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Respect the relationship between name and identity.
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Happy Monday!
A couple of weeks ago, we discussed the petition against Trader Joe's and I asked you to submit stories about whether your own name has ever been challenged or questioned. In today's newsletter, Jami explains the relationship between our names and our identities and features stories submitted by our community.
As always, we appreciate any and all contributions. Consider giving one-time on our website or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza), or subscribe for $5/mo on our Patreon.
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Ask yourself what gut-level judgments you make based on other people’s names.
Make more intentional efforts to pronounce and honor other people’s names.
Learn the names and histories of Black and Indigenous activists and leaders who are alive and fighting—not just the ones who have been murdered.
Support BIPOC activists as they fight to change the names of institutions that honor racist legacies.
GET EDUCATED
By Jami Nakamura Lin (she/her)
In America, many of our institutions, schools, and organizations are named after white men with racist histories and legacies (Education Week). After facing increasing public pressure from activists after the murder of George Floyd, many of these institutions are undergoing a reckoning. Some of the outcomes initially seem positive: Congress now has bipartisan support to remove Confederate names from military bases (New York Times). But an institution’s reluctant willingness to remove a problematic name isn’t the same thing as a willingness to publicly honor and support BIPOC leaders. After years of pressure from its Black students, Louisiana State University Library finally removed the name of its segregationist former university president—but refused to rename it after the school’s first black female Ph.D. graduate, Pinkie Gordon Lane, as petitioners wished (Library Journal).
People who resist these changes often think: what is the big deal? A name is just a name. But names are powerful symbols. For a person of color, a name can be one of the most visible links to our communities and backgrounds—and also a target for racism and discrimination. A 2003 study showed that job applicants with white-sounding names received 50% more responses than those with Black-sounding names (National Bureau of Economic Research). Just a few months ago, a white male professor asked Vietnamese American student Phuc Bui Diem Nguyen to “Anglicize” her name because it sounded offensive in his language (diemquyynh on Instagram). When she refused, he made up a nickname for her; he didn’t back down until her story went viral (New York Times).
Honoring names is especially important in light of the way Black and Indigenous people have had their names and cultural identities forcibly erased by white colonizers throughout their histories. In Liseli Fitzpatrick’s African Names and Naming Practices, she writes: “European colonizers attacked and defiled African names and naming systems to suppress and erase African identity – since names not only aid in the construction of identity but also concretize a people’s collective memory by recording the circumstances of their experiences.” Indigenous lawyer and writer Christina Gray notes: “Renaming has been a critical part of settler colonialism generally, which is predicated on the erasure of Indigenous peoples, including their languages, cultures and social structures — any and all evidence of Indigenous peoples’ living presence,” (Yellowhead Institute).
As a light-skinned Japanese Taiwanese American, my experience with my name is wholly different than those of Black or Indigenous folk. And yet as a child, I too felt shame because of my middle name, Nakamura, one that made me visibly different from the people around me. It wasn’t until I was older that I began to take pride in the ways my names connect me to my family and my history. I have thought long and hard about what my daughter’s name reflects to the world (New York Times).
Our names say that we are here. Our names say that we exist, that we have always existed, even if you haven’t always seen us. And read these powerful stories we received from readers reflecting on their names. Responses have been lightly edited and condensed for space constraints.
My father is Indian, and his name is Rajiv, but after being teased all throughout his school years he decided to go by 'Neil' when he started college, and still uses that name today. He also lost a lot of his ability to speak Hindi because my grandparents were afraid that it would hinder their children's English or their acceptance in America. I'm now teaching myself the language, which got him to attempt to re-learn it too. - Anonymous
When I was born, my parents named me Ángela. But that quickly got Americanized, as whoever did my birth certificate dropped the accent over the first letter of my name. It wasn't until the age of 21 that I decided to reclaim my name: Ángela. Doing so was incredibly empowering because I felt for the first time like my truest authentic self. Some people uplifted said reclaiming my name was honorable and beautiful. Other people did not get it and did not take me seriously. Over time, I've tried to not let those comments and reactions get to me, but to be honest, it still hurts. I hope one day that all changes. -Ángela Mendez
When I came to this country my teachers called me Lah-teef, which as a little girl, I assumed was my American name. I spent 15 years introducing myself that way to folxs. My name is really pronounced Lah-tee-feh. It just demonstrates how impressionable kids are. Had my teacher just asked me how to say my name, I wouldn’t have spent almost so much of my life mispronouncing my own name. -Latiffe Amado
There was one teacher that always mispronounced my name, saying that it "just sounded so much better that way." I never felt like I could correct him myself. The power difference was too great.
