ΕΑΝ ΠΡΟΤΙΜΑΤΕ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΑ ΠΑΤΗΣΤΕ ΤΗ ΣΗΜΑΙΑ ΣΤΟ ΚΑΤΩ ΜΕΡΟΣ ΤΗΣ ΟΘΟΝΗΣ
The case of Pontian Greek asylum seeker Yiannis Vasilis Yaylalı asks whether Greece’s commitment to its historical memory extends to protecting the living descendants of that history
By Eleni Phufas-Jousma
He carried a Turkish rifle into battle without knowing that his own ancestors had been among the victims of the state he served. Today, the man who risked everything to reclaim his Greek identity has spent years waiting for Greece to offer him the protection he sought in the homeland of his ancestors.
Yiannis Vasilis Yaylalı (born İbrahim Yaylalı), a Pontian Greek from the now-Turkish Bafra region of historic Pontus, sought political asylum in Greece in 2019. His extraordinary journey began decades earlier. Wounded and captured during the conflict with the PKK in 1994, he has said that it was during his captivity that he first learned of his family’s Pontian Greek origins. After his release, he traced his genealogy, discovering that his grandfather was Konstantinos and his grandmother Paraskevi—descendants of Pontian Greeks whose family had been forcibly Islamized and gradually stripped of their Hellenic identity. That revelation changed the course of his life.
After publicly reclaiming his Greek identity, speaking openly about the Pontian Genocide, and criticizing the Turkish state’s treatment of minorities, Yaylalı says he became the target of repeated persecution, imprisonment, and criminal prosecutions in Turkey. Believing that the homeland of his ancestors would offer him refuge, he fled to Greece and applied for political asylum.
The “Hidden Greeks”
According to journalist Alex Aliferis, Yaylalı’s story became something far greater than the story of one asylum seeker. It became the story of a people who had whispered their identity behind closed doors for generations. Descendants of the so-called “Hidden Greeks”—families who survived by concealing their language, faith, and ancestry—saw in Yaylalı the courage to do what many had never dared: to say openly, “I am Greek.”
Aliferis believes that this quiet awakening spread well beyond one man. Yet, as Yaylalı himself has observed, countless others remain prisoners of fear. Their Greek identity still survives in family memories, hidden names, whispered stories, and private prayers, waiting for the day when it can be spoken aloud without fear.
That is what makes Greece’s response so painful, and many would say outrageous. This is not merely the case of one asylum applicant. It is the story of a man who risked everything to reclaim his Hellenic identity and, in doing so, gave hope to others still living in silence. If the homeland of Hellenism cannot offer protection to such a person, what message does that send to the countless hidden Greeks who still fear revealing who they are?
Instead, Greece rejected his initial asylum application. The decision reportedly relied on allegations arising from his past military service, including possible war-crimes concerns, while Yaylalı and his lawyer argue that he has been unable to challenge those allegations because they are contained in a classified case file. His appeal is scheduled to be heard on August 3, 2026.
Every year Greece lights candles, lays wreaths, and vows, “Never Again.” But “Never Again” means little if it is spoken only over graves. Its true test comes when a living Pontian Greek—persecuted, displaced, and seeking refuge—stands at Greece’s door. A nation’s soul is revealed not by adherence to bureaucratic procedures and suspicions and how it mourns its dead, but by whether it has the courage to embrace its living.
BELOW, Savvas Kalenteridis explains the situation
