Michigan 2025 Fieldwork

On the first day of research in Michigan, we learned about the complexities of national allegiance and racial identity from descendants of Ottoman Greek immigrants. One respondent, “Maria,” recalled her grandfather’s enlistment and service in the Ottoman Army from 1917 to 1919. 

He was discharged and then proceeded to enlist and serve in the Greek Army from 1920 until the final retreat in 1922. He purchased this wallet in Bursa while he was enlisted in the Greek Army and kept a prayer pamphlet in it titled, "The Apocalypse of the Virgin Mary," which “kept him safe from everything” during his time on the front line. A second respondent, “Georgia,” lived through the Detroit race riots or the Detroit uprising and experienced physical violence in school. 

On the third day of our research trip in Michigan, we learned about a family’s connection to the massacre of Aydın, one of many massacres against Ottoman Greeks that collectively indicate an organized effort by the Ottoman government to commit ethnic cleansing and genocide.

 Ms. Becky Patouhas contributed the map shown at left, on which her grandfather marked the locations that he, her great-grandmother, and her grand aunt were marched from Koçarir (Aydın) to Adana, both located in the Anatolian region of the Ottoman Empire.

Only her grandfather survived the journey. 

This image depicts a “Choha.” According to Ms. Elizabeth Bizbikis, this was the wedding dress worn by her grandmother in Semendire, Turkey (ca. 1905). According to Ms. Bizbikis, the striped dress is called the “Enteri” and was worn beneath the choha. Both were covered by the silver embroidered apron which was one of two in existence in Semendire, while a shawl covered the bride’s head. 

The family and the choha moved to Istanbul prior to the exchange of populations and established themselves there. In a subsequent trip, a family friend transferred the choha to Elizabeth’s mother in Pontiac, Mich. This photo depicts Ms. Bizbikis’s mother wearing the choha. 

On the seventh day of our research trip to Michigan, we interviewed Mr. John Iakovides. Mr. Iakovides is a second-generation descendant of immigrants from Fertek and Delmos. He enlisted in the US Army and served in Korea. Both of his parents spoke Turkish at home, which he learned in conversation from them. 

While in Korea in 1952, his multilingualism proved to be a valuable asset. He gravitated towards a Greek regiment, which employed him to mediate the transfer of materials from a Turkish regiment in order for the former to prepare a collection of lambs for Greek Orthodox Easter. This photo is of the Greek regiment roasting the lambs with Mr. Iakovides in the foreground. 

On the eve of the commemoration of the Pontic Greek genocide (annually on May 19), and our ninth day of research in Michigan, we interviewed Mr. Michael and Vasiliki Kosmides.

This photograph is of Michael’s parents, both born near Trapezounta (Trk. Trabzon). Mr. Kosmides never met either of his maternal or paternal grandparents. His parents never discussed his grandparents’ lives in the Ottoman Empire, save for some small bits and pieces of information. He does not know how his parents arrived in Greece, nor how they settled in Polyplatanos, Florina. “They never talked about it,” he said. 

This silence is a recurring theme in our interviews and is well-documented and interpreted by migration scholarship. Migrants and in particular, displaced persons, asylum seekers, and refugees typically do not share their traumatic experiences with the second generation (ie, their children). More frequently, this information is passed on to the third generation

Day eleven of our research trip in Michigan provided us with another candid view of the  Semendrian community’s migration to Pontiac. Sofia Papatheodore and Moshoula Yaksich, sisters, discussed their father’s migration. 

He was a musician and was drafted into the Ottoman Army, where he served as an entertainer for a short period before being reassigned to the front during World War I. He refused, and the Ottoman officers informed him that he would be punished if he did not go. 

Sofia said: “He went AWOL. He said, ‘I won’t fight against my brothers.'” Traveling by night, he walked back to Semendire. With the end of the war, he and some of his friends left Semendire. He traveled first to Constantinople (Trk. Istanbul) and then landed at Ellis Island. He worked as a dishwasher in New York, and at his uncle's request, who was in Pontiac, he moved there and became the owner of Star Grocery. 

On the final day of our research trip in Michigan, we were reminded about the fragile position of Ottoman Greek migrant identity within the boundary of American White supremacist Whiteness. In our last interview, the respondents shared the following recollection regarding their maternal grandfather’s tenure as a restaurateur in Depression-era Kentucky.  

Respondent A: “The Ku Klux Klan ran him out of town.” 

Respondent B: “He had a restaurant, and he was serving Black people, and (the KKK) were very upset with him. And he said, ‘(The Black people) weren't being served by the other people!’ What do they care who I served?’ Is how he had put it. ‘Aren't they human beings?’”

Respondent A: “They burned it down, and ran him out, and he left and came [to Detroit] scared.”

As indicated by his grandchildren, his unwillingness to conform to the dehumanization of Blacks placed him outside the boundary of White supremacist Whiteness and made him the target of racial violence. In response, he spent the rest of his life teaching his children and grandchildren the virtues of empathy, equality, and justice.