I would like you to chew, metaphorically that is, on the following as you read this post- you can come from The “Levant”, but are you truly “Levantine”?
Initially, I will delve into a very brief examination of the terminology and designations of the relevant regions throughout antiquity, the Islamic era, and, subsequently, during the colonial and post-colonial contemporary periods, scrutinising the semantics of the term “Levant” and “Levantine”.
During antiquity, the geographical and cultural landscape of the Mediterranean region and its eastern territories underwent significant transformations, marked by distinctive names and political entities. Extending from the rise of advanced civilisations to the fall of the Roman Empire, this era saw the emergence and decline of various empires, city-states, and cultural centres. The region was home to influential cultures such as the Canaanites in what is now all occupied historic Palestine, the Phoenicians along the coastal plains of modern Lebanon and western Syria, and the powerful Assyrians and Babylonians to the northeast. The Persians extended their influence into the area before it became part of the Greek and later Roman worlds. Within the Roman framework, the region was divided into the provinces of Judea and Samaria in the south, the Decapolis to the east, and Arabia Petraea in the south-central area. These names reflect the diverse and evolving nature of the region’s history before the adoption of the longest-standing Arabic term, Bilad al-Sham, and the more recent Western colonial terms, Levant and Middle East.”
Moving forward to the Islamic Era, the region was commonly referred to as Bilad al Sham w-Al Mashreq. Bilad al-Sham translates to “the land of the north” or “the land to the left of Hejaz,” while Al-Mashreq means “the place of the rising sun.”. To dissect this further, Bilad al Sham which I will refer to hereafter as “Sham”, also known as Greater Syria under the French and British Mandates of the twentieth century, historically encompassed the territories of present-day Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and occupied historic Palestine, as well as parts of Iraq and Turkey. On the other hand, it is worth noting that Al-Mashreq historically denoted the non-Arabic speaking areas east of the Hejaz (or of Mecca), specifically referring to regions covering modern-day Iran, and beyond – this as per the tenth century book Ahsan Al-Taqāsīm Fī Maʿrifat Al-ʾaqālīm by Palestinian geographer and anthropologist Al-Muqaddasi. For those interested, this is a great English analysis of the book.
The French term and loosely outlined geo-political concept of “Levant,” derived from the French word “lever” and in turn from the Latin “Levare,” meaning “to rise,” came to be in the wake of the formalisation of French-Ottoman diplomatic relations in the sixteenth century. In fact, it was only introduced into English in 1497, as a calque of the Arabic word “Al Mashreq” or “The Place Of Rising (Sun)”.
In its Anglo-European form, the noun Levant referred to the Mediterranean lands east of Italy and included territories that today form part of the Balkans. Its adjective, Levantine, was a term applied by the French and other Europeans to differentiate their European expatriate merchants and diplomats, and which included Italians, French, British, Greeks, Germans, Armenians, Russians and European Jews, who lived and engaged in trade in port cities such as Beirut, Alexandria, Izmir. The language of these Levantines was the Lingua Franca of the commercial world, akin to the role English plays today; it was first a simplified Italian business-focused language (rather than literary language), before subsequently being replaced by French.
The Levantines benefited from unique civic privileges granted by their local consulates, such as tax exemptions and exemption from Ottoman military service. However, they faced constraints imposed by the Ottomans, including censorship, prohibition from displaying their flags, and exclusion from serving in Ottoman bureaucracy. In essence, they occupied an ambiguous and nuanced position, not fully belonging nor entirely excluded.
And so, Levantine identity transcended strict geographical, ethnic or religious categorisations but rather encapsulated a socio-economic, multi-hyphenated, polyglot, elite, diplomatic, urban, mercantile upper-class involved in trade, commerce and cultural exchange. Being Levantine denoted a personal, familial, or ancestral engagement in Levantine commerce and trade, characterised by a unique blend of European and Ottoman influences, liminality, and linguistic versatility. Levantines, existed as both retainers of European connections, sensibilities, and languages and active participants in Ottoman culture. To be Levantine was to embrace diversity, fluidity, and linguistic versatility. Mastery of French was essential. They were the original cosmopolitans.
Therefore, in its earliest application, the term ‘Levant’ was not equivalent or interchangeable with the term, designation and cultural identity of ‘Bilad al Sham Wal Mashreq*’ and specifically so to ‘Al-Mashreq’. If, even when considered as a literal translation, the semantics are in fact contradictory from a historically endonymic perspective.
Eventually, the term “Levantine” took on a derogatory connotation, sometimes becoming almost anti-Semitic. It was used by certain Europeans to refer to people they considered inferior, portraying them as tainted by the East and unworthy of the morally superior European identity.
Indeed, the term became so derogatory that by the mid-1700s, the verb “Levant” found its way into dictionaries, defined as “to bolt” or “to abscond”, particularly in relation to evading debt payments. Subsequently, with the advent of World War II, the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the ascent of Turkish Nationalism, the majority of Levantines were expelled (seeking refuge mainly in Egypt), leading to the fading of their identity from the region.
What did the Turks, Arabs and Shami communities call these European roamers? The local population knew them simply as Frenk and Frengy, respectively, meaning from “Western Europe” or “Of the Frankish Realm”.
