“Jayapal. If you’re going to say my name, please say it right. It’s Jayapal.”
We all saw the moment, when Rep. Pramila Jayapal asked her colleague to Say. Her. Name. We saw a smart, powerful woman stand her ground and asked to be recognized by her name. Asking someone to say your name properly sounds pretty innocuous, but it evokes a different emotion for people with hard to pronounce names. People who tend to be non-white Americans. People who tend to be immigrants.
As an Indian American woman whose name has been butchered her entire life, watching another Indian American woman hold someone accountable, on such a grand stage — it was empowering and affirming.
When I first started my professional career, I was given the following advice: Make sure they say your name correctly. Don’t let them distort it or “Americanize” it for their own ease. But it took a while for me to use this advice.
When I was younger, the thought of what my name meant and asking someone to pronounce it correctly — would have never occurred to me. I didn’t think it was important enough. Why cause a “fuss”? I didn’t think, asking someone over and over to pronounce my name correctly, was a worthy endeavor.
More than that — I didn’t want to be different. And stopping a conversation to make someone say it correctly, it brought too much attention to my “differentness”.
As a child, I didn’t want to be unique, especially not as a Brown girl in a predominantly white neighborhood. I didn’t want to stand out. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be just like everyone. And asking someone to say my name properly…that was never going to happen.
To be quite honest, even with the advice, I never made a big effort to force someone to pronounce my name correctly. Not until my niece started correcting me on how to say HER name. Here was this tiny person, telling me that I was mispronouncing her name. “Don’t you know how to say my name? It’s not hard”. I was taken aback, but I was also so damn proud of her.
She’s growing up in a time where putting coconut oil in your hair, makes you a “fashionista” (her words). I grew up in a time when I was told in a derogatory way that I smelled like curry.
And I realized, asking someone to say my name properly — it holds power. It may cause discomfort for me and others, but it’s my identity. More than that, it demands the person I’m speaking with respect me enough to get it right.
Pronouncing a name correctly, means the other person took the time out and learned to say it properly. It shows mutual respect. It validates one’s existence. It indicates that someone is worth that time and effort.
I’m worth that effort. And so are you.
But even more important (to me), it normalizes my identity. It normalizes an Indian woman asserting their worth. It normalizes being Indian, being different, in an otherwise white world.
And that part was important to me.
Because it meant, that future generations will be kinder to the Indians that come after me. To people with weird names.
To my nieces.
To them, someone saying their name properly will be normal. They’ll be normal. They’ll be a part of the fabric that makes up the United States.
And I thank Rep. Jayapal for standing her ground. And showing little girls (and older girls) — exactly what it looks like to demand respect. And to assert your power.
