rookwood Cemetery in Sydney. Representations of Maronite saints are displayed at all locations of the community. St. Awtel, the patron saint of Kfarsghab, is depicted on church windows and walls of meeting places in Australia and the USA. A marble statue of St. Awtel unveiled in the Kfarsghab village square in 1996 was financed by a family abroad. The feast day of St. Awtel is not only celebrated in Kfarsghab, but since 1964 also in Sydney and since 1981 in Easton. This yearly spiritual gathering reinforces commonality. Moreover, relics of Maronite saints are exchanged transnationally and experienced as spiritual highlights: “To all those who wish to receive his blessings, now is the time for a once in a lifetime opportunity to join and ask for his intercession” (FB_OLOL, 9 March 2016).

Everyday objects from Kfarsghab are attributed with symbolic meaning overseas. Olive oil and products derived therefrom (e.g., soap), Arak from Kfarsghab, as well as spices and Lebanese sweets from nearby Tripoli are reappraised when taken to the USA and Australia: “This gift, ladies and gentleman, is a bottle of arak distilled in Kfarsghab. It represents the binding spirit that unites Kfarsghab with Parramatta” (AN, 1988/2, p. 12).

To preserve the knowledge of so-called village recipes, a woman in Easton is currently compiling a Kfarsghabian cookbook. It will also contain dishes newly created in the diaspora (e.g., baked macaroni), thanks to interaction with other ethnic groups in Easton’s former “Lebanese Town,” which is remembered as a “melting pot” (AN, 1999/1, p. 20). These combinations of old and new dishes, created and refined both in Lebanon and abroad, illustrate the circular, hybrid operation mode of neo-diasporic remittances.

Information and Collective Narratives: “News and Gossip of the Community at Large” (AN, 1999/1, p. 24)

Kfarsghabis used to exchange information via letters, telegrams, telephones, recorded cassettes, photographs, and videos, except during episodes of war, when communications services stopped. For many decades, AKLA News did not only inform about community news, events (e.g., debutante balls or “haflis”), and projects, but listed newlyweds, parents of newborns, graduates, and deaths in Australia, the USA, and Lebanon: “The Kfarsghabi magazine is the news link and the bearer of greetings and love among the Kfarsghabi people in the homeland and abroad” (AN, 1974/3, p. 3). Produced in Australia, the magazine reaffirmed conventions and commonalities among its readers worldwide without obscuring differences in lifestyle: “It softens the edges and allows the American reader to glimpse the life of a transplanted community very much like his or her own, yet significantly different in ways that pertain to social customs and institutions” (AN, 1998/1, p. 31).

Early issues reconstructed the history of both villages and of the “five founding families.” The migration history from Kfarsghab included lists of emigrant groups and personal anecdotes. General information on Lebanon was added with the outbreak of the civil war, particularly glorifying the historical achievements of Maronites. In addition to the magazine, lectures about Kfarsghab and Lebanon began to be held in the 1970s. On this foundation, members in the USA and Australia discussed war incidents and village issues with visitors from Lebanon: “[T]he visitors expressed their views on what they regard to be the most important project for Kfarsghab” (AN, 1973/1, p. 15). Exhibitions on the achievements of Kfarsghabis were organized in Sydney in 2007 and 2012, followed by a historical display on Lebanese immigrants in Northampton County in Easton’s Sigal Museum in 2019.

Text extracts of AKLA News are reused on websites and in social media to this day, illustrated with historical pictures, documents, and newspaper clippings. The administrators of the Kfarsghab Lebanon Facebook group reside in Kfarsghab, Sydney, and Easton. By portraying successful individuals in business, sports, politics, science, and the clergy, they (re-)construct role models in a similar manner to magazines and exhibitions. One example is a real estate investor who was also a columnist for the Arabic-language daily Al-Hoda in New York City. The many appreciative comments reflect communal pride: “[H]is experiences, his stories, his knowledge and his contacts were vast. He was widely loved and always will be” (FB_KL, 24 April 2014). In general, the deceased are idealized by reference to their commitment to family, integration, hospitality, and other traits: “Our uncle […] was a true pioneer. He migrated to Australia in 1922 at the age of 19. He worked extremely hard and achieved great success in his business ventures. He was well known for his generosity and strong faith” (FB_KL, 29 May 2015). By contrast, counter-narratives about Kfarsghabis are mainly told face-to-face and only hinted at in social media: “A controversial figure for several reasons but also a highly successful one, in business at least” (FB_KL, 3 July 2015).

