It’s “racist” to get someone’s name wrong now? What will the grievance bullies think of next?
The latest irritating aspect of life that has been appropriated to serve as a “microaggression” and proof of the U.S.’s “systemic racism” is people mispronouncing names. The complaint has gotten a boost from mispronunciations of Kamala Harris’s name, although I’ve never heard one. (I just call her “that phony” or “the jerk” and largely avoid the problem.) This is a continuation of the current trick: if something bad happens to a “POC,” like, say, getting shot while resisting arrest, it’s racism; if the exact same thing happens to a white person, that’s just bad luck, or the dude deserved it, or “Who cares?”
Admittedly, I am especially unsympathetic to the name game. My parents both were terrible at pronouncing names; it was a running joke between my sister and me. It wasn’t just people’s names either. There was an ice cream store on Cape Cod called “Emack and Bolio,” and we used to ask Mom about it just to hear her say “E-MACK-a-Bowlee.” Because my mother was Greek, all ethnic names magically became Greek names to her. A Boston Red Sox infielder named Gutierrez became “Gouttarras.” My father mispronounced names like he mispronounced many words, and it didn’t matter how many times he was corrected. He thought, for example, that the words “fiasco” and “fiesta” were the same word, “fiesca.”
But in the New York Times weekly column “Work Friend,” this phenomenon was used for race-baiting, aided by the new narcicsism in which everyone’s name is some kind of badge of honor. “Call me what you want, just don’t call me late for dinner!” Dad would say when the misnaming issue came up. Of course, that Jack Marshall, like this one, went through life being called “John” and seeing his name spelled with only one “L.” He didn’t take it personally. He knew that what matters in life is what you do, not what you are called while doing it.
A woman (or man—I can’t tell, because I’m racist, or sexist, or something) named Elaheh Nozari does now agree, however, and wrote,
I find myself in more Zoom calls with senior colleagues I’ve never met. A lot of people find my name hard to pronounce, so I make a point to introduce myself clearly when I enter the Zoom room. More often than not, people don’t remember, and they botch my name…. It’s infuriating and brings back a lot of memories from school, when teachers could never pronounce my name. Should I interrupt these colleagues and tell them how to say it correctly?
The columnist begins her response,
In “Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia,” Aimee Nezhukumatathil, a professor, implores her new students not to be afraid of her brown skin or her long name. She writes, “I know the panic of too many consonants rubbed up against each other, no room for vowels to fan some air into the room of a box marked Instructor.” She expresses real empathy while making it clear they should not fear the ways in which she is different.
Oh, the reason people mispronounced Nezhukumatathil is because they feared “the ways she is different”? Straw man alert. The reason they mispronounced (and mispelled I’m sure) Nezhukumatathil is that Nezhukumatathil is a mouthful for anybody except in some exotic locale where it is the equivalent of “Smith.” Back when American immigrants focused on assimilating in their challenging new nation and maximizing their opportunities to succeed (rather than stubbornly holding on to a feature that was almost certainly going to be a handicap), the Nezhukumatathils would have changed their name to “Hills.” End of problem.
There was no shame in this pragmatic move then, and there shouldn’t be now. Would Issur Demsky have become a success in his chosen field had he stubbornly stuck with that name rather than adopting “Kirk Douglas”? I think not, but he did give up the joy of constantly bitching about people mispronouncing “Issur” and calling them bigots because they did.
The columnist continues, “People constantly add an extra n to my name and it irks me and I am not shy about making my irritation known.” Her name, for some unknown reason, perhaps because her parents couldn’t spell, is Roxane Gay. It “irks” her that people tend to spell her first name the way it is universally spelled? Her name is a nom de gotcha.
Roxane the ashole goes on,
Names are important. Your colleagues reveal themselves when they don’t extend you the courtesy of pronouncing your name properly, or asking for guidance. Yes, you can interrupt them. It’s frustrating that you are put in the uncomfortable position of having to do this, but they are the problem, not you.
She can bite me. I’m not playing that game.
Ethics Alarms 
My name is a short, simple English name. It has been mispronounced and misspelled my entire life. It is even misspelled in response to emails that have the correct spelling on them. I have relatives that misspell it in Facebook messages sent to me…with my correct name right there in front of them.
How did I spent the last few decades not knowing that I was being defamed?
