I’m sitting in a souvlaki restaurant, waiting to pick up my order while idly scrolling through my phone. The shop — whose name consists of the name of a famous Greek city followed by the English word “grill” — is run by three family members; the mother and father cook in the kitchen, while the son serves customers. My boredom is interrupted by another customer who enters the shop. He seems to know the family. He exchanges a few words in Greek with the son near the till, places his order and sits at another table to wait as well. Suddenly, someone I can’t see sneezes. “Shëndet,” the other customer says. From the kitchen, the mother responds with a sharp inhale and a brief reply. “Ευχαριστώ!” — “Thank you!” in Greek. 

The exchange above did not happen in Greece, as one might assume from the signature dish or the language that dominated the interaction, which Petros witnessed a couple of years ago. Nor did it take place in Albania, as the word Shëndet might suggest. It happened in the U.K. — specifically, in North London. 

The entire encounter lasted only seconds. But it captured something bigger: a migration story that has been quietly unfolding over the past decade and has gone largely unnoticed. It is the story of thousands of Albanians who first migrated to Greece, built lives there and then moved again — this time to the U.K.

Many Albanian onward migrants from Greece now live and work in social spaces straddling the boundaries between the Albanian-speaking and Greek-speaking diasporas, and the wider British mainstream. They carry with them a very different past than ethnic Greek migrants to the U.K.: one marked by marginalization and racism, which for many became the driving force behind their decision to move again. And yet their lives have also differed from those of Albanians who moved directly to the U.K., without an intermediate step in Greece.

In this piece, we draw on research conducted as part of a larger academic project exploring how language shaped the migration trajectories of onward migrants in the U.K. and, conversely, how the languages of onward migrants were shaped by their fragmented and fluid experiences of migration. Our focus was the case of Albanians who grew up in Greece in the 1990s, 2000s and 2010s and later migrated to Britain. Between 2016 and 2020, this group grew significantly, forming part of a broader wave of migration from crisis-stricken Greece. 

We conducted focus groups in Greek with 13 young people aged 27-35 years old, all of whom are part of the so-called second generation. They were born in Albania, raised in Greece and now live in the U.K. All are highly educated and employed in highly-skilled roles at the time of our interviews in 2022. 

The profiles of the migrants we talked to, who are referred to in this piece using pseudonyms, align with the widely studied Greek brain drain, the exodus of highly skilled professionals from Greece during the Greek financial crisis, which lasted from 2008 to 2018, in search of better opportunities abroad. Unlike ethnically Greek brain drainers, however, many second-generation Albanians who left Greece had grown up facing systemic discrimination, everyday racism and endless bureaucratic hurdles. Their stories complicate easy narratives about the integration of Albanian migrants into Greek society, as well as the reasons people left Greece during and after the financial crisis.

The U.K. was the second most popular destination, after Germany, for people leaving Greece during the financial crisis. Academics Manolis Pratsinakis and Anastasia Kafe report that the number of Greek citizens in the U.K. tripled between 2001 and 2021, going from around 35,000 to over 100,000, possibly as high as 130,000. Census data for England and Wales confirms a significant — although slightly lower — increase over this period, and indicates that in 2021, 15.61% of Greek citizens in England and Wales were born in Albania. 

Albanian onward migrants generally participate in all aspects of Greek diasporic life in the U.K. They tend to send their children to Greek complementary schools to learn Greek, teach Greek in those same schools, join Greek cultural organizations and take part in Greek cultural and athletic activities. Many are also involved in the political life of Greek-speaking communities, including local chapters of Greek political parties. Others work in or run Greek restaurants, and some are employed by U.K.-based Greek-language media such as Hellenic TV. 

In these aspects of their lives, Albanian onward migrants draw on the linguistic, cultural and social resources they acquired and developed in Greece: their fluency in Greek, their knowledge and familiarity with Greek culture and mentality and their access to Greek-speaking social networks. At the same time, they are present in many aspects of Albanian diasporic life, participating in Albanian organizations and collectives and sharing spaces frequented by Albanians from diverse migratory backgrounds. 

