Albanians in Greece: With two IDs in their pocket

Report: Rania Zoku-Viktoras Antonopoulos

The children of approximately 700,000 Albanian immigrants who arrived in the 1990s are now nearly the same age as their parents were when they came to Greece. Both generations have spent most of their lives in Greece, experienced social and systemic racism, and live with two national identities, whether or not the Greek state recognizes this.

However, their experiences are very different. The first generation lived in their country of origin, while the second has experienced it mainly through stories, narratives, and vacations. The first generation fought for integration into Greek society for themselves and their children, while the second can now critically view the society in which they grew up.

Lia Weiss came from Korça to Kastoria at 27 in 1996 “for a better life for my children.” The beginning was difficult: “Good morning and good evening. These were the only two words I knew. When I went to the doctors, I communicated with gestures.” However, she says she didn’t face significant issues in Kastoria. “They helped me a lot.”

Laureta Maya, who migrated from Tirana to Athens in 1992 at the age of 19, says that the Greeks helped Albanians when they arrived “with whatever they had left.” However, they were hesitant to trust them; “they always kept their distance,” she says. She was very scared until she received her first official residence papers.

“We experienced so much racism that we hid from each other, mainly to avoid being heard speaking Albanian.”
“There was a moment at work when they told me: ‘You came, took our jobs, and now you’re talking.’ Why? Because I reacted even though I was right,” recalls Edlira Sejdini, who arrived in Kordelio, Thessaloniki, from Tirana in 1996 at 22.

When Albanian immigrants first arrived in the country, they were subjected to targeted police checks. Just one complaint was enough to result in deportation. “The police came one morning and took me while I was working at the bakery,” says Rezarta Isufllari, who left Tirana for Domokos in 1996 and later moved to Athens at the age of 22.

“I had a panic attack because they told me: ‘You will wait until the bus fills up, and we’ll send you back.’ ‘Where will you send me back? My child? My husband? What am I? A person who came here and ruined Greece?'”
“Yes, but you’re working illegally,” was the response.

“But I don’t want to work illegally. I just want to work.” They took me to the Health Center and gave me a sedative injection because I was screaming non-stop.”

After spending hours in the holding cell with her 3-year-old daughter Ioanna Arifi, she was picked up by a van and transported with her family to Lamia for trial. There, she learned that a complaint had been filed against her, but she had avoided deportation. “I was shaking all over. It felt like I had committed a crime.”

Whether they were born in Albania or not, many of the children spoke little or no Greek before attending school. Angela Weiss, now 28, was born in Korça and moved to Kastoria with her parents at 3, without knowing Greek. “My mom tells me that, as a child, I didn’t have much difficulty because, although all the kids in kindergarten spoke Greek, I communicated with them in Albanian.”

However, she emphasizes that this “doesn’t mean there was no racism. I remember in kindergarten being told, ‘Albanians kill, Albanians steal, and your parents do the same because they are Albanian.'”

“They treated us differently,” she recalls. “I had classmates from Germany, and there was always, ‘So-and-so from Germany, let them tell us something about Germany,’” says Anita Maya, now 25, who was born and raised in Nea Smyrni. “No one cared to hear what I had to say about my country.”

Bruno Sejdini, now 24, born and living in Kordelio, says that despite the racism he faced, the area where he grew up was different. “Kordelio is like that with people from different countries, so there was a certain level of mutual understanding, and people weren’t quick to judge you based on your background.”

On the other hand, Ioanna has had different experiences. She was born in Tirana, moved to Domokos at 2.5 years old, and today, at 31, lives in London. “The vice principal of the private school in Athens I attended took me aside and said, ‘Well, maybe we should say you’re not from Albania?’ There were no other people from different countries at the school. It’s crazy.”

Ioanna doesn’t think her parents’ decision to send her to a private school was entirely correct, but she understands it. “In general, my parents tried to set themselves apart. They didn’t want to be seen as ‘Albanian immigrants.’”

Her mother, Rezarta, says, “I didn’t want Ioanna to feel bad about her origins. Both my husband and I were very proud because we came as economic immigrants, but he was a soldier. I had completed high school in economics, and I knew two languages. We weren’t what you would call ‘typical immigrants.’”