My last name has 1 “b” in it, but people are constantly misspelling it by adding an extra “b.” I even went to high school with a guy who had the same first name and last name as did I, but his last name was spelled with two “b”‘s. The school office was constantly getting our records mixed up. I finally found that I could get people to get it right was to tell them that “It’s like Hamlet. ‘To be or not to be,’ and I am not two ‘b’.”
My last name is not complicated, but it lends itself to multiple spellings. So what? People who misspell my name because they have only heard it and never seen it written are not “the problem”, because there is no goddamn “problem” in the first place. Overlooking such incredibly minor slights and missteps is a critical lubrication for a functioning society. Take enough of these things away, never being willing to accept an honest mistake and let it go, and you increase the friction between people until eventually everything will grind to a halt.
Hey, everybody? You’re not that fucking special, and your weirdly spelled name doesn’t make you any more interesting than John Smith, who I also don’t care all that much about. Get over yourselves.
P.S. “Roxane the ashole” got a big chuckle out of this reader…
Nom de gotcha got my vote.
I had a teacher in the first week of fourth or fifth grade who insisted that the name I was given was a nickname and she would not tolerate nicknames in Her Classroom so she would call me by my “right” name and I would answer to it. I did not answer to it because it wasn’t my name – and, incidentally, of course, because we had already bumped heads about something else. The next day we went through the same routine. At the end of the second day’s class she announced that every day I did not answer to my “real” name, I would lose a grade. The following day my father came to school with me and we went to the principal’s office with birth certificate in hand and described what was going on. I sat in the school library until the bell and then went on to the next class. The fourth day I returned to Miss Something’s class and listened while the pupils were told that my parents had named me incorrectly and obviously did not understand how things were done in “our” country. (My grandparents were immigrants; not so, their children.) I had been taught not to be rude to my elders but I let my temper loose and was, of course, expelled. Rules, you know. By Friday I was enrolled in another school and forgot about the incident until I ran into a couple of friends down the block who had been in the same school, one from a first US generation Norwegian family, the other Polish. They had gone home and told their parents about their names being changed to suit this teacher’s idea of “real” American names and gotten together with their neighbors, almost all of whom had students at P.S. #25 and approached the principal en masse (the mothers anyway, the dad’s were at work). The principal capitulated, though the idea of apologizing was too foreign to him to be contemplated (this was ’47 or ’48) and it would have embarrassed them anyway. The boys said Miss S. still mispronounced their names whenever she could and practically spat them out, but they were their real “real” names so everything was A-okay. Years later, teaching in other countries myself, I remembered the lesson and was amazed what a difference it made when they realized I was making the effort – even when not completely succeeding – just to pronounce their names correctly. It was the only lesson I learned in Miss S’s class, but it was one of the best I ever had.
Great, great story, PA. Thank you. Anecdotal evidence is the best evidence. Stories are what connect us as human beings. Shared experiences. Delightful.
This comment established the columnist’s ignorance in the second paragraph:
“There is a peculiar American resistance to the unfamiliar. As you well know, people will mispronounce your name, shorten it, bestow an Americanized nickname upon you without your consent, and act aggrieved when you expect the dignity of being called by your proper name, with the proper pronunciation.”
While I was going to respond, comments are closed. However, it was good to see that another provided an appropriate response in a comment to the “advice”:
“Uniquely American? Have you lived abroad or worked with recent immigrants here in the U.S.? It’s amazing what people with advanced degrees will choose to be offended at. My teenaged son finds it funny when his grandparents misspell his name. But then again, he’s pretty mature for his age.”
Boom!
I would say that the concept of accusing people of microagression are practicing macroaggresive psychology to gain advantage and power over the accused.
Anyone accusing me of a microagression will get the above in response.
Bingo!
That was succinctly well thought out and said…may be doubling down here, but…. excellent!
https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=you+can+call+me+al&view=detail&mid=C87E7365A26CC4825500C87E7365A26CC4825500&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fq%3dyou%2bcan%2bcall%2bme%2bal%26cvid%3d354f6b3a0d884d97a5e1ad1139b206e4%26pglt%3d43%26FORM%3dANNTA1%26PC%3dU531
Paul Simon appropriating South African music. “You Can Call Me Al.”
I’ll often comment on an unusual name I see on a clerk or “waitperson’s” name tag. Asked the origin of an unusual name, more than one has replied “It was a typo” or “my parents couldn’t spell.”
That’s amazing.
