I want you to try it. Try and imagine what it is like to have an authority figure tell you to change your name just because he thinks it sounds offensive in English. Never mind that your name carries legacy or that it has shaped your identity since birth.
Would you do it?
This name-shaming game has been going on for a long time, and it recently reared its ugly head where I work — at Laney College.
Last week, a Vietnamese American student, Phuc Bui Diem Nguyen, was told by her white male instructor to “anglicize” her name because, to him, it sounded like an insult in English. (Apparently, he did not realize the name means “happiness blessing.”)
Rather than deny her identity to satisfy the instructor’s sensibilities, this 19-year-old student rejected his demand and bravely reported the incident to me and other administrators. Within hours, the instructor was placed on administrative leave pending an investigation.
Now, I already know his excuse. We all do. The name-shame game always plays out like this. The authority figure paternalistically declares that he is only making the suggestion to help the student fit in and make her life easier without the burden of a “funny” name.
I know this excuse, because I have lived through it myself.
Growing up in San Francisco’s Chinatown, I attended public schools where I was taught that China was impoverished and backward. I endured the insults about how Chinese Americans were exotic prostitutes, opium addicts, kung fu fighters or gang members. And, as an American-born boy attending Jean Parker Elementary School, I was pressured to abandon my Chinese name (Lei Ji Wei) in favor of “David” — all part of the price paid for assimilating into the dominant culture.
In San Francisco, our diversity is our strength. During these past few weeks, we have seen diverse peoples from all corners of the United States marching for social justice and equality. American society is engaged in a historic, transformative moment — looking in the mirror and asking difficult questions about white privilege and structural racism.
What does change actually look like?
Change first requires a willingness to understand the real pain that racism inflicts — because it affects us all differently. We need to understand what it truly means to walk in the shoes of people who have dissimilar backgrounds, different identities and disparate cultures.
Every small step taken to resist the racism and discrimination in our midst represents progress. Phuc Bui Diem Nguyen demonstrated true courage in standing up for herself and her community.
Her act of defiance inspires me to call out the name-shame game, and it calls upon all of us to work to bury it forever.
Campaign Nonviolence, a project of Pace e Bene Nonviolence Service, is working for a new culture of nonviolence by connecting the issues to end war, poverty, racism and environmental destruction. We organize The Nonviolent Cities Project and the annual Campaign Nonviolence Week of Actions.
Waging Nonviolence partners with other organizations and publishes their work.
Dear Lei Ji Wei (aka David): This is a very important post.
I studied some introductory Viet-namese language in a summer school at the ANU Australian National University. I think “Phuc” would be pronounced – according to my study (over 40 years ago) as in “foot” but closing the mouth on the t” – or in her name – the “c” part at the end. It is a mono-syllabic language. Each and every word has only one syllable sound. A single vowel or diphthong sound.
One of my ethnic Chinese students from Viet-nam (to Australia) – years ago – was Minh「明」Bright – (clothed in “light”/or “intelligence”) none of which I properly understood then – not till many years later when I was teaching in Japan and becoming familiar with Chinese characters (kanji) did that become clear – and then I discovered that Minh had become Steve. I think it may have been his own choice somewhere down the line – engagement for a time with a Christian religious organisation during his university years (Bike for Bibles) may have been the impetus – but his true name of Minh is always how I think of him. It has another resonance: my Scottish teacher grand-mother was Williamina – she was known as Minnie (or Min).
The short form of James (my given name) is Jim. In Japan at one stage teaching small children – they delighted in calling me Jin (or Gin!!) since “n” 「ん」is the only closing consonant sound in Japanese – all other consonants are followed by one of the five vowel sounds 「あ、い、う、え、お」. No matter how I demonstrated closing my lips to make the “m” sound – their happy faces told me that they were having too much fun and it always came out as Jinnnn – much stress on the “n”. Most of the time I was in Japan I was happy to get Ji-mu 「ジム」Later I gave myself a warrior-like name with special Chinese characters – to fit an educational movement I had started: Tokujirō 「徳治郎」
Names do define us, they shape us – we do not need immigration officials or College name gatekeepers to corral us into only one form or version of how our names might be. Early last year I uncovered some details of a Stolen Generations family connection. Arthur Hopkins became his name. Born of a Gurindji mother on infamous Wave Hill Station (Station in Australia – apart from railways – and social position -is another way of saying “ranch”) in Australia’s Northern Territory – in 1925. His name then was the beautiful Yeeuninjugurry. I get the sense of a small mountain stream and the water burbling over rocks in a downward tumble…
Another thought. My father (his mother my Scottish grand-mother) was killed as a passenger in a car accident – I was just two. Some years later my mother re-married – and through my primary school years (generally till age 12 here in Australia) I was known by my step-father’s surname. He was a WWII PTSD-affected alcoholic (not that we understood PTSD back then in the 1950s) – bearing his family name did not sit well – so as I (aged 11) moved into the secondary school system I was very happy to move on and with my own family name attached back into my identity.