Ioanna admits that for many years, she felt “internalized racism,” using as an example the difficulty she had attending the Albanian language classes her parents had enrolled her in.

For Anita, on the other hand, the Albanian language lessons were a key connection to her Albanian identity. “My parents spoke to me in both languages simultaneously, and my mom taught me Albanian grammar. I think this helped me a lot.”

“I didn’t try to hide that I’m Albanian by changing my name, like many did,” says Anita’s mother, Laureta. “I tried not to leave myself on the margins.”

“What my mom says is that she always tried not to be on the margins; I felt it,” replies Anita. “I’ve felt it, sometimes even reluctantly. ‘You will go. We will go. We will show.’ Looking back, I realized it was also for social reasons.”

Bruno believes that stereotypes about Albanians persist, usually “in a joking way.” “And they will continue,” agrees his mother, Endira. “I’ve told him many times, ‘You will always be the Albanian here.'” However, Bruno thinks that today’s views “are not the same as the perceptions people had 20 years ago.”

Endira, like Anita and Ioanna, immigrants from different generations, believes that while racism towards Albanians has lessened, this doesn’t apply to other immigrants. “The Albanian has been replaced by the Pakistani, and, well, the Albanian is white,” says Ioanna. “Where the Albanian was once seen as the criminal, now he is the family man who opened businesses, the good employer.”

Still, this treatment is not always given to everyone. For Angela, it depends on whether you live in a big city or in the countryside and whether you’re a first- or second-generation immigrant. “My mom went to the bank last week, and the woman working there noticed from her accent that she was from another country. She belittled her and didn’t speak to her kindly. Another person at the bank saw this and stepped in to help my mom.”

For Rezarta, Ioanna’s mother, Greek society has become much less racist over the years, especially among the younger generations. “One day, two women stopped outside the shop, and one of them said, ‘She’s Albanian, but she does a good job.’ But they were both in their 60s. I’m happy that I no longer have to prove anything to the new generation of children.”

She believes Greek society was generally very closed when she first arrived, “and a closed society takes years to mature.” “Neither Greek nor Albanian society had learned how to accept foreigners.”

On the other hand, Ioanna is unsure if Greek society has learned to integrate foreigners or if foreigners have had to fully assimilate. “I don’t know if Greece has become more welcoming toward us or if we’ve just done everything to get close to it.

Rezarta, her mother, when asked how she feels about her dual national identity, shares that she went through a crisis when her citizenship application was rejected due to income criteria. “I cried uncontrollably as if I had lost someone. I thought to myself, I have done so much for Greece.” However, over time, she came to a different realization. “Everything I did here, I would have done anywhere. Did I do it for Greece? No, I did it for myself.”

Ioanna explains that, while she identifies as Greek because she grew up in the country, “it has to be clear that I am from Albania. I feel the need to say it because I never felt embraced by Greece as a state.” Anita expresses similar sentiments. “I always tried to convince myself that I feel Greek, but when I think about what my parents experienced, it pushed me away. I feel the need to hold onto my Albanian identity because, deep inside, I feel a sense of resistance.”

In contrast, her mother, Laureta, says she has Greece “in her heart.” “This is the country I feel is mine,” she says while never diminishing her Albanian identity. Endira feels similarly: “It feels like this is our homeland.” Her son, Bruno, shares that he feels equally Greek and Albanian. “I grew up here. I learned Greek culture, but still, I have a country that I cannot forget.”

On the other hand, Lia, Angela’s mother, feels “foreign both in Greece and Albania. In Albania, they say, ‘Here comes the Greek woman.’ In Greece, they say, ‘Oh, the Albanian.’ I’m not sure about my identity. It’s as if I no longer have one.”

Angela, however, feels that she doesn’t fully understand her dual identity. Though she acknowledges her origins, it doesn’t feel entirely clear to her. “The cultures are similar, so I don’t distinguish them so strongly,” she explains. Nevertheless, she says, “I don’t feel like my generation will focus on someone’s origin anymore, at least not in my circle.” However, she recognizes the role her parents played in this. “Maybe my parents made me not realize that I’m different,” she says.

*All photos are courtesy of the interviewees.