Personal strengths are ascribed to one’s believed descent from Kfarsghab bearing witness to its unique location: “He was born in Kfarsghab and breathed vitality from its breezes and drank from its waters strength and tenacity” (AN, 1984/1, p. 14). To reconstruct the lineages of the founding families, the Kfarsghab Australian Family Tree Association (KAFTA) was founded in 2012: “I’m fascinated by the history of the village, by the notion of the five families. It’s who we are, it’s our roots. And if you don’t write it down, it’s gone. And it’s gone forever” (Founder Kfarsghab Club, Easton, 28 July 2015). KAFTA provides an online portal to enter and search for genealogical data (10,460 entries, 23 January 2021). The database functions to verify the central collective narrative of a common origin with the help of modern technology and pseudo-scientific methods.

In pre-digital information sources, conventional values linked to ancestors were framed as essential for integration: “We have a moral obligation to transmit the values and customs […] which our forefathers struggled to give us. […] He who rejects his origin and background is not likely to be faithful to his new adopted country and human values, especially religious ones” (AN, 1975/2, p. 3). In the past two decades, appeals became louder to counter the increasing number of family breakups, whereas before, members were predominantly asked to eliminate disunity and personal conflicts. The following moral imperative is constantly stressed: “We shall […] remain loyal to our new country. We shall respect and uphold the constitutions, laws and traditions” (AN, 2000/1, p. 30).

Emotions: “Joy Shared is Joy Multiplied. Grief Shared is Grief Divided” (FB administrator, Sydney, 21 August 2015)

Joyful events are occasions to experience solidarity and commonality: “The laughter, smiles, hugs, kisses, and pure joy on people’s faces were priceless. What a great festival!!!” (FB_KL, 6 August 2018). Especially when performing the folk dance Dabke at weddings and festivals, a group feeling is mobilized due to the physical closeness and synchronous sequence of steps.

Social cohesion is also strongly felt during condolences, funerals, and at the annual mass for the souls of all deceased Kfarsghabis. In cases of death, up to three requiem masses are celebrated by relatives living in different locations: “A lot of us still have those same common roots. And like I said, a death there is just like a death here” (student, Easton, 2 August 2015). Today, obituaries are shared via the communities’ Facebook groups and receive numerous sympathy comments and grief-expressing emojis. This emotional care among members existed before Web 2.0: “My sincere thanks again especially to those abroad, who sent us telegrams, letters, cards and telephone calls of comfort” (AN, 1977/1, p. 34). Expressing condolences, caring for the sick, and congratulating on weddings, births, and baptisms are linked to the social norm of “wejbet,” meaning, in the words of one interview partner: “You have to do your duties!” (motel owner, Sydney, 11 August 2014). Although solidarity practices are based on reciprocity, occasional or temporary and even permanent or long-term abandonment are nowadays accepted, so that (re-)joining the community is possible at any time.

