Words by Freya Bennett // photograph by Bruno Nascimento
I was fortunate enough to carry both my parents’ last names growing up, though my mother’s was relegated to the middle—a token gesture in progressive circles, yet one that often fades into legal obscurity. As an adult, I reclaimed my matriarchal lineage by adopting my mother’s name as my official last name, a deliberate choice echoed in the double-barreled surname my partner and I bestowed upon our daughters. This decision was not just about passing on a name I felt tied to but also about challenging the default narrative of paternal dominance in family identity.
In their insightful study “Fathers, Childcare, and Work: Using New Data to Understand Gendered Sharing of Parental Leave,” Dr. Deborah Dempsey and Professor Jo Lindsay explore naming practices in Victoria, Australia. Their research reveals that fewer than five percent of children born in Victoria receive their mother’s surname. This eye-opening statistic, based on data from the Victorian Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages, highlights the persistent gender norms in family naming conventions.
At its core, the issue of last names reflects a fundamental lack of respect for women’s identities within our society. By defaulting to paternal surnames for children, we perpetuate a hierarchy that diminishes the visibility of women. It begs the question: if we don’t prioritise honouring women in something as basic as naming children, what does that say about our commitment to true gender equality? This isn’t just a matter of semantics; it’s a powerful statement about whose stories and legacies we value most.
While there are various approaches to including women’s names in children’s surnames, the double-barrelled surname presents a straightforward solution that signifies equality between parents. Nevertheless, a frequent argument against this practice is the concern that double-barrelling may lead to an excessive proliferation of names. Latin countries have long employed a dual-surname system, with children traditionally receiving both paternal and maternal surnames (though the maternal surname disappears in subsequent generations). Whenever the concept of double-barrelled surnames is poo-pooed, I propose we meet this skepticism with a cheerful alternative: the child can bear solely the mother’s last name.
Historically, the practice of children taking their father’s last name stems from patriarchal traditions that emphasise paternal lineage and male dominance in family hierarchies. This custom originated in Western societies where women and children were often considered the property of the male head of household. If that wasn’t dark enough, this practice is rooted in the legal and social systems that limited women’s rights and autonomy, reinforcing gender inequality and diminishing the maternal identity within the family unit.
Although rare, some cultures around the world follow matrilineal naming traditions. For instance, the Nair community in Kerala, a state in southern India, historically practiced marumakkathayam, a system where family lineage, property, and titles were passed down through the mother’s line. Children were traditionally identified by their maternal family or ancestral house (tharavadu). Similarly, the Minangkabau people of Sumatra, Indonesia, who form the world’s largest matrilineal society, pass down family names and inheritance through the maternal line, with children carrying their mother’s clan name. While modern influences have brought more paternal naming practices to both cultures, their roots in matrilineal traditions remain deeply ingrained.
Vanessa Thorpe’s 2021 article ‘What’s in a surname? The female artists lost to history because they got married’ highlights a critical issue: the erasure of women’s accomplishments due to surname changes after marriage. This historical context underscores why the practice of assigning children only their father’s surname can perpetuate the erasure of women’s identities and contributions. It’s a powerful reminder of the impact that traditional naming customs can have on historical and cultural recognition.
Queer families are leading the charge in redefining these norms, showcasing a myriad of alternatives that challenge the traditional, patriarchal model of name inheritance. Their examples highlight the rich diversity of possibilities available when we liberate ourselves from outdated conventions rooted in ownership and erasure. In embracing these alternatives, we not only celebrate inclusivity but also pave the way for a future where every family’s story can be told authentically and respectfully.
Despite progress, Australia has only had one female prime minister and we have yet to see a female president of the United States of America. I’m not claiming that by changing last name traditions we fix all the inequality among the sexes but it’s a good place to start. By beginning with a fundamental respect for women’s names, we can lay the groundwork for broader societal change in the future.
Children in heterosexual families deserve to carry both parents’ surnames because it fosters a sense of respect and equality from the very start of their lives. For girls, it affirms their worth and recognition within the family unit, while for boys, it sets a precedent for viewing women as equals. By incorporating both names, we not only honour the contributions of both parents but also cultivate a more equitable worldview for the next generation.
