Anastasia Panagakos
A Letter to the Other Greek America

Dear Other Greek America,

I must confess, I am one of those people who believed in the myth of Greek America. How could I not? My parents lived the classic Greek immigrant success story. No high school diplomas, lots of hard work, sacrifice. Believe in America. Believe that you could be something better as long as you remembered “where you came from.”

Church. Sunday school. Greek school. Greek dance. Orthodox summer camp. Rinse and repeat.

Wait to be praised for your model Greekness.

By the time I was fourteen I was indoctrinated to the myth of Greek American exceptionalism. Who among us didn’t sit a little straighter in tenth-grade Western Civ when we learned about the tremendous contribution of ancient Greek thinkers to America’s founding? Who among us didn’t feel a little smug when our sociology college professors noted that Greek Americans were one of the most accepted and respected ethnic minorities? I was a disciple, proselytizing to the ten-year-olds to whom I taught Greek dance every Tuesday afternoon until I graduated high school.

Step this way!

Fix your posture!

Bounce less!

Bounce more!

It’s step behind, not in front!

Countless hours correcting awkward little bodies while their mothers whispered scrutiny from the back of the classroom. I felt entrusted with awesome power, contributing to their juvenile imaginations of what it meant to be Greek, feeding a nostalgia for a place that no longer existed through an appropriation of our own heritage. Between dances, as they caught their breath, the nascent anthropologist in me regurgitated our Greek American creation myth. In hindsight, this was a strange cocktail of stereotypes—mix the triumph over Ottoman oppression with folk beliefs about mati and pour over a nostalgic retelling of a trip to Greece circa 1977.

It was so satisfying that I made a career trying to understand why we loved being Greek so much.

And in all the years of ethnographic fieldwork, documenting the official narratives of Greek American community building, amidst the most fervent supporters of faith and culture there were others.

The other Greek America hiding in plain sight.

This is my call to you.

To those who challenge Greek American institutions and parochial thinking even as they struggle to be accepted or at least tolerated within them.

To those third and fourth gen Greek Americans who were told they weren’t “Greek enough” yet continued to attend adult Greek school even when the daskalo told them that all the studying and practice in the world would never make them sound Greek, let alone be Greek.

To the priest giving communion to the transgender young adult while some congregants look on in dismay or confusion. And to that young adult who faces that gauntlet every Sunday morning.

To all the non-Greek youth who love Greek folk dancing but never get to lead a dance, because leadership is reserved for those with a pedigree going back to some obscure xorio in Macedonia. And yet you still entered the dance with your heart, soul, and body even when the person next to you didn’t want to hold your hand.

To the joiners who never say no. You were guilted into serving on parish councils, AHEPA boards, and grilling the lamb at the annual food festival.

To all, you are the model Greek American, hiding your alcoholism, depression, or unhappiness behind forced kefi and a smile.

To the yiayia, yes, the yiayia—who at seventy divorced papou (and kept her reasons to herself). Who lost a lifetime's worth of social networks and filenades who feared, and secretly marveled, at the woman who walked away to finally put herself first. Who still shows up every Sunday to church, a tray of paximadia for coffee hour in hand, those hands that now garner stares for the missing wedding ring.

To the kid sitting in Sunday school who loves Jesus but doesn’t love himself.

To all of you, keep going. Hold those spaces for yourselves and for those who come after. Hold them even in silence, even when being in the community feels like grief.

Hold them until you can give breath to your story.

Because like me, you too have a deep and complicated love for the idea and ideal, for the myth and the memory.

You are also Greek America.

December 23, 2025

Anastasia Panagakos is a Greek American cultural anthropologist who has conducted fieldwork in western Canada, the United States and Greece. Her current ethnographic project documents and archives the reproduction and curation of traditional Greek folk dress for competitive dance festivals in California.