Moreover, feelings of appreciation, gratitude, and responsibility are linked to patriotism and are exchanged among members. As early as 1919, emigrants acknowledged the sheikhs as prominent advocates of Kfarsghab with the following lines:

No one who has watched closely the untiring efforts and never-failing kindness, hospitality, and consideration can entertain a doubt that they are competent, efficient, and zealous, and always ready to help their fellow-townsmen, morally and financially, and they are worthy of our confidence and esteem. (Display at Beit Estephan)

Decades later, demonstrations were held in the USA and letters were sent to Lebanese authorities and the UN to end the civil war. Furthermore, members abroad expressed appreciation to the El-Marada militia for fighting “for a free democratic Lebanon” (AN, 1976, p. 19). The patriotic and financial support from overseas was acknowledged by residents in Kfarsghab, who implicitly expressed their expectation of its continuation: “We appreciate the quick response to our plight […]. We always feel confident in your determination and co-operation to assist your brothers in your birth place every time we face a problem or crisis” (AN, 1994/1, p. 11).

In Easton, Providence, and Sydney, Kfarsghabis express their gratitude for the opportunities received and credit local politicians for supporting their projects. Moreover, they praise God for being blessed with happiness, success, and health, and thank St. Awtel for protection. Associated with this, Kfarsghabis share a feeling of being privileged: “I definitely feel a very strong sense of pride and a deep connection to come from this village” (banker, Sydney, 19 July 2014).

Visitors: “[A] Most Pleasant Holiday and Happy Reunion with their Relatives and Friends” (AN, 1972/2, p. 18)

In the 1960s and 1970s, invitations were sent by the OKS hoping that Kfarsghabis would “come and enjoy the hospitality and generosity of [their] beautiful homeland” (AN, 1974/1, p. 13). Functions and picnics have been organized for visitors ever since. In 1977, a Kfarsghabi world traveler visited the village, which had been completely spared by the civil war:

I had only planned to stay an afternoon. I never left Kfarsghab for 21 days. Kfarsghab became one of the best times of my travels. I was tired, and sick, and starving, and had almost no money. They looked after me like a father and a mother. I fattened up on the best food I have ever eaten. (AKA Exhibition, 2012)

In the first decade after the war, the visitor numbers grew to 200 annually as the perception of Lebanon as a battleground diminished: “Every year was like multiplying, multiplying, but due to all the geopolitical problems we had, people have hit the brakes” (sheikh, Kfarsghab, 19 July 2014). Visitors not only stay in Kfarsghab with their relatives and friends, but visit churches and monasteries, historical sites, “souks” (markets), and shopping malls, and enjoy the northern beaches and nightlife in the coastal cities Batroun, Byblos, Jounieh, and Beirut. However, spiritual and social activities in the refreshing summer village stand out for all the visitors: “Including myself, the people of Kfarsghab feel at ease when they are praying. […] Kfarsghab also holds many different activities and events. […] These occasions make us become very social with one another” (FB_KL, 2 October 2014).

Visits to Kfarsghab enhance the identification of young and new members: “Each trip rewards me with new friends (and, inevitably, new branches on the family tree), a few local words to add to my limited vocab, and a renewed sense of belonging” (blogpost, 28 July 2015). Ostensibly “centuries-old traditions” (FB_KL, 25 August 2014) attract visitors to Kfarsghab, who celebrate the annual feast day “in the Lebanese style with ‘tubble and zammer’ [the drum and the horn] and folk dance” (AN, 1973/3, p. 24). With the motto “one village, many stories,” the first annual dinner in honor of Kfarsghab’s diaspora was held in 2018 by the municipality, which was intended to reinforce bonds: “It is vital for us. […] The second, third and fourth generation is not interested in coming back to Lebanon. They know nothing about it” (mayor, Kfarsghab, 27 August 2014). While the popularity of visits to Kfarsghab is decreasing, the place is increasingly envisioned as sacred and paradisiacal: “[T]hat beautiful village clinging to the cliffs of the holy valley of Kadisha and so near to the eternal Cedars of Lebanon” (AN, 1995/1, p. 6).