The voices we foreground also challenge dominant narratives of Albanian migration to the U.K., which often focus on recent arrivals from Albania. The people we spoke to came to the U.K. with EU passports and identities that organically amalgamate elements from their complex migratory trajectories. 

How does this group navigate identity, language and belonging in the U.K.? How do they live between cultures, how did discrimination in Greece shape their decisions to move and how their multilingual repertoires both connect and set them apart from others in the diaspora? What does it mean to be an Albanian from Greece living in Britain?

Facing racism in a time of crises

Large-scale Albanian migration to Greece began in the early 1990s, following the collapse of Albania’s communist regime and the country’s abrupt transition to a market economy. Initially, Albanians arriving in Greece were sometimes viewed sympathetically. But as their numbers grew, they were increasingly portrayed as a social and cultural threat. Public discourse and media coverage shifted quickly to stigmatize Albanians as violent, untrustworthy and fundamentally different — a racialized Other incompatible with Greek national identity. 

Stereotypes focused not only on ethnicity but also on perceived physical differences, religious background and names. In response, many Albanians adopted strategies to avoid being racially profiled. Some claimed a connection to Albania’s Greek minority, a status that offered more social acceptance and facilitated access to residence permits and other benefits. Others adopted Orthodox Christian names, either formally or informally, to avoid fierce racism in everyday interactions.

Structural discrimination reinforced these social perceptions. Albanians often entered Greece without documentation and spent years working in the informal economy. Until 1997, there were no clear legal pathways to regularizing status, meaning migrants had no access to public health care, social services or labor protections. Housing discrimination was common, with Albanians often excluded from the rental market or quality housing. 

Even children born or raised in Greece had difficulty accessing legal status or formal citizenship, despite being educated in Greek schools and growing up speaking the language. Daily life included microaggressions, systemic exclusion and in some cases, overt violence, with some migrants we spoke with recalling being physically assaulted, profiled by police or blamed for crimes simply because of their Albanian backgrounds.

In the focus groups we conducted, Albanian onward migrants spoke about the social exclusion, racism and other forms of discrimination and violence they consistently faced in Greece, from their initial arrival onward. These conditions played a central role in shaping their desires and decisions to onward migrate to the U.K.

Before examining this aspect more closely, it is important to highlight a key turning point, which was the combination of two factors: first, the Greek financial crisis and the adversities it brought to Greek society, especially rising unemployment; second, the progress made from 2015 onward in approving Greek citizenship applications for second-generation migrants. 2015 was when the process of acquiring Greek citizenship for the children of migrants due to study in Greek elementary and secondary education was reopened. 

The initial law granting such citizenships had been deemed unconstitutional in 2012 by the Greek Supreme Court, after pressure from Greek conservatives. The 2015 law allowed evaluation of frozen applications submitted before 2012 as well as submission of new applications for citizenship if certain criteria such as proof of years of permanent and legal residence of children and parents and enrollment in Greek educational institutions were met. 

Even so, the 2015 law did not automatically grant citizenship to eligible migrants — it merely meant that it became possible. Citizenship is granted after application materials are submitted and evaluated by the relevant office at the Greek Ministry of Interior Affairs.

For the people we spoke with, limited job opportunities in Greece were closely tied to what is often called the glass ceiling — the invisible but very real barriers that block professional advancement, especially for women and minorities, regardless of their qualifications or skills. These obstacles, rooted in prejudice and stereotypes, were a key factor in many decisions to move on. 

“I was always stressed in Greece about how and if I would find a job in a field, such as shipping, that everyone chooses so that they can find a job. I could not find [employment] for a year, while seeing all others who were Greek and were finding employment,” said Neritan, who studied shipping in Greece and now works in the field in London. 