It was not until the late nineteenth century, that the French began repurposing the use of the term ‘Levant” and expanding the use of the word “Levantine” to encapsulate the people and lands of “Sham” which are now Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, occupied historic Palestine, parts of Iraq and Turkey.
The native peoples of these lands never used the Franco-exonym “Levant” to describe themselves or their territories. Instead, they traditionally used the endonym “Shami,” or specified their city or village of origin, to define their identity—a practice they continue, albeit nostalgically.
In the twentieth century, the concept of Levantinism was appropriated and evolved significantly, largely influenced by the writings of Jacqueline Kahanoff, who was born in Cairo, Egypt, before ultimately settling in Israel (occupied historic Palestine). Although Kahanoff was an entrenched Zionist throughout her life, her later writings, particularly her exploration of Levantinism, explored a nuanced critique of Zionism—especially its Western orientation and its disregard for the region’s multicultural identities. A growing ideology in Israel (occupied historic Palestine) at the time, ‘Levantinization‘ perceived the influx of Shami, Maghrebi and other Arab Jews, such as Kahanoff herself, into the newly established colony of Israel as contaminating its European pedigree of civilised advancement and Western modernity. This is one of the earliest examples of the entrenched racism and cultural erasure underlying the founding of the Israel, in essence a colonial settler enterprise. Kahanoff’s decontextualisation and reinterpretation aimed to reframe the term from its earlier negative European connotations in an effort to both acknowledge her own rooted Arab (specifically Masri and Maghrebi) identity and, paradoxically, to distance herself from it as she adopted her new colonial Israeli identity. In one essay, “Ambivalent Levantine,” she sums up her attitude: “A typical Levantine in that I appreciate equally what I inherited from my Oriental origins and what is mine of Western culture. I find in this cross-fertilization, called disparagingly in Israel, Levantinization, an enrichment and not an impoverishment.” And so, by choosing “Levantine”, an exonym historically used to describe Europeans living in the region, over the endonym “Shami”, Kahanoff’s use of this foreign term not only reflects her struggle with identity and internalised colonialism but also highlights the social pressures and marginalisation of the time, and which continues to this day. This context influenced her adoption of a term associated with European identity, reinforcing Western colonial legacies, cultural erasure and dissimilation, and otherness, rather than fully transcending them.
Following Kahanoff, other scholars and writers have continued to explore and expand on the concept of “Levantinism” or related ideas of cultural nuance in the region. The term has become widely adopted and used (hand-up) with little understanding to its long and convoluted history. This broad usage often overlooks the term’s complex origins and remains detached from the rich, multifaceted identities it seeks to describe.
Most scholars widely acknowledge that defining the true conditions of being a “Levantine” is a complex task due to its fluid and unstable nature. However blurred it might be, it is undeniable that over the centuries and as a result of the historical, geopolitical, and socio-cultural dynamics- including periods of inter-religious marriage, transculturation, and subsequent displacements- Levantine identity has evolved, undergoing shifts in both designation and meaning, experiencing diminished significance, and even shelved to the academic archives, only to be colloquially revived in more recent times.
I conclude that being from “The Levant” does not necessarily make one inherently “Levantine”—a term used to describe individuals characterised by their European descent, fluency in Frankish and local languages, engagement in commerce and diplomacy, and a perpetual state of transition and reinvention, belonging neither wholly to one place nor another. For example, someone could technically be described as “Levantine” while living in Japan or Afghanistan—regions that lie to the east where the sun rises—speaking multiple languages, and navigating diverse cultures and identities, without necessarily being tied to the specific cultural and historical context of a Shami identity. Perhaps, it is this very enduring state of transition and reinvention that enables the broad and fluid appropriation of “Levantinism”?
In contrast, the term “Shami” is deeply embedded in the cultural and historical context of Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine. It encompasses a rich blend of identities from antiquity, the Islamic era, colonial and post-colonial times, and the indigenous Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. “Shami” reflects a deep, intrinsic cultural and historical connection unique to the region, representing a collective identity that spans thousands of years. It unifies various ethnic and religious groups under a common cultural heritage, embodying a grounded and multi-layered sense of continuity that transcends modern colonial and political boundaries.
It is important to note, that “Shami” also offers a distinct, localised heritage compared to the broader and more monolithic term “Arab,” which encompasses a wide range of people across West Asia and North Africa, each with their own regional identities. This distinction allows for the nuance that one can be Shami without being Arab, depending on their regional background. Conversely, a Khaleeji (from the Arabian Peninsula) or a Maghrebi (from North Africa) may be Arab but not Shami.
Thus, the distinction between “Levantine” and “Shami” underscores a crucial point: the importance of self-definition, cultural ownership and the responsibility to correct misconceptions about our own history. Just as the term “WANA” (West Asia and North Africa) reclaims a more accurate regional and geographical identity away from the colonial connotations of “Middle East,” reclaiming “Shami” affirms a specific and rooted cultural identity against an imposed and incorrect label. It invites us to reflect on how identities are defined and understood, advocating for the recognition, respect and pivotal understanding of indigenous identities and historical continuity.
Think about it. You may be Levantine, and you may even be Arab, but are you Shami?
