A rose by any other name

JAKARTA (JP): About 30 years ago the Chinese-Indonesian community was rocked by a New Order government recommendation that advised the replacement of Chinese names with indigenous ones. The change was not compulsory, however the adoption of new names was promoted as a mechanism for assimilation into the broader community. Indonesian names themselves were not privileged: any name was suitable except ones of Chinese origin.

That was when the famous and popular Shakespearean citation -- A rose by any other name -- became a useful expression for some Chinese-Indonesians.

There were many arguments for and against the proposal. I was pro name changing.

Indonesian names had been adopted by many people in the past. They were simple names such as: perak, picis or gobang: names for coins in colonial days. A picis was a small silver coin; the name was selected for girls with a refined appearance. A gobang was a big two-and-a-half cent piece made of a metal that gradually turned dark over time. Parents of children unlucky to be born bigger and darker than usual, sometimes bestowed the name gobang on their offspring.

Another argument in my stock was that traditional Chinese had long practiced the adoption of different names. For example, when they were recognized as scholars, a new name was usually conferred. I remember that my grandfather had a new name given to him by his colleagues when he was honored by his office for longstanding service. The new name was used by those associates in conversation and correspondence.

In addition, although it is a usual practice in telephone books, I have always found it awkward to write my family name followed by my given name.

My husband, who had long submitted papers to scientific journals, found that the average scientist had no inkling of the composition of Chinese names. His name -- Sie Pek Giok -- would be written Giok, Sie Pek. Even worse, he remained unknown, because nobody knew that the two names actually were components of the one name.

My children were excited by the government's proposal because I gave them the freedom to choose their own new names. They consulted dictionaries of names, wayang books and other sources for inspiration. Even my three-year-old son, who was only familiar with a few letters of the alphabet, discovered a new name and would accept no other opinion. He knew no other name to write.

However, my friend Ai-Ling dared to challenge Shakespeare. She argued that new theories in philosophy and psychology had made his words obsolete. We now know that certain words evoke certain associations: if a rose was called durian, it would not smell as sweet as a rose. Rather it would have durian characteristics. She was not going to change her name.

"My name is given by my parents and we should honor that," she said. She maintained that "for the men, these names are centuries old and may have been written on the ancestral tablet of the founding father or in genealogies. They are usually taken from poems or adages, so they have meanings for the family. The second part of the three syllables of a Chinese name is usually the generation name of the family. So people with the same surname would know whether they are related and to which generation they belong."

What if we used names that are translations of the old names? That of course could be a solution and that was exactly what Ah Fu did. He changed his name to Untung, which meant "luck" in Indonesian. He sought approval from his local temple, however an elder said the name was incomplete and suggested the addition of Sukirno as a middle name. Kirno -- an acronym of mungkir Cino (denial of being Chinese) -- was a commonly adopted name by those wishing to criticize the name changing practice. Ah Fu accepted the recommendation.

With his new name, Ah Fu -- or rather Untung -- did very well. Unable to continue his education in a Chinese school, (banned from 1965), he went to Taiwan and received training in the technology field. When he returned, he opened a television shop in the Glodok complex. He did so well that he opened a second outlet and then a third. He was planning a new and even larger outlet in a giant shopping mall in West Jakarta when the events of May 13 happened. All three shops were looted and burned. His dreams were shattered.

In desperation, he asked me what Shakespeare's words really meant: "I translated my old name, thinking that my rose would have the same smell, yet it turned out to be different. For 30 years I thought that I had contributed to the assimilation process and yet I was still discriminated against."

"Look," I replied, "I am not a Shakespeare expert but I think that he meant that the scent of a rose is not in its name, but in the essence of being a rose. And you, Ah Fu, or Untung, or whatever, your luck does not depend on your name, but on your Chinese legacy. It is the tenacity and sense for business that you have inherited from your ancestors which has brought you luck. Don't think of the past. Pick up the odds and ends and open a new shop. The temple elders may be able to tell you where the best location is."

-- Myra Sidharta