“The Greek mentality exhausted me in the sense that in a job, if you’re good at something, they don’t let you go easily. They tell you ‘stay put’ and they cut your wings so that you don’t move on,” said Olta, reflecting on her motivations for migrating to the U.K.

Once the right conditions were in place, many participants in our research set their migratory projects in motion. One of them was Ardit, who started searching for plane tickets to the U.K. on the very day he learned that, after years of delays, his application for Greek citizenship had finally been approved. Two months later, in June 2016, he left Greece. 

Between Greece and the UK: how discrimination pushed Albanians to move on

Racism, both general and specifically targeting Albanians, is widespread in Greece. Two well-known slogans aptly convey the dominant racist tropes: “Έλληνας γεννιέσαι, δεν γίνεσαι,” — “You are born Greek. You do not become Greek,” and “Δε θα γίνεις Έλληνας ποτέ, Αλβανέ!,” — “Oh Albanian, you will never become Greek!” 

These reflect a belief in the inherent superiority of Greeks, which is seen not only as desirable but also as inaccessible to outsiders. They also reveal a rigid ethnic essentialism, a primordial view of ethnicity that is fixed at birth and only through a Greek bloodline. These ideas can and do indeed often smoothly morph into outright xenophobia and racism against anyone who wasn’t “born Greek.” 

Even so, early in our discussions, participants often claimed that they had not experienced discrimination or racism in Greece because of their Albanian origin. However, as the conversations unfolded, many contradicted those initial statements, recounting xenophobic acts by teachers, police officers, civil servants and customs agents. 

Neritan, for instance, described a violent incident he experienced in sixth grade, involving educators who were either directly violent toward him or complicit through their silence. After entering the classroom, his teacher grabbed him and threw him outside, where the principal was waiting to beat him. “The tragic part,” Neritan said, was “that the doors of all the classrooms were open and the teachers simply closed the doors. I was kicked, slapped and returned to the classroom.”

Racial profiling was also routine, mainly targeting men with migrant backgrounds. Police officers would stop men they profiled as non-Greek to verify their identities. If migrants did not have their passports and residence permits on them, they were taken to the nearest police station and held there until a relative could bring the necessary documents.

For Ardit, this was a deeply humiliating experience, as it equated him to people who had committed serious crimes. “They would drag me to the police station even though I had nothing illegal on me, without anything, just because I am Albanian,” he said. “They would keep me in the station for two, for three, for four hours, and depending on which area of Athens I was in at the time, my father would have to come with my passport so that I could be released after five hours as if I had stolen, killed or done something bad.”

Some said they had not experienced racism in Greece, or only to a limited extent, and believed such experiences were confined to a minority of Albanian migrants. Arbër and Ardit, who had faced racist behavior, internalized the blame, suggesting it may have been due to their “difficult characters.” Alongside the search for better job opportunities, onward migration to the U.K. also emerged as a way to escape the discrimination and xenophobia they encountered in Greece. 

Starting anew in the UK

The U.K. was often portrayed as the polar opposite of Greece. The people we talked to said that they did not face discrimination in the U.K. and were not subjected to racist behavior, describing themselves as “foreigners among foreigners.” 

Those who moved from Greece after 2010 — including Albanians, Greeks and others — tend to be more dispersed across London, unlike those who came in earlier waves of migration, which sometimes led to the formation of ethnically-defined neighborhoods. That said, many do live in parts of North London, particularly in the boroughs of Haringey, Barnet and Enfield. This area is also currently home to a significant number of people who migrated directly from Albania.

Speaking to the “foreigners among foreigners” theme, Vasi contrasted his experiences with public services in both countries, highlighting the absence of xenophobic treatment in the U.K. — treatment that he or his parents had regularly encountered in Greece due to their ethnicity, often triggered by their Albanian passports and distinctly Albanian names. 

