Migration and heritage are two topics that usually generate confrontation or stimulate a complex approach, as they seem to reference opposites: ‘there’ and ‘here’; ‘outside’ and ‘inside’; ‘they’ and ‘us’. The etymology of ‘heritage’ refers to inheritance, or inherited property, apparently a fixed condition, while the term ‘migration’ indicates movement, departure, mutation. Migration and heritage, then, may be almost synonymous with the concepts of ‘permanence’ and ‘change’ respectively, two apparently antagonistic forces or, at least, in perpetual conflict.

Furthermore, there is no fixed definition of what should be considered heritage, much less who should establish this definition, but we could say that heritage belongs to those who claim it, and such claims are often contested. There may be more or less stable agreements at a political, cultural or religious level, but despite appearing durable and fixed, heritage is, by its very nature, unstable, fluctuating and impermanent. Thus, whoever claims the heritage (hence, who defines it) does so to obtain a specific benefit. As we saw in the chapter on exclusive and inclusive heritage, the use of heritage can have various purposes and take many forms, from the promotion of closed identities to the creation of new ones. We always move in the realm of the symbolic and myth, where everything has some meaning but, at the same time, may mean something completely different.

Very often, a migratory flow and a host territory share elements of the same heritage, for example the ongoing relationship between European colonizing countries and their colonies/previous colonies (West Africa and France; India and the United Kingdom; Indonesia and the Netherlands, etc.). Therefore, in addition to the above-mentioned collision of heritages, we also find a modulation of this shared heritage, where each side adjusts in its own way (e.g. in its idiomatic, gastronomic, spiritual, political aspects). The question of heritage and migration, therefore, engenders multiple and fruitful dialogues, relationships, tensions, conflicts and eventually new or reformulated heritages.

One of the most explicit cases in Europe can be seen in the case of Al-Andalus or Muslim Spain. In this chapter, we will not analyse the historical and sociological details across all the centuries, but we will highlight some facts to illustrate the issue of heritage and migration in a specific case and of current repercussions for Europe and North Africa.

Here, there are two key terms that crack the petrification and purity of heritage: the issue of religious conversion and migration. As in many other places, Islam took root in the Iberian Peninsula through these processes: through waves of migration, mainly from North Africa, and the conversion of a part of the population to Islam. However, exclusive heritage narratives speak, first and foremost, of military conquest, that is, that Islam was established in the Iberian Peninsula through force, imposition and conflict. The narratives of confrontation and antagonism have nourished this type of perspective through the centuries down to the present, and they continue to be spurred on. These narratives feed on the idea of a Muslim ‘empire’ that, in a few years, managed to dominate and govern practically the entire Iberian Peninsula by the beginning of the 8th century and that held on until the Catholics managed to ‘reconquer’ the region eight centuries later. As the philosopher Ortega y Gasset said: ‘I do not see how you can call a thing a Reconquest when it lasted eight centuries’.^[1]

These centuries of Muslim presence in the Iberian Peninsula are subsequently explained as an exception, an anomaly, a foreign entity that occupied the territory and left. The Muslim is the ‘other’, the foreigner, par excellence. Even today, ‘national’ heritage in Spain does not include the Islamic legacy in all its characteristics. One of the few areas where this heritage is collected is in obvious facts, such as in the language (many words have Arabic origin) or in some architectural elements. This being said, they are always considered foreign elements, assuming the Muslim = Arab = foreign.

In El mito de al-Andalus, the social anthropologist José Antonio González Alcantud explores the significance of myths, emphasizing that their value lies not in their truth or falsehood, but in their capacity to shape our understanding of historical dynamics, including periods of conflict and coexistence: “.^[2] The book challenges the common misconception that myths are mere fabrications, drawing from Lévi-Strauss to argue that they should instead be seen as meaningful constructs that reflect human impulses and contribute to fostering social harmony.

González Alcantud also reflects on the legacy of al-Andalus, framing it as a compelling reference point due to its unique historical character. He highlights how it was not strictly defined by Islamic orthodoxy but rather by a heterodox form of humanism, evident in its intellectual and cultural expressions. In this sense, he suggests that al-Andalus offers a valuable lens through which to engage with the Maghreb, strengthening shared emotional and cultural connections.

Among the core values he associates with this heritage, González Alcantud identifies three that remain particularly significant today: an appreciation for the transcendence of life and the capacity to enjoy the present moment, a commitment to respect and moderation, and a rejection of ideological and religious extremism.

When González Alcantud suggested that al-Andalus could serve as an inspiring and constructive myth, his words were met with strong resistance. He later responded to the controversy by expressing surprise at the backlash, attributing it to an intentional misinterpretation by those who perceive their identity as under threat. He argued that such individuals tend to fear ‘the other’ and only accept difference when it can be fully assimilated into their own framework.

In his book, El mito de al-Andalus, social anthropologist José Antonio González Alcantud argues that the importance of myths is not their authenticity or falsehood, but rather the ability they have to help us think about time, with its conflicts and periods of calm:

When al-Andalus is criticised for being a myth with its stereotypical notion of peaceful coestistence (convivencia), and therefore of being misleading, this is based on a false preconception equating the invented nature of myths […] with false histories. If we follow Lévi-Strauss, however, we will see that these myths are good for thinking with, since they encompass human drives. And they help to find forms of peaceful coexistence and community’.^[3]

González Alcantud also reflects on the legacy of al-Andalus, framing it as a compelling reference point on account of its unique historical character. He highlights how it was not strictly defined by Islamic orthodoxy but rather by a heterodox form of humanism, evident in its intellectual and cultural expressions. In this sense, he suggests that al-Andalus offers a valuable lens through which to engage with the Maghreb, strengthening shared emotional and cultural connections.^[4]

Among the core values he associates with this heritage, González Alcantud identifies three that remain particularly significant today: an appreciation for the transcendence of life and the capacity to enjoy the present moment, a commitment to respect and moderation, and a rejection of ideological and religious extremism.^[5]

When González Alcantud suggested that al-Andalus could serve as an inspiring and constructive myth, his words were met with strong resistance. He later responded to the controversy by expressing surprise at the backlash, attributing it to an intentional misinterpretation by those who perceive their identity as under threat. He argued that such individuals tend to fear ‘the other’ and only accept difference when it can be fully assimilated into their own framework.

Cordoba-born visual artist and writer Hashim Cabrera also often expresses the importance of being inspired by this heritage in an inclusive way: ‘We have had to explore these paths to reach the conclusion that the —perhaps inexplicable— phenomenon of the return of Islam to al-Andalus cannot be narrated linearly, nor by resorting to nostalgia for a glorious past, nor by autobiography. But we must now retrace our steps: how, within the ‘novel’, do we find sufficient clues to address the final question: What is the significance of the presence of ‘new Moors, agnostic or Christian’ in our land?’: how can we look at the present in a different way.^[6] In a lecture given in 2011 entitled ‘Al-Andalus and the New Paradigm,’ Cabrera highlighted the enduring significance of al-Andalus, emphasizing both its spiritual and social dimensions. He described its architectural and literary heritage as reflecting an openness to diverse perspectives, a recognition of harmony, and a profound appreciation for beauty and connection with others.^[7] Cabrera further argued that navigating the profound transformations of the contemporary world, amidst neoliberal globalization, requires reclaiming a sense of transcendence. He suggested that true sovereignty does not reside in rulers but in those who envision and cultivate spaces of coexistence, drawing wisdom from nature with care and respect.^[8]