Playing the name game

As America has grown more diverse, immigrants are both proud and practical about their given names

There was a time in America's immigrant history when newcomers shed their given names and opted for more "American" monikers. The O'Rourkes dropped the O, Jews trimmed the itz. Vice president Spiro T. Agnew's original family name, for example, was Anagnostopoulos, surely a mouthful on any campaign poster. Muscleman Charles Atlas was originally Angelo Siciloano; Fred Astaire was Frederick Austerlitz; Martin Sheen was Ramon Estevez.

Today, as the U.S. becomes a much more diverse society, many young people are taking back the names with which they were born. Hence, one-time Harvard law student Barry Obama has evolved into Barack Obama, candidate for president. Others, whose original names may present a pronunciation challenge, are delighted to embrace their new life with a name that suits.

Take, for example, Lan Ying Li. When Li, who emigrated from China nine years ago, started taking English classes, not even the teacher could pronounce her name correctly. "They used to call me Lion," she says with a groan. "Even after I explained how to pronounce my name, no one could remember it. I gave up and looked through baby books for aWestern name. I decided to call myself Michelle."

"When I was growing up," says Alessandro G. Massaro, who is the chairman of the English as a Second Language Department at Bunker Hill Community College, "you'd get beaten up for having a name that sounded foreign or different. Even though names from Spanish-speaking countries are more recognizable, it wasn't uncommon for someone named Capobianco to translate it into the English, 'Whitehead,' as a way to fit in more easily."

Massaro, whose parents hailed from Italy, spoke his parents' native tongue at home, then shifted to English outside the house. Although at one time, the children of immigrants often drifted away from their parents' language and culture, living with that duality has become much more common today. In fact, although even her American husband calls her Michelle, Li never changed her name legally. "It's for convenience," she explains, "but I thought it might create problems with my credentials or my immigration paperwork. The only time it's confusing is when my Chinese friends call me at work and ask for me by my Chinese name."

Susan Akram, a noted immigration lawyer and professor at Boston University School of Law, says of the hundreds of clients she and her students have represented over the last several decades, "hardly any of them talk about changing their names. Since pretty much all of my clients are first-generation immigrants, they tend to keep their names as important to their identity."

"I was happy to change my first name," says Jennifer (Yi-Ying) Liu, who came to the U.S. from Taiwan four years ago, "but I wouldn't dream of changing my last name. It indicates where I'm from and who my family is."

Liu came to the U.S. alone, and continuing those connections to her past are as important as finding her new place in the present. The tension, say several experts, comes in the effort to stand out at the same time people are trying to fit in.

Dan Lam is a native of China whose family moved to Cambodia when he was nine years old. "I changed my first name to Daniel when I was young," says Lam, who runs the Welcome Back Center for Nurses at Bunker Hill Community College. "I did it at the suggestion of missionaries who said I should choose a name from the Bible."

After Lam became a refugee and moved to the U.S. in the 1970s, he and his wife, who is also from China, were eager to embrace the culture they'd been forced to leave behind.

"We were emerging from the Civil Rights movement and there was an excitement about celebrating your heritage," says Lam. "My wife and I deliberately chose Chinese names for our five children. Because we are Christian, we chose names that translated into English as Peace, Faith, Charity, Joy, and Grace. My older children have kept their Chinese names, even though Americans have a hard time spelling and pronouncing them, but my younger ones have modified them. Lyh-Shin is Joy and she changed it to Joyce, and my son Lyh-Ran (which means charity) modified his to just Lee."

At Bunker Hill's Welcome Back Center, Lam says 81 countries are represented by nurses who are studying to earn their license or certification in the U.S. "I think people from China and Asia are more willing to change their names," Lam says, "but it's mostly because they want to make it easier for their patients. When you're working as a physical or respiratory therapist, you want patients to be comfortable when they see you, and not be afraid to mispronounce your name, or not say something because they can't remember your name."

Many cultures invest extra meaning in names, whether it's the memory of a relative, an expression of their faith, or a hope for the next generation. "My mother wanted to be a pilot," says Li, "but there were no opportunities for women of her generation to study aviation in China. She hoped I would become a pilot and named me Lan Ying, which translates as 'sky hero.' Unfortunately, I did not follow that path, but I love the idea behind my name and don't want to lose it."