The Democratic Party organized one of the most effective conventions in recent memory. Thousands of its representatives from across the country gathered in Chicago, celebrating the renewal of their party in an atmosphere of enthusiasm, hope, and optimism for the November 5th elections.

For me, and I hope for you too, it was a convention that moved me deeply. It wasn’t just a triumphant convention for the Democratic Party. It was also a victory for the great party of immigrants. It was a historic vindication for people like you, me, and so many others who came to this blessed land from every corner of the planet in search of a better life for ourselves and our children. In a place where they have the opportunity to become whatever they want, to reach as high as they desire, if they follow the right path: if they have integrity, work hard, and find greater meaning and purpose in life beyond just money. Men and women. Black and white. Whether their ancestors came with the Mayflower (in 1620) or a few years or decades ago.

The references by speakers to immigrant grandparents and parents filled the convention hall with pride, nostalgia, and tears. “It’s a shame,” they said, “that our immigrant ancestors are not alive to witness this moment.” It reminded us of our own Greek-American experience, of Michael Dukakis’s candidacy.

But above all, what moved us most deeply was the following remark by Harris at the most critical moment of her speech:

“And, so, on behalf of the people,” she said, “on behalf of every American, regardless of party, race, gender or the language your grandmother speaks. On behalf of my mother, and everyone who has ever set out on their own unlikely journey. On behalf of Americans like the people I grew up with — people who work hard, chase their dreams and look out for one another. On behalf of everyone whose story could only be written in the greatest nation on Earth, I accept your nomination to be president of the United States of America.”

Although it didn’t need to be said, this was undoubtedly a moment of profound vindication for all immigrants, for the very country that was built and thrived thanks to immigrants.

What Harris sought to make clear in her speech was that her personal story is the American story. That her life is not different from ours.

She is the daughter of a student from India who came to study, met, fell in love with, and married a student from Jamaica, and stayed. Later, her parents divorced. She and her younger sister lived with their mother in a humble neighborhood in Los Angeles, alongside other humble people who embraced her and her sister. People who loved her and whom she loved in return, calling them “uncles” – they way we Greeks do.

Is our own story very different? The story of the Greek-American community, which may have started from humble beginnings in places like Astoria and various “Greek towns” across the country?

Harris didn’t just honor her parents—her mother especially—but every immigrant. She made the language of the “Yiayia – grandmother” even more fashionable. She paved the way for us even further, encouraged us, and burdened us with the responsibility to never forget our pioneers. But to honor them as long as we live, by preserving the memories, traditions, and heritage they left behind. Their language.

She reminded us of a great truth: that it is upon the shoulders of these humble yet great people that we stand today, and upon which the future generations of immigrant descendants will stand.

Not for the sake of the immigrants themselves. But for their own sake.