My name is pretty simple too, three syllables, not too long, not too complicated. If someone gets it wrong I will usually say something along the lines of “it’s x not y, but close enough.” Usually people get apologetic and correct themselves, especially judges, since they insist the lawyers respect them and don’t want to be perceived as failing to respect the lawyers back (especially if you don’t know who’s married to who, or friends with who, or in a relationship with who, or whatever). If you see me only once, and mispronounce my name, I’m unlikely to care. If you see me regularly and can’t be bothered to learn it or remember it, though, I’m going to be annoyed. If you deliberately mispronounce it or mock it I’m going to be angry, and I may well ask if that’s all you’ve got.
A first year law professor, later an esteemed judge, kept calling a student in my Section “Mr. Padilla,” rhyming with “vanilla.” The student corrected him the first time, but the Professor never processed it, and pronounced the silent “ls’ all year. This is a very nice, very liberal, very smart man. Should the student have taken offense? He didn’t. I asked him about it, and he said, “Oh, I don’t care. Better to put up with a mispronunciation than have a professor remember you as “the student who kept complaining about how his name was said.”
I admit to once making a stink about my name. (I think I’ve mentioned this before.) In my first extacurricular theatrical experience as a college freshman, we were early in tech week and performing a dress rehearsal without make-up. The intimidating and autocratic musical director, whom I admired greatly (still do), stopped a number and said, “Nobody was watching me except that chorus member there” and pointed at me. I stepped out and said, “Jim, I’ve been rehearsing this show with you for two months. I know your name, you should know mine by now. It’s “Jack Marshall,” not “That chorus member.”
Boy, was he pissed. But he called me by name after that.
It doesn’t help that there are folks with that name who pronounce it both ways. And yes, if someone holds the gradebook and possibly your future you bite your tongue.
Since you are a fan of the Duke, I thought you might find this funny.
Oh, and this classic scene.
Holy Eduard Ambrosiyevich Shevardnadze! How righteously assertive and unaggressive these poor, aggressed-upon people-with-long-names are! I’ll just keep praying that those Russian consonants make it to the moon safely…Emily? Emily Litella, anyone?
Never mind.
PS “Roxane the ashole” tickled me, too.
It’s nice to be appreciated in one’s own time…
Apart from this preface, I am going to abstain from referring to Monty Python’s Luxury Yacht skit.
I have a relatively simple Anglicized version of an Irish name. As Anglicized, it is routinely mistaken for Jewish, German, or Middle-Eastern.
Also, though only 2 syllables, it is routinely mispronounced. I have heard at least 6 different pronunciations of my name. There are public figures with the same name and it get pronounced differently by them. So, I understand that people have difficulty with my name. I correct people who mispronounce my name and move on because it is no big deal to me; I correct them primarily for their benefit because some people (like Judges) want to pronounce names correctly. They will either get it or they won’t.
Also, as I myself deal with LOTS of people with strange names, or with strange pronunciations of simple names, or simple pronunciations of names with strange spellings, or strange sounding names with strange spellings, I am not going to throw that stone.
Having said all that, pronouncing a name properly is important because it shows respect. However, being gracious in the face of another person’s mistake is equally important. Kind of a Golden Rule sort of thing.
-Jut
My last name is native American with a Frenched up spelling. It had been Kwimpas but is now a Q followed by three vowels and four consonants. No one knows how pronounce it except for those in the area where the name is fairly prolific, and only then about half can spell it. When my wife and I got together I told her I wouldn’t take her name because I couldn’t even pronounce it. Now I love it but would never expect anyone to say it say/spell it right.
I could really pull out the guilt game because it’s native in origin but what’s the point? And how does the guilt work if regardless of race or country origin a person has a problem saying it? Do I tell an immigrant from Asia or Central America they’re racist for not knowing native names?
Now my first name is often spelled the wrong way with an I where an E should go. There is a male and female version of the name. Should I assume “The Patriarchy” is at fault for people spelling the male version? Or should I assume they’re being gender inclusive? Or should I get mad for being “misgendered.” Maybe I should change it to something really woke/progressive and replace the vowel with an X and spell it Francxs. I do tend to correct the spelling but don’t get mad if people forget.
In Jr. high I had a friend whose parents immigrated from Africa. Her name was Eritrea, named after the country she was from. Our gym teacher called her “Urethra” every day. All us kids would correct him on her behalf, embarrassed for them both. She always took it in stride and always treated the teacher with respect and wasn’t annoyed. She was an example of grace and being content with herself. I wish today’s perpetually offended could meet more people like her.