-Anonymous
If immigrants from Europe felt the need to "Americanize" or "English-ize" their names in order to be accepted/assimilated into American culture, how much greater that pressure must be for those from other parts of the world. My ancestors chose to change their name in order to separate themselves from the country they left and to start anew in America. That does not give me the right to expect the same from anyone else coming to this country. -Anonymous
My entire family in Thailand calls me a Thai nickname but it's very hard for Americans to pronounce. By pure coincidence, my parents had accidentally given me a Thai name that had an English-sounding name at the beginning of it. So I started going by [that name]. I had heard it would help me be remembered on resumes and at job interviews. My mom was even so worried she asked if I wanted to legally change my name to [the English-sounding name]. But I have legally kept my full name because it's a tribute to where I came from and I don't want to erase that. -Anonymous
My name is Dilpreet, which is pronounced phonetically. It’s written the way it’s said. Yet many times when I say my name, people look at me with complete confusion and annoyance that they have to pronounce such a different name. I made it a habit to give myself a nickname like Dil or DK to make it easier for those who thought my name was too difficult. In college, I finally met classmates who positively reacted to my name and wanted to make sure they were pronouncing it right. I’ve learned that I shouldn’t have to make others feel comfortable to say and understand my name, my identity. Let them say your name. -Dilpreet Kainth
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Take the time to learn how to say our names correctly, even if at first the sounds are difficult for you.
Acknowledge that a name is not just a name— it represents a history and a community.
Understand how the ongoing denial of names connects to our country’s legacy of erasure of Black, Indigenous, and other people of color.
RELATED ISSUES
7/22/2020 | Don't Americanize other cultures.
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Don't Americanize other cultures.
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Hi friends!
I find the nuances of this story interesting. Somehow, it touches on gentrification, race privilege, and cultural appropriation across multiple ethnic and racial identities.
It also represents one of the many subtle ways systemic oppression persists. It's the multitude of these actions and behaviors that shape our society, and understanding each of them helps us dismantle, one small step at a time.
Donations are always welcomed to help keep this going. You can donate on our website, through PayPal, or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza). Or, become a monthly contributor on Patreon.
Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Check your kitchen for products that may use similar branding as the products listed below. Consider:
What does this packaging tell me about the brand?
How can the packaging help me learn more about the culture(s) this product is connected to?
What assumptions, if any, does this packaging bring?
How does this packaging compare to others within its category?
Who or what have I tried to repackage to make it more palatable? How?
GET EDUCATED
By Nicole Cardoza (she/her)
This week Trader Joe’s renewed its pledge to discontinue racist packaging on international food products (Teen Vogue). The interest was sparked after a petition was circulated by high school senior Briones Bedell, which received over 2,500 signatures before a response (change.org). The product lines in question include “Trader Giotto” (Italian products), “Trader Ming” (Chinese products), “Trader Joe San” (Japanese products), “Trader José” (Mexican products), “Arabian Joe” (Middle Eastern products), and even “Pilgrim Joe”, that represents Thanksgiving products.
But conversations on inappropriate names of Trader Joe’s products are not new. In fact, Viviane Eng, a writer and the literary program’s assistant at PEN America, wrote a comprehensive article for Nylon Magazine on the issue back in July 2019, and Trader Joe’s swiftly responded, pledging to discontinue the packaging (Nylon). Critics note that the 2020 petition was created and amplified by a white/white-passing woman, questioning whether it is her place to build a movement around this issue. This sparks a similar conversation from yesterday’s newsletter: Who deserves to lead conversations about racist symbols: the people with the most proximity to power, or the closest to the issue itself? Today’s case also offers a critical point for allies here: work with marginalized communities and elevate their voices when rallying for change.
Reclaiming Culture through Names
Both conversations from 2019 and now show that customers are split on their sentiment about the packaging. Some people cited in both Eng’s article and on the petition itself emphasize that they have no issue with the name and don’t see any issue with it, calling it funny and cute. Others feel it exoticizes the cultures connected to the food, especially by applying Americanized names and branding in place of true cultural representation. Eng notes that by adding names like "Ming" and "José" for certain products reinforces "Joe" and English-speaking whiteness as the default (Nylon).
"
It's not my favorite," another shopper, Alé, admitted. "I'm of Mexican heritage, and it's just that weird moment of othering. It's, like, my food could just be Trader Joe's as well. It doesn't have to be Trader José. It also doesn't lend to any authenticity because it's just a very Americanized thing to do.
We’ve got a long history of that in America. Ethnic names are often used to mock or degrade racial or ethnic groups and to perpetuate racist stereotypes in film and media (History). In workplaces and colleges, individuals with non-Anglophone names are asked to adopt nicknames, or change their names altogether (here’s a recent example in Time). And there are countless examples of people from various backgrounds changing their names throughout history to improve job prospects and assimilate as a form of safety (The Conversation).
Have you changed your name or adopted a nickname for reasons like these? Share your story to be included in a larger piece on this we’re publishing next week.
