A rose by any other name

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