I absolutely love nom de gotcha, but I have to ask: Did you intentionally misspell “nomme”?
My first name is a not uncommon one-syllable, four-letter name derived from a Scottish surname. It has been misspelled (some people, including an aunt, think the “y” should be “i”) and mispronounced (the silent “e” is frequently given a “long e” sound) all my life. Native speakers of languages without a “dark L” sound really struggle with it.
My last name is a rare, two-syllable, five-letter Italian surname. It has been misspelled (most people think the “i” should be a “y”) and mispronounced (ever heard an Italian name pronounced as though it were Chinese?) my entire life. Native speakers of languages in which “L” and “r” are allophones really struggle with it. Moreover, it looks like a common nickname for a common Irish surname, which has caused identity mixups for some of my family members.
Thankfully, my middle name is John.
Never mind! I thought it was “nomme,” but I was wrong. Mea culpa.
I would have believed you either way. If you think my English spelling is bad, you should see my French.
(I’ll never tell.)
I would pronounce Roxane Gay’s name as it is spelled Rocks – ain and not Rocks – ann. If she has difficulty with that I will simply point her to any English textbook or dictionary that explains pronuciation of various alphabetic combinations
Yes, Eritrea showed real grace. The gym teacher had to know better than to pronounce it urethra. Obviously bigotry is not solely the dominion of men.
I am upset because nobody misspells my name. Sure, there’s the occasional “Berger” and the “Buerger” and the odd “hey, you!” And, once somebody spelled my first name without “h”. I feel cheated!
My wife’s last names are Lammoglia Missefferi Villagomez Juaregui. She suffered all sorts of spellings and pronunciations.
jvb
Sounds like your wife has a nice Irish name.
Yep. She is from Canada.
jvb
A related comedy bit:
I wonder how much that teacher would freak out by calling the name of one of his own from the inner city: La-a. That’s “lahDASHah.” It’s come to where I am so tired of hearing my name mispronounced, I am thinking of legally changing it to “Komma,,,,kaMEEleon.”
I have a common last name it even has a president with it. I also live in a county where the primary hospital shares my last name. I still have many folks that drop the last syllable since that is also a common name. I sometimes correct folks, but generally just let it lie. Names are important, but not for the reasons the asshole lists.
Now, that sets up an interesting puzzle.
Last name of a president.
45 presidents.
2 Adams
2 Harrisons
2 Johnsons
2 Roosevelts
2 Bushes
1Cleveland
That leaves 39 options.
At least 2 syllables.
That eliminates Bush, Polk, Pierce, Trump, and Grant (probably missed some).
That leaves 34.
Eliminate last syllable and it is still a common name.
I am going with Harrison.
Washing?
Ad?
Jeffers?
Mon?
Jacks?
Ty?
Buchan?
Johns? (Maybe)
Arth?
McKin?
Wils?
Hard?
Cool?
Hoov?
Roosev?
Tru?
Eisenhow?????????
Nix? (As in Stevie Nicks?)
Clint? (Maybe)
I am going with Harrison. (Yeah, after Eisenhower, Kennedy, Reagan and Obama can probably be ignored.)
-Jut
Cleveland ?
I was a bit fast and loose with hitting the submit button.
I had a look at all the presidents names and the Buchanan / Buchan combi seems most plausable to me.
Wow – Superanalyst! You’re hired.
I would have been reduced to a catatonic state long ago had I become butt-hurt every time my last name was misspelled or mispronounced. It is a fairly uncommon name here in the U.S., but much more common in the UK, Canada and Australia. People I have met with the same name pronounce it as my family does, with the “g” being silent, as in “neighbor” or “sign.” (Some branches of the family have dropped the “g” over the years.) I am more surprised when someone initially pronounces it correctly than when they don’t. People sometimes resort to all kinds of vocal contortions to try and combine the d and the g sounds something like the name ‘Hodge”.with the “son” tacked on the end. Some turn it into a three-syllable word “Hod-ge-son.” Most people make an effort to get it right, and the majority of them eventually succeed. Many people who mispronounce it while making a valiant attempt are astute enough to ask how it is pronounced, and, after hearing me say it, react like a great mystery has been solved. If I had a dollar for every time I have patiently spelled or pronounced my last name, I could have retired at 50. I had to spell it three times and pronounce it twice during a recent doctor visit. No big deal.