“The way you are treated by the public services, by the public organizations, generally by the state services, is completely different to how we were treated in Greece,” said Vasi. “Not just as Albanians — for example our parents — but even us, who someone would hardly be able to tell are Albanians, based on how we look or the language, because we speak Greek very well. As soon as they saw, for example, our names that suggested Albanianness, suddenly, you could see a different treatment.”

While most agreed that racism and xenophobia were largely absent in the U.K., some challenged that generalizing view. Arbër argued that racism in Britain is masked by humor — unlike in Greece, where it is “more brutal, rawer, louder.” Ilir agreed with this perspective and reminded the group that Albanian onward migrants in the U.K. were in a relatively privileged position: they had acquired citizenship from an EU member, which allowed them to move and settle freely within the EU. 

Other new arrivals in the U.K., such as refugees and asylum seekers, did not have the same privilege and often faced much more hostile treatment from the U.K. authorities. Since Brexit, however, this dynamic has shifted. The end of free movement has made it harder for EU citizens, including those from Greece, to migrate to the U.K., and overall migration from the EU has declined. At the same time, migration from non-EU countries has increased. 

Leading multilingual lives 

One result of the migration trajectories that the people we spoke with followed was exposure to and fluency in multiple languages. Everyone we spoke to was at least trilingual in Albanian, Greek and English. Within that, there was variance in how onward migrants used the three languages, and how they engaged with their multilingualism in public and family contexts. 

This being said, most considered Greek the language they were most proficient in. Arbër and Ermal, in particular, referred to Greek as their “mother tongue.” Ermal also noted that he speaks other languages, even Albanian, with a Greek accent. “I consider Greek a mother tongue in the sense that when I speak other languages, I have a Greek accent. I speak Albanian fluently even though the accent shows,” he said.

Speaking Albanian was a key part of the participants’ sense of Albanian identity. Arbër described Albanian as “the other mother tongue” and expressed regret over the decline in his Albanian skills. Notably, many migrants’ Albanian skills, especially their literacy, were supported by learning English, due to the shared Latin script. Despite differences in formal education opportunities to study Albanian, most participants acknowledged that their command of Albanian was weaker than their Greek. This imbalance often caused disappointment and stress. 

Sinan, for example, said that when he speaks Albanian, he feels he can only express 70% of himself. Albana added that speaking Albanian with her grandparents makes her stressed, for fear of making a mistake and causing embarrassment. 

Some participants noted a decline in their Greek language skills since onward migrating to the U.K. Arbër mentioned having some difficulty expressing himself in Greek after spending several years in English-speaking universities. 

Mentor echoed Arbër in observing English’s impact on his Albanian and Greek. “I’ve caught myself forgetting both Albanian and Greek at times. For example, when I am trying to say something, I have to say an English word because I cannot think of the Albanian or Greek one as quickly,” he said.

English was also the language of employment. For these onward migrants, high proficiency in English was the ticket to access a variety of professional opportunities in the U.K. At the same time, several believed that the mainly academic English that they had acquired in Greece did not prepare them for the communicative needs of everyday life in the U.K., especially in the initial period after arriving in the U.K. 

“I had the Proficiency certificate [equivalent to C2 level] and I was like ‘I know English, I am sure I’ll go there and I’ll be fine, I’ll be speaking like an English person, like a local.’ And I remember the first day I got on the bus to go to the university and the bus driver asked me for the ticket fare, two pounds. I could not understand a thing,” said Redon.

The onward migrants used both Albanian and Greek for various purposes, particularly to communicate with members of their social networks in Albania, Greece and the U.K. While Albanian remained present in their daily lives, most participants said they preferred Greek for these interactions. Albanian was used more selectively — for example, as a secret code when they wanted to keep conversations private from others. Many said they mixed Albanian and Greek in interactions with other multilinguals and often responded to their parents in Greek, even when addressed in Albanian. Since migrating a second time, English has been added to their multilingual repertoire.

