By Scott Wilson
Washington Post Foreign Service
 

PORLAMAR, Venezuela -- For almost three decades, the Arabs of Margarita Island have tended their fabric shops, gathered
in the breezy evenings around tables set in tiled courtyards and prayed at a makeshift mosque.

The children of illiterate farmers from Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, they learned to be doctors and lawyers in the schools of their
adoptive country, which a century and a half ago emerged as a refuge for Arab immigrants escaping the hardships of Ottoman
rule. They became respected citizens and prospered by grafting their merchant ways onto a lazy Caribbean life.

"We're not that many, but on a small island we seem like a lot," said Nelson Hamzi, who arrived 25 years ago and imports
Turkish chocolates and Spanish olives. "We are very apparent."

That has never been truer, not only here but also beyond the foamy surf lines and bleached-sand beaches of this island 15 miles
off Venezuela's northeastern coast. The U.S. war on terrorism has reached into this corner of the Caribbean, focusing on a
long-resident ethnic community as a potential refuge for terrorists.

Shortly before President Hugo Chavez was ousted April 12 -- only to return to power two days later -- U.S. officials asked
him to begin sharing intelligence on the country's 600,000 citizens of Arab descent, specifically requesting information on the
4,000 who live in this provincial island capital.

Washington's relations with Venezuela, however, have plummeted to a new low since the Bush administration seemed to
endorse the coup attempt when it looked like it would succeed. So the level of Chavez's cooperation remains to be seen.

U.S. officials say they have begun worrying that Margarita Island, with its large population of Lebanese, Syrian and Palestinian
immigrants, could serve as a possible source of support for terrorist cells.

But in the angry aftermath of the recent coup, Chavez's allies say a number of bilateral agreements with the United States are
under review pending an investigation into whether U.S. officials who met with coup plotters in the months before Chavez's
ouster may have encouraged them to act.

"This is a very delicate time right now, and a very delicate issue," said Tarek William Saab, a member of Chavez's Fifth
Republic Movement and chairman of the National Assembly's foreign policy committee. "Right now we are evaluating all the
information we are receiving about possible U.S. involvement, and we don't want to jump to any conclusions. Decisions on
these matters will be made in the future."

The first wave of Arab immigrants arrived in Venezuela in the 1870s, settling first on the mainland and then moving in large
numbers in 1975 to this island after it was declared the country's only duty-free port. Today, ships from Panama, Miami and
the Venezuelan mainland arrive by the score each day, and a 300-boat commercial fishing fleet also uses the island as a base.

The Arabs were drawn by the possibility of importing fabrics, food and other goods from their homelands. But most
immigration stopped during an economic downturn in the mid-1980s. Since then, the Arabs have branched out from textiles,
chocolates, and other retail goods to travel agencies and banks, businesses of particular concern to U.S. officials attempting to
track the reach of global terrorism.

This island is the center of Venezuela's tourist industry. Its rolling, scrub-covered plains are broken in the middle by a fold of
green mountains where rain clouds gather each afternoon. White high-rise hotels and condominiums line its beachfront avenues,
and an assortment of name-brand stores stuffed with duty-free imports give the place the feel of Miami Beach.

Arab immigrants, while only a slight percentage of the island's 300,000 residents, exert a disproportionate influence on daily life
because of their economic clout. The local cable television outlet carries al-Jazeera, an Arab news network based in Qatar, as
well as channels from Lebanon and Syria. Images of violence in the Middle East flicker on screens in shops around Plaza
Bolivar, the central square. Women in head scarves work cash registers, and on most shop counters, verses of the Koran are
on display.

Much of the business is done in Arabic. On Fridays, a few hundred people gather at a small house for prayers, led by a young
Egyptian imam. The Arab community chips in to pay the imam's living expenses, and every two years a new one arrives.

At the Venezuelan Arab Union here earlier this month, a group of Arab community leaders and sympathetic native Venezuelans
held a news conference attended by the island's small press corps to share their thoughts on the Middle East violence. Peach
juice and strong coffee were served.

"Our anger is not directed against the American people, but against an American policy that is unfair and immoral," said Khalel
Wahib, a Lebanese immigrant who imports lamps and furniture. "In most times, we really don't have any interest in putting
ourselves in these politics. But this is completely unjust."

Since the Sept. 11 attacks, scores of shopkeepers have been brought in by Venezuela's Directorate of Intelligence and
Prevention Services, the secret police, for questioning about recent Middle East vacations, money transfers and their neighbors.
Arab newcomers are asked for passports, family histories and itineraries. The information has been passed on in weekly
reports to Caracas, the capital, 215 miles to the west.

An investigator from the agency said it has been monitoring 27 to 30 bank accounts, watching for large money transfers to
Syria or Lebanon, where many here have family. Many of those accounts are in Banco Confederado, owned by a Lebanese
immigrant, Hassan Saleh Saleh, but investigators say they have seen only small transfers typical of those sent by immigrant
communities everywhere to help families left behind.

"We haven't found anything to suggest those links so far," said one investigator. "They've integrated themselves very well here,
helping the government with projects, and hiring lots of people. They are an integral part of this place."

                                 © 2002