The Power of a Name
As a baby, you don’t choose your name, how it’s spelled, or how it’s pronounced. Yet this little word that we had no choice over is an integral part of our lives. Your name is your identity. It’s one of the first things you share when you meet someone. This word carries the weight of your world. Your name may carry your culture, family, or heritage. It could hold a story, open up opportunities, or, on the contrary, hinder them. Your name is not just a label; it’s how you’re remembered, recognized, and identified throughout your life– from your first breath to your last. While some names may differ in spelling or pronunciation, each name holds its own backstory that contributes to who you are.
People with a unique name may face a plethora of issues in their life: constantly having their name mispronounced, always having it spelled wrong, some may flat out refuse to learn it, or they’ll be given a “nickname” so that people don't have to learn how to say their name. This shared experience amongst people with a unique name is actually a microaggression. Let me explain, someone mispronouncing your name the first time they meet you is not a microaggression. But someone who hears you introduce yourself and gives you a “nickname” to make it easier for them to say, is a microaggression. Someone misspelling your name accidentally isn't a microaggression, but someone criticizing the spelling of your name and how it may not be conventional is one. The examples go on, but you get the gist. Monica T. Williams, a board-certified clinical psychologist and associate professor at the University of Ottawa in the School of Psychology, states, “because of complex social racialization processes, dominant-group members are typically unaware of the presence of microaggressions occurring all around them or that they may even commit themselves” (Williams). As someone with a unique name, you may unknowingly face these microaggressions every day; on the contrary, as someone who doesn’t face unique names often, you might perform these microaggressions without knowing it.
Andrew Limbong from NPR says, “Microaggressions are defined as the everyday, subtle, intentional — and oftentimes unintentional — interactions or behaviors that communicate some sort of bias toward historically marginalized groups” (Limbon). The keyword in this is every day. Everyone uses their names every day, unique or not; it is a key part of our lives. This means that people with unique names– especially if it is an ethnic name– often face microaggressions every day just because of their name. I interviewed two students, Kyrie Castro and Nehilah Grand-Pierre, who have unique names, to speak about how navigating life with a unique name has been. As students, I believe they could provide a unique perspective as their names are used significantly more in a classroom environment. I will also be chiming in with my perspective since I also have a unique name, Ngina, and I am also a student.
As I mentioned earlier, your name can have several meanings. It can have a story behind it, it could represent your culture, it could mean a lot of things; so I started my interview by asking my interviewees what their name is and what the story behind it.
“My name is Nehilah (nay-luh, like Kayla with an N). My dad had a twin sister who sadly passed in his childhood and her name was Nelly. To honor her, they wanted to name me with something that sounded like her name but was still unique and came up with Nehilah.”
“My name is Kyrie [pronounced key-ree-aye], it’s K-Y-R-I-E. I think my dad heard it in a song once and he thought it was really nice the way it sounded when it was sung, so that was the name that I ended up with.”
I think the fact that a name can carry such a strong meaning, like honoring a loved one who has passed or representing a song you once liked, is beautiful. My name is Ngina, pronounced en-jee-nah, and my father also gave me my name. He told me that a couple of years before I was born, he had a friend named Ngina. She told my dad that her name came from an Egyptian princess. Ngina was an Egyptian princess who freed the slaves centuries ago. My dad loved the story so much that he said that when he had his first daughter, he would name her that. Two years later, I popped out, and he did just that. I’m sure Nehilah’s father thinks of his twin sister every time he talks to her, and Kyrie’s dad is reminded of that song he heard and enjoyed. Our names may just be a word to the rest of the world, but to us, they’re a story that's waiting to be told.
Did you like your name growing up? If not, do you like your name now?
“I grew up in an immigrant town where other people also had unique names. For example, in my elementary school, there were literally no white people, so many of us didn't have traditional American names.” Nehilah told me.
I had a similar experience to Nehilah. I’m from New York City, and in my neighborhood, a lot of people have unique names just like me. While my name did get mispronounced on the first day, so did a lot of other people’s, so I wasn’t alone in my experience.