Ilir noted that it is precisely this way of using language that sets the Albanians of Greece apart, both from Albanians from Albania and Greeks of Greece, sometimes to the point of being unintelligible to both groups. “I do not speak in any one language, as the others have said. It is a mix of Albanian and Greek together. No one from the two sides understands when we speak,” he said.

Social networks and belonging in the UK

Albanian onward migrants in the U.K. live at the margins of spaces inhabited by other migrant groups from Albania and Greece — groups often constructed as ethnically, linguistically and culturally “prototypical.” On one side are Albanians who migrated directly from Albania, without previous migratory experiences. On the other side are migrants of Greek origin who migrated from Greece. 

Our participants expressed a sense of connection to both groups, rooted in shared aspects of their identities such as their languages, their cultural references and their origin. That origin can be understood either as ethnic or geographic, in the case of Albania, or as a shared migration history, in the case of Greece. Xixa spoke of her connections with both Greek and Albanian speakers. “Immediately upon hearing Greek or Albanian, immediately I’ll speak Greek, immediately I’ll speak Albanian. ‘How are you?’ ‘Where are you from?’ Is it a great feeling to feel that you’re with your people,” she said.

Nonetheless, participants generally agreed that forming close relationships with Albanians from Albania or Greeks from Greece was challenging. Especially when it came to Albanians from Albania, many felt that the different conditions under which the two groups migrated to the U.K. created a hierarchy between them. 

Albanians who came via Greece were able to settle and access the U.K. job market without restrictions, benefitting from EU mobility rights that remained in place until January 2020. Contrastingly, Albanians who moved directly from Albania faced a far more difficult, time-consuming, expensive and uncertain journey, navigating the U.K.’s strict and often hostile immigration policies. These disparities often generated feelings of frustration and inequality, which, according to our participants, occasionally materialized as verbal microaggressions directed at Albanians from Greece. 

Within this context and with the memories of racism and discrimination in Greece having left a lasting mark on their identities, many participants said it was not only easier, but also preferable to form meaningful social ties with other Albanian onward migrants from Greece. What brought them together were their shared life experiences, parallel migratory trajectories and the broader social conditions that shaped them.

“Even my friendships are neither Greeks nor Albanians anymore. I can’t, because I cannot share what I have been through with them. All my friends now, we are Greek-Albanians, as we call them, that is, we are Albanians who have been raised in Greece,” said Ermal. “We have more or less the same mentality, the same experiences.” 

Language, cultural references and shared origin are important markers of identity, but they are not sufficient to sustain meaningful social relationships on their own, especially when other elements that create a sense of familiarity are missing. It seems that similarities and differences in migratory experiences play a far more decisive role. This is reflected in the limited depth of relationships with members of other ethnic groups in Britain. 

Many we talked to see themselves as Albanian Greek or through the lens of dual identities, seeing them as best explaining the set of social forces that shaped them and their experiences. Such dual ethnic identities challenge monolithic conceptions of ethnicity as fixed, singular or as having biological substance. The existence of these individuals shows that ethnic identities are indeed malleable, multiple and an outcome of forces of social formation. 

However, by no means do we wish here to make the generalization that these dual identities apply or should apply to all those of Albanian origin raised in Greece. Such a claim would be at best simplistic and would ignore the sociohistorical and political context that brought these about. To ignore these contexts means that we would be romanticizing these identities and we would be brushing over the xenophobia and assimilatory processes that created them. 

The migrants we talked to show that xenophobia and racism are central to the migrant experience and can be powerful forces that put new migratory projects in motion. The stories threaded throughout this piece also reveal that people who have lived through migration are likely to remain mobile, pursuing what is best for themselves and their loved ones wherever opportunities arise. 

They challenge fixed notions of belonging, showing how borders, both physical and symbolic, are there to be crossed. “My life motto is ‘wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home,’” Olta told us. “Just because I’m here now doesn’t mean I’ll stay here forever. I’m not a tree to grow roots.”

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