Voices
By Stefanos Evangelidis*
It is not easy… to find words that can contain a person like Costas Gavrielides.
Today… we bid him farewell.
And as this moment approaches, I feel a weight on my chest… one that is hard to describe.
I am not simply saying goodbye to a public servant.
I am saying goodbye to a person who, without ever seeking it… left a mark within me.
A person who made me better.
A person who, in his own way, taught me what it means to serve, not to rule.
Costas had a rare ability:
to see you.
To see beyond words… beyond tension… beyond exhaustion.
To see the human being.
And I felt this… in moments I will never forget.
I remember when we finished Cyprus Pride.
I was exhausted, full of tension, my mind racing through everything that went well… and everything that could have gone better.
And then, in the midst of it all… Costas approached me.
He looked me in the eyes, with that calm, steady gaze of his,
and he simply said:
“Good job.”
Two words.
But spoken in such a way… that I felt all the pressure, all the fatigue, all the doubt melt inside me.
It was as if he were saying: “I see you. I value you. Keep going.”
It was not only in small moments that he showed who he was;
it was also in the battles, where values are tested.
The same happened when we prevented the amendment of the law on domestic violence.
It was a difficult, emotionally charged battle.
And when it ended… once again the same look.
Once again that familiar “Good job.”
And I knew he did not say it lightly.
He was not a man of grand words. He was a man of substance.
And when he gave you that recognition, you knew he meant it.
And there is one more moment, perhaps the most powerful of all.
When the criminalisation of conversion therapies was passed.
I was outside the chamber of the House… he was inside.
We were waiting for the results, holding our breath.
And when they came…
When we realised that Cyprus had done the right thing, that we had protected people who for years had remained invisible…
He came out. He saw me.
And… without saying a word, we embraced.
It was an embrace that was not just joy.
It was relief.
It was vindication.
It was the moment when two people, from different sides of the same struggle, felt that, for once, history had turned towards the light.
It was the moment we felt, deeply and truly, that we had won.
Not for ourselves.
But for all those who needed that victory… in order to breathe.
I remained silent for a while.
Because in that moment I realised something:
that what we had done… was not a victory of one group, but of humanity itself.
That was Costas.
A person who could disagree with you intensely,
put pressure on you,
challenge you to think more deeply…
and at the same time support you.
To remind you why you do what you do.
To show you that dignity is not theory, it is action.
Even in moments when tension rose…
I never felt that he was trying to impose himself.
He was trying to understand.
To find a solution that would protect people.
And then I understood:
for Costas, legislation was not a procedure.
It was responsibility.
It was care.
It was respect for human dignity.
Costas’s legacy, for me, is not simply a memory.
It is a compass.
A reminder that we can, and must, be better.
Not to accept silence.
Not to grow accustomed to opacity.
Not to allow public discourse to become a field of power, instead of a field of progress.
And now… the responsibility is ours.
If we truly wish to honour his memory…
his work, from today onwards…
passes into our own hands.
To continue demanding institutions that function.
Policies that protect.
A society that is not afraid to look its weaknesses straight in the eye.
A society that remembers that dignity is not a privilege, it is a right.
With everlasting respect and gratitude
May your memory be eternal, our Costas.
*General Secretary of Accept Cyprus