When traveling became an accessible activity, Kfarsghabis also flew between Easton, Providence, and Sydney for their honeymoons and to attend weddings, funerals, and other significant events. In the past, transnational travels were meticulously documented in AKLA News, whereas today photos and live videos on Facebook and Instagram fulfill this function. In 2000, a Kfarsghabi reunion was organized in Lincoln, Rhode Island. This event was not repeated, by contrast to the Lebanese Heritage Days that have taken place in Easton since 1978: “Every year visitors to the celebration come from as far as California to Florida, Lebanon and Australia” (FB_OLOL, 28 July 2017). Visitors between Australia and the USA exchange views on the challenges faced by their local communities. During their visits, they also used to convince relatives to contribute to large infrastructure projects in Kfarsghab when these were funded on a large scale.

Banquets, parties, and receptions are held to welcome community representatives (e.g., presidents of associations, sheikhs, and mayors), politicians, Christian clergymen, nuns, as well as influential businessmen. Early festive dinners date back to 1928, when the later Member of Parliament Sheikh Youssef Estephan was delegated to visit the Lebanese emigrants for a report entitled “Number of emigrants, their intellectual advancement and their habits” (AKA Exhibition, 2012) (see Fig. 6.7). After his death in 1947, community leaders from Australia and the USA established closer relationships to political leaders from the neighboring Zgharta District when they visited Lebanon: “[The AKLA ex-president] had an official meeting with the President, Suleiman Frangieh, and thanked him for supporting the projects under construction in Kfarsghab” (AN, 1975/2, p. 7). Personal relations with decision makers (“wasta”) are crucial to securing approvals and government funds. Lebanon’s political system is based on clientelism, which is why political parties even fly supporters to Lebanon to partake in elections (Tabar 2014, p. 453).

Fig. 6.7

Dinner in honor of the Member of Parliament Youssef Estephan from Lebanon, Book Cadillac Hotel Detroit, 1928. (Picture displayed at Beit Estephan in Kfarsghab, photo taken by Karner, 16 July 2014)

Conversely, Australian and American politicians and state representatives with and without Lebanese ancestry attend community functions in Sydney, Easton, or Providence. They even travel to selected villages in Lebanon to appeal to voters with Lebanese ancestry in their electoral districts. In 1980, the Australian Commissioner for Community Relations published an article in The Australian after his visit to Lebanon explaining that Kfarsghab “boasts the largest proportion of Lebanese immigrants to Australia than any other place in Lebanon” (AN, 1980/2, p. 27). These days, potential voters are informed by politicians via brochures and social media posts: “In Kfarsghab I met [the] Mayor and many members of the community and visited the local bakery next to the church. The holy valley of Qadisha was home to many local people” (Finn 2016, p. 2).

Conclusion: Standing Waves as Social Glue in Neo-Diasporic Communities

The diverse orientation, persistence, and meaning of remittances in neo-diasporic contexts require a new and accurate conceptualization. Different types of remittances move continuously and iteratively in opposite and multiple directions. This creates superpositions of standing waves that uninterruptedly reach and connect members. Even if certain types flow rather in one direction, the reciprocal and multi-directional exchange of other types makes the notion of the imagined place of origin as a dependent location obsolete. Standing waves not only exist along the origin-residence axis, but potentially between and within all locations where members reside.

In everyday lived experience, the wavelength (or rhythm) and amplitude of reciprocal waves vary over time, meaning that the regularity and amount of money, (practical) knowledge, medicine, humanitarian aid, objects, symbols, information, narratives, norms, ideas, emotions, and visitors differ. Flags and signs are visible indicators of prevailing or past standing waves, whereas information and stories are rather invisible indications. They are shared via magazines, social media, and personal communication, and locally through seminars and exhibitions. Patriotic symbols, everyday goods, and practical knowledge transcend the boundaries of nation states and express hybrid, transnational lifestyles, and belongings.

