Omitting the surname

2026-04-21

I will stop using my legal name online. Henceforth I am identifying as “Protesilaos”. The legal name—Protesilaos Stavrou—will remain in place for practical purposes.

My surname is “Stavrou” (Stávrou, Σταύρου). It is the genitive case of the given name “Stavros” (Stávros, Σταύρος), which is related to the Greek word for “cross” (σταυρός). As is the norm among Greeks, this is the family name on my father’s side.

Stavros (or variants) is a common name mostly among males but also for females (Stavri, Stavriani, Stavroula). By contrast, Protesilaos is an extremely rare name of ancient origin. I do not know anyone who has it.

Because of the rarity or maybe uniqueness of my name, I never needed any qualifiers to specify who I am. People call me “Protesilaos” or one of its shortened variants (Protos, Proto, Prote, Prot). This also happens in places where others would normally be addressed by their surname. For example, public servants or bank clerks will spontaneously default to “Mr. Protesilaos” (κύριε Πρωτεσίλαε).

“Protos” means “first” while “laos” or “las” means “the people”. Several Greek names have laos/las as a constituent: Agisilaos, Charilaos, Menelaos, Nikolaos. “Protesilaos” is a posthumous title bestowed upon the legendary hero of the Trojan War Iolaos (again, “laos”), perhaps (i) to immortalise his initiative as the first among his people to proceed through self-sacrifice and also (ii) to exalt the belief in the primacy of the common good over personal gain.

I am no hero of legend. Mine is but an uneventful mountain life. I do nonetheless have a strong sense of contributing to the commons however I can. Everything I have published, for instance, is available for free and in freedom. These are my deeds, not my claims.

I am on good terms with everyone in my family. Though I do not feel any sense of belonging to them. We talk from time to time, have fun, and that is all. I otherwise know very little about their everyday affairs. Their actions do not define me.

I have been away from my homeland for two decades and do not show any particular interest in my Greek nationality. Even my accent in English does not sound like that of the average person from Greece. In Cyprus, where I have been living for many years already, I am not truly a local but not a real foreigner either. I have friendly relationships with everyone around me though, again, I am not connected to them in any special way.

I am not religious, meaning that I do not partake in the single most important expression of religiosity: communal events. This will not change, as I feel no attraction to religion. Not even towards the ethnic Greek religion which I like aesthetically and which I recognise as the closest to my way of living.

I do not participate in the commons in some other capacity, such as through politics. I am an outsider and do not have the enthusiasm to get involved. Sport would have been the exception, as I remain at the peak of my fitness, but there are no sporting events in my region: it is a sparsely populated area.

Omitting the surname is a recognition of my lived experience. There is no “my people” and no legacy to pass on. I just mind my business in this patch of earth. The rarity of my name turns out to be the rarity of my person or, perhaps, the rarity of my situation.