And Bedell notes in her petition that the inspiration for the Trader Joe’s name itself is rooted in “romanticizing Western Imperialism and fetishizing non-Western people”. The Trader Joe’s website states that the name was inspired by the book White Shadows in the South Seas (and the Disneyland ride that shares it). But the book “demonstrates the horrific legacy of trading companies as they exploited and enslaved the South Pacific in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Many of these regions are still at a disadvantage today because of how traders ravaged their peoples, their societies, and their natural resources” (Change.org). The realization that the names are housed within a larger company with this narrative only further emphasizes the point.
The 2020 petition was well-timed; many food brands are disassociating from racist branding, an action sparked from the protests over the past few weeks. It’s wild how frequently I type the latter half of this sentence; so much of our culture and politics have shifted because of public outcry. Remember this as you watch your timelines go back to normal – make each day a revolution.
Quaker is dropping the Aunt Jemima branding after recognizing they promote a racial stereotype (Washington Post). Her image was actually based off of Nancy Green, who received a full obituary in the NYTimes last week. I recommend you read her story. The company that runs Uncle Ben's and Mrs. Butterworth's are following suit (CNN). In April, the Land O’ Lakes butter company announced that it is changing its branding from an illustration of a Native American woman with a feather in her hair to something that reflects its “farmers owned” approach (NYTimes).
And for good reason. There are studies that prove that these types of symbols can have a negative psychological impact. The American Psychological Association published a resolution recommending the “immediate retirement” of Indigenous mascots, symbols, images, citing that they create “unwelcome and often times hostile learning environments” and have “a negative impact on the self-esteem” of Indigenous youth (apa.org). On the flip side, adolescents with authentic connections to the cultural background of others are more likely to display fewer stereotypes and more positive attitudes toward others (Wiley Online Library).
Food is Central to Culture
The packaging of food might feel like an irrelevant place to make a statement, but food is such a critical component of how many of us express our culture – and understand the cultures of others. As a grocery chain known for its breadth of low-cost products, how Trader Joe’s presents those foods makes a lasting impression of the cultures they represent. This is especially critical, considering that Trader Joe’s are usually found in up-and-coming (or gentrifying) communities, to the point that the value of houses near Trader Joe’s locations is almost 3x the national average (Business Insider). How else is Trader Joe's as a company participating in the erasure of culture as an organization?
There’s no clear timing for when the replacement of packaging will be completed (or even what it will look like) (NPR). In 2019, Kenya Friend-Daniel, Trader Joe’s Director of PR, emphasizes that “these designations do not appear on any new products we have introduced in the past two years, and as we make our way through label updates on older products, we will change any preexisting variations to Trader Joe's” (Nylon). It’s likely they’re still working their way through the hundreds of product lines with this branding. Bedell updated the petition on July 19 asking for a firm date (change.org).
Lastly, it’s important to note that only one major news source that covered the petition mentioned the work of Viviane Eng (Teen Vogue, which has completely transformed since I was a teenager). As we continue to do this work, we must aim to center the voices of all leaders and contributors towards change, especially the voices of marginalized communities.
KEY TAKEAWAYS
Trader Joe's renewed its commitment to ending all Americanized branding lines of international product
The conversation swelled after a petition was circulated a few weeks ago
A similar story was published last year, and received similar feedback from Trader Joe's
Food represents a significant part of culture
Changing names against a default reinforces the idea of "power of normal"
Allies must remember to work with marginalized communities and elevate their voices
Related Issues
July 20 | Protect your community from the harm of gentrification.
July 17 | Analyze representation in media.
June 15 | Diversify your media consumption.
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza
Capitalize B in Black and I in Indigenous.
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Hi all,
Today's newsletter looks at how language wields power, and how quickly our language is changing based on the movement of the past few weeks. I particularly liked writing this one because, as someone that's always defined herself as Black, I didn't know the grammatical and historical context of the terms below. I love that reclaiming something as simple as a capital letter can carry so much pride, belonging, and historical significance.
ps – your support makes these email possible! You can donate one-time on Paypal or Venmo (@nicoleacardoza) or give monthly on Patreon to keep these going.
- Nicole
TAKE ACTION
Capitalize the B in Black when using in reference to a person or group of people
Understand the cultural difference between "African American" and "Black" and use correctly. If you must, use "Black" if referring to a Black person and you are unclear of their background.
GET EDUCATED
Capitalizing to signify respect.
Last Friday (on Juneteenth) the Associated Press announced that it was updating its style guide to capitalize the "B" in "Black" and "I" in "Indigenous", a decision that came after several news outlets changed their own standards in the past few weeks to signify respect and understanding in the wake of the protests.