Not only the rhythm and amplitude of standing waves changes, but also the dominance and orientation of material and immaterial resources. The composition depends on the economic and politic (in-)stability in the country and place of origin, the degree of societal inclusion in the country of residence, local, and global crises, as well as the communicative connectivity of members and the commitment of individuals. The findings of my research show that decreases in financial remittances to Lebanon are caused by a complex interplay of an assumed lower demand, as well as a lack of transparency, trust, and fewer initiatives. This is linked to the tendency that the material existence of the imagined place of origin loses importance for members who never physically stayed there, which goes hand in hand with its attribution as a “sacred location” (Escher 2008, p. 23). In addition, money is increasingly used to build and expand meeting places in the countries of residence. Clubs and churches are reproduced structures of the imagined origin that allow for bonding and spiritual and transcendent experiences overseas.

The historical perspective further discloses that certain flows have always moved in multiple directions. Nevertheless, the speed at which material and immaterial resources are transmitted has changed. Thanks to innovations in technology, money, information, and emotions can reach the recipient almost in real time. The features of social media platforms allow for immediate communication, which has strengthened the ties among members. Moreover, diasporic remittances are based on moral obligations, but follow a rather voluntary principle compared to familial remittances. This means that commitment to the community is rewarded by recognition, while individual temporary, occasional, long-term, or permanent restraints from solidary practices are accepted. This permits (re-)integration into the community at any time.

While customs are being revived abroad, the popularity of country-specific sports has been transferred to Kfarsghab. Simultaneously, this place is idealized as authentic and untouched by members overseas although there, as well, social conventions, norms, and values are fading. To meet the expectations of visitors who aim to deepen their understanding of traditions, certain cultural practices (e.g., cooking and dancing) are being revived in modified ways or newly introduced. Such traditionalizing effects on the village are not accepted uncritically especially by those local residents who want to be perceived as innovative and future-oriented.

The concept “space of flows” (Castells 2004) is useful to disclose the dynamic power system and tensions within neo-diasporic communities. If leaders in the imagined place of origin seem not dedicated enough, it is not uncommon that members abroad try to become “programmers.” They take decisions on how to improve the conditions for the residents who are expected to manage the projects on site. In the digital world, communication flows can emanate from all members independent of their financial means. Hence, the internet has empowering effects and enables the emergence of new “programmers.” These respected leaders use their social, cultural, and economic capital to engage with local decision makers hoping for a faster realization of projects. If they implement goals and increase resources through cooperation, they function as “switchers” and generate benefits beyond their community. In their countries of residence, they participate in all sectors of society. They are committed to reducing racist discrimination, stereotypes, and obstacles to integration, while attempting to enhance tolerance and prestige. However, both interaction and diasporic remittances partly reflect social and political frictions in the homeland with a tendency of re-remitting divisions and conflicts. Conversely, tours by politicians through countries of origin of former migrants mainly have the strategic intention to gain voters from neo-diasporic communities in their electoral districts.

Standing waves and thus the rhythm of remitting are essential for the (re-)construction of collective identities and to counteract the loss of norms and values. Stories about role models and communal advancements emphasize themes like ambition, success, faith, pride, and mutual support. Thereby, hospitality, family orientation, generosity, loyalty, and law abidance are mediated as the basis for similarities in everyday life, socialized or learned group solidarity, and integration. Important occasions to experience joy, grief, cultural reaffirmation, and spiritual commonality are festivities which take place at all locations. The expression of sympathy has a high significance and is communicated face-to-face and digitally with the help of emojis. Today, gratitude is expressed mostly for emotional support and rarely for financial assistance to the imagined place of origin, which over time was subject to sacralization. This is accompanied by the diminishing importance of its material existence for members in the diaspora.

Overall, the transformation of a diaspora into a neo-diaspora bound by an imagined ethnic identity is expressed in emotionality, solidarity, spirituality, shared practices, and interests as well as local business and political ties. This transformation explains changes in the dominant type of remittances. Especially symbols, information, collective narratives, and emotions determine standing waves between and within the locations of a neo-diaspora. The omnipresence of waves functions as social glue in neo-diasporic communities, while the imagined place of origin becomes a sacred place for the majority of members: “Kfarsghab is not the stone and mortar, it is the spirit and the people” (AN, 1996/1, p. 27).