“However, when I got to middle school/high school, it wasn’t as diverse, so I was surrounded by a lot more “Ally’s” and “Emma’s” and I remember in 7th grade introducing myself as “Nina” instead. I quickly let go of that and started embracing my name more once I got over the fear of standing out in middle school.“
This experience is not unique to Nehilah; many people with unique names often go through phases of “Americanizing” their names to make it easier for other people to pronounce and remember. The term is called "name anglicization". Ranjana Srinivasan, a Clinical Assistant Professor in the Department of Psychiatry at NYU Grossman School of Medicine, researched how name-based microaggressions impact individuals. Srinivasan found that “the participants of this study noted that racial and cultural representation within their educational environments was influential in feeling a sense of belongingness within their cultural identity” (Srinivasan). Nehilah recognized this behavior when reflecting on her younger self, when she tried going by “Nina” to fit in more with her environment.
Kyrie, on the other hand, said, “I had like a love-hate relationship with it because it's a really cool name but it’s spelled like the basketball player so I would get “Kyrie Irving” all the time. That or people would just mispronounce it.” When asked if she likes her name now, Kyrie said, “I love my name, I think my name is cool as hell.” Which I wholeheartedly agree with.
Has anyone ever tried shortening your name so they don’t have to say your name? How does it feel when people do that?
“People don't try to shorten it, but they will say “Nyla” a lot, which is a pet peeve of mine. If you forgot my name, just tell me instead of saying the wrong one!! That lowkey hurts.” said Nehilah.
Kyrie told me, “Yeah, people at work call me Ky. It was fine, I mean like I've gotten mad at it enough where at this point I'm just desensitized to it.”
In my experience, a lot of people try shortening my name to “Gina” so they don’t have to say Ngina. I share the frustration Nehilah feels. I wish people would just ask me to say my name again instead of assigning me an “easier” name. “Participants in my study reported feeling validated when others asked for the correct pronunciation of their names” (Srinivasan). Everyone is owed the simple respect of having their name said correctly. It’s understandable how Kyrie can become desensitized; having to constantly correct people on how to pronounce your name is exhausting, but it makes it even worse when people don’t even try to pronounce it correctly, that’s when it becomes a microaggression.
Has anyone ever flat-out refused to say your name before? If so, how did that feel?
“Yes they have, they’ll hear it, see it spelled out, and be like “Nah I’m not even gonna try”. It sucks because like at that point just don't acknowledge me period if you can't even bother to learn my name,” Kyrie told me.
This is a common occurrence for people with unique names, especially during the first day of school; this is unfortunate, as it is extremely disrespectful. Refusing to learn someone's name is refusing to acknowledge them, refusing to include them, and not giving them a safe space, which should always be a priority for educators.
“I can definitely notice when people avoid saying my name instead of admitting they forgot how to say it. A lot of the time, I’ll use my name in a sentence so I can remind them without calling them out. For example, I said “Whenever I'm running late for work, I say ‘Nehilah you gotta be more responsible’ ” when I noticed my boss wasn’t saying my name and just pointing at me, and saying “she,” said Nehilah.
A lot of people with unique names can relate to what Nehilah and Kyrie experienced. In my personal experience, people avoid saying my name if they’re unsure of how to pronounce it. That usually doesn’t last too long because eventually, they’ll ask me how to say my name. I’ve never had to deal with flat-out refusal, that was until this semester. I have a professor who has never said my name in class; when it comes to reading people’s names aloud, mine is always skipped, and I’m referred to as “the others” or something along those lines. It isn’t a good feeling. My name isn’t difficult to pronounce, and it feels dehumanizing to never be acknowledged by my name. It’s funny how in the classroom, respect is emphasized and disrespect is allegedly not tolerated, yet I can’t even get the respect of being acknowledged by my name.
Srinivasan wrote, “It is therefore recommended that clinicians and educators ask individuals how their name is pronounced and put their best effort into repeating it back to them as it was said.” As a student, it is fair to expect that your educators will treat you with respect, thus acknowledging you and giving you the decency to learn your name.
Having a unique name will eventually present one with the obstacle of dealing with microaggressions. Sometimes they are subtle, and sometimes they’re blatant, but microaggressions will always be impactful. Having your name dismissed simply because it’s “too difficult to pronounce” or spelled non-traditionally not only diminishes its importance, but it also diminishes your identity. Hopefully, hearing Kyrie, Nehilah, and my stories helps put into perspective how important learning someone’s unique name is. Purposely mispronouncing, anglicizing, or refusing to learn someone’s name is a microaggression and disregards the respect every individual deserves. It’s important to recognize how much weight everyone’s name carries, and it’s equally important to put forth the effort to learn and use someone’s name. With that, spaces become more inclusive, and everyone feels heard, valued, and validated. Learning someone’s unique name is not only common decency– it affirms their identity and their place in the world we share.