Although the difference between a capitalized letter may seem harmless, it carries weight. Our language carries power, and, according to Lori Tharps, an associate professor of journalism at Temple University, "influences how we validate, or invalidate, identity". And with Black there's history with how we have been perceived in the press. W.E.B DuBois fought in the 1890s for the term "negro," which was commonly used at the time, to be written as "Negro," considering all other racial and ethnic identifiers were already being written in uppercase. As the word negro phased out in the mid-1960s and was replaced with "black," the conversation restarted to continue to add respect to the term that identifies a community of people systemically marginalized because of the color of their skin. You can read more about the historical significance here >
Both terms Black and Indigenous represent distinct communities with shared cultures and experiences that differ from dominant culture, or whiteness. According to Sapiens, capitalizing Indigenous helps to "articulate the common challenges they faced as communities impacted by colonialism, settler governments, displacement, and exploitation." Similarly, capitalizing Black signifies "an essential and shared sense of history, identity and community among people who identify as Black, including those in the African diaspora and within Africa" (via Axois). As a contrast to these definitions, the lowercase "black" is a color, not a person. And the lowercase "indigenous" signifies that anyone is from any place.
"When a copyeditor deletes the capital ‘B,’ they are in effect deleting the history and contributions of my people.”
– Lori Tharps, Associate Professor of Journalism at Temple University
So we're capitalizing Black now. What about "white"?
The AP is actively reviewing their guidelines on this, but currently has "white" used as lowercase in their style guide. But standards on this vary in different publications, and in personal opinions, for a multitude of reasons. To fully understand it, we have to first acknowledge that race itself is a social construct, formed and shaped over history. Race was a way to yield power and privileges over others, and preserve identities from being "tainted" by others. I'm simplifying, and recommend this article by Ta-nehisi Coates for details.
The need to add respect and understanding to the Black community is also in response to whiteness. I mentioned above that acknowledging Black and Indigenous as a community helps to "articulate the common challenges," and these challenges are an effect of being marginalized and exploited by dominant culture (more on that here). Some use this point to argue against white being capitalized, because white people already have enough power and don't need further acknowledgement. In these cases, some writers also note that white supremacists often capitalize white to demonstrate that they should remain in power. I paraphrased a detailed perspective you can read here >
On the other hand, other journalisms note that without identifying whiteness as its own race that, in itself, includes practices of racism and oppression, we won't move forward with it. Not identifying white as its own race also perpetuates the idea that it's the normal and status quo. The Center for the Study of Social Policy announced that it would follow the American Psychological Association’s style rules and capitalize white, citing the following:
"We believe that it is important to call attention to White as a race as a way to understand and give voice to how Whiteness functions in our social and political institutions and our communities. Moreover, the detachment of ‘White’ as a proper noun allows White people to sit out of conversations about race and removes accountability from White people’s and White institutions’ involvement in racism". You can read their full statement here >
Another argument on this is purely grammatical: if Black is capitalized, white should be too. They both are used as proper nouns and represent groups of people, and it looks unbalanced without.
I used the AP style guide for the sake of writing this email, as did most of the articles linked, so you can see it in action for yourself.
Why not African-American?
The term is still commonly used, but doesn't reflect the breadth of the Black population. African American refers to an American Black person of African descent. But there are Black people that more closely identify their roots to the Caribbean, for example, so Caribbean American may be preferred, and this person can also identify as Black. There are also Black people all around the world that may not have roots here; as of 2016, about 10% of Black people in the United States are foreign born.
For some Black people there's also a cultural difference. I am an African American woman, but personally feel more connected to the broad definition of Black; my African heritage is unknown to me, and I've also got Portuguese blood in my ancestry. Black, to me, feels more representative of the full complexity of my identity.
Also, the hyphen between African-American and all other race / ethnicity mashups was removed by the AP Style guide in 2019, noting that the hyphen dates to the 19th century as a way to distinguish immigrants as “other” and has been a common microaggression for more than a century.
I personally didn't know anything about the hyphens until researching this piece, and will reflect in my future emails.
ps – remember our conversation on diversifying news and media? Note that the AP and Poynter, another prominent voice in journalistic standards, announced this news without citing any Black or Indigenous journalists. As this conversation grows, there's another conversation on ensuring Black and Indigenous journalists are in the newsrooms to help guide this narrative.
Black America is constituted overwhelmingly by the descendants of people who were not only brought to the country against their will but were later inducted into an ambivalent form of citizenship without their input. The Fourteenth Amendment, which granted citizenship to all those born here, supposedly resolved the question of the status of ex-slaves, though those four million individuals were not consulted in its ratification. The unspoken yield of this history is the possibility that the words “African” and “American” should not be joined by a hyphen but separated by an ellipsis.
– Jelani Cobb for the New Yorker
PLEDGE YOUR SUPPORT
Thank you for all your financial contributions! If you haven't already, consider making a monthly donation to this work. These funds will help me operationalize this work for greatest impact.
Subscribe on Patreon | Give one-time on PayPal | Venmo @nicoleacardoza