When people come across Michelle-Thuy Ngoc Duong鈥檚 name, they often see a stumbling block bound to trip up their tongues.
The 17-year-old sees a bridge.
A bridge spanning her parents鈥� journey from Vietnam to the United States.
A bridge connecting the U.S.-born teen to Vietnamese culture.
A bridge to understanding.
鈥淢y name is where I come from,鈥� Michelle-Thuy Ngoc said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a reminder of hope.鈥�
A junior at Downtown College Prep Alum Rock High School, a San Jose, Calif.-based charter school, Michelle-Thuy Ngoc (Michelle knock twee) is among the students backing a national campaign that places a premium on pronouncing students鈥� names correctly and valuing diversity.
The campaign鈥攁 partnership between , the Santa Clara, Calif., County Office of Education, and the California Association for Bilingual Education鈥攆ocuses on the fact that a name is more than just a name: It鈥檚 one of the first things children recognize, one of the first words they learn to say, it鈥檚 how the world identifies them.
For students, especially the children of immigrants or those who are English-language learners, a teacher who knows their name and can pronounce it correctly signals respect and marks a critical step in helping them adjust to school.
But for many ELLs, a mispronounced name is often the first of many slights they experience in classrooms; they鈥檙e already unlikely to see educators who are like them, teachers who speak their language, or a curriculum that reflects their culture.
鈥淚f they鈥檙e encountering teachers who are not taking the time to learn their name or don鈥檛 validate who they are, it starts to create this wall,鈥� said , an assistant professor in the graduate school of education at the University of California, Riverside.
It can also hinder academic progress.
A divide already exists between many English-learners and immigrant students and their native-English speaking peers. Despite a national increase in the overall graduation rate, the dropout rate for foreign-born and immigrant students remains above 30 percent, three times that of U.S.-born white students.
Before transitioning into K-12 administration, Santa Clara County Superintendent taught middle and high school English-as-a-second-language classes for 16 years. Many of his students were newcomer English-learners and he made it a priority to learn the proper pronunciation of each student鈥檚 name on the first day of class.
鈥淚 was their first connection to a new culture, a new country,鈥� Gundry said. 鈥淎s a teacher, I felt that if I didn鈥檛 make an effort to pronounce their name correctly, it showed I didn鈥檛 care about who they were.鈥�
Rendered Invisible
Effort is the biggest obstacle to learning how to correctly pronounce a person鈥檚 name; teachers have to want to do it, said Jennifer Gonzalez, a former teacher and author of the education blog Cult of Pedagogy. To even suggest that a child鈥檚 name is difficult to pronounce is problematic, she said.
鈥淓ven the word 鈥榙ifficult鈥� is a pretty loaded word,鈥� Gonzalez said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 only difficult because it鈥檚 culturally different.鈥�
As a kindergarten student in 1950s Brooklyn, Carmen Fari帽a, a native-Spanish speaker, had a teacher who marked her absent every day for weeks because she didn鈥檛 raise her hand during roll call. The teacher assumed Fari帽a was being defiant, but the future New York City schools chancellor never heard her name called; the teacher had repeatedly failed to pronounce it correctly, including rolling the r鈥檚.
鈥淢ispronouncing a student鈥檚 name essentially renders that student invisible,鈥� Fari帽a said during a keynote address at the National Association for Bilingual Education annual conference in March.
Kohli produced a study with , a professor of education and Chicano studies at the University of California, Los Angeles, on microaggressions, the subtle slights that are painfully obvious and hurtful to the person receiving them, but unintended and unnoticed by the person saying them. The work, is littered with stories of students who endured shame, anxiety, or embarrassment, and sometimes a mix of all three, when their names were called in class.
There鈥檚 the tale of a Portland, Ore.-area student with a traditional Chinese name who had her name garbled by a vice principal during an honors ceremony. Set to present the student with an award, the principal laughed at his mistake, drawing chuckles from the audience.
To avoid embarrassment, the student slumped in her seat, refusing to rise to receive the prestigious award. She later skipped her graduation.
The mispronunciation wasn鈥檛 an isolated event. Having endured years of slights, she felt the need to become invisible long before the principal鈥檚 laughter marked the tipping point.
The woman, who went on to become an educator, changed her first name to 鈥楢nita.鈥�
鈥淚f someone mispronounces your name once as a high school student, you might correct them,鈥� said Kohli, whose parents immigrated to the United States from India. 鈥淏ut if this has been your entire existence in education, what do you do?鈥�
Kohli鈥檚 own brother had a teacher mispronounce his traditional South Asian name, Sharad (shu-rudth) as Sharub during a 9th grade class. The teacher and the students decided it was easier to call him Shrub, and it stuck for the rest of high school. The nickname forced him to check part of his identity at the door.
Michelle-Thuy Ngoc didn鈥檛 always embrace her full name, figuring that it would make other people uncomfortable. For years, she ignored the Vietnamese half of her first name, simply going by Michelle. The order in which Vietnamese names are spoken differs from English.
鈥淚 came to accept [my full name] over time,鈥� she said.
Building Bridges
If students have teachers who share their cultural backgrounds, they鈥檙e more likely to hear their names pronounced correctly. But while the diversity of the nation鈥檚 public school student body has exploded in the last few decades, the number of African-American, Latino, and Asian teachers hasn鈥檛 kept pace.
Gonzalez, a former teacher in school districts in Kentucky and Maryland, said she often observed a 鈥榯hese people鈥� attitude from her mostly white female colleagues.
鈥淭hey approached it like 鈥業t鈥檚 your fault for having a weird name,鈥欌�� Gonzalez said.
To some degree, Gonzalez understands the struggle students face. She grew up with a Russian surname, Yurkosky, that befuddled teachers and classmates. She said it rhymes with 鈥渉er-pots-ski,鈥� minus the 鈥渢鈥� sound in pots.
鈥淏ut I did not experience all the other stuff and other ways that a person can feel discriminated against,鈥� said Gonzalez, who is white.
Kohli, a former Oakland Unified School District teacher, recommends that K-12 educators identify and expand their cultural limits and recognize the influence they wield over a student鈥檚 sense of self. While frustration or confusion may seem like a natural response when a teacher faces an unfamiliar name, it can leave a 鈥渓asting impact on the way that child sees themselves and their culture,鈥� the study鈥檚 authors argue.
Butchered names are not just a problem for English-learners and immigrants; students from a number of cultural backgrounds have their names garbled or ridiculed. Hawaiian and African-American students, with names that link to their ancestry, also shared stories of how constant mispronunciations made them feel uncomfortable with their names.
Mocking Names?
In an extreme case, a teacher in Wayne Township, N.J. lost her tenure status and job in 2015 for mocking a student鈥檚 name on Facebook. Several letters in the student鈥檚 name spelled out a profane word, legal documents show.
More often, the mocking is more direct and reflexive: laughing off pronunciation, asking the student to take on a nickname, or making a spectacle of their name, Kohli said.
鈥淚t matters what you do when you鈥檙e in front of a child and struggling with their name,鈥� Kohli said. 鈥淚s it framed as my inability to say someone鈥檚 name or is it framed as the student doing something to make your life more difficult?鈥�
Michelle-Thuy Ngoc attends , a 210-student high school that primarily serves first generation, low-income Latino students.
鈥淲e鈥檙e taking the time to understand each person鈥檚 story,鈥� said assistant principal Moises Buhain. 鈥淚t鈥檚 as simple as starting with a name.鈥�
As part of a social media campaign, the 鈥淢y Name, My Identity鈥� initiative is seeking name stories with the #mynamemyid hashtag. The push is personal for , the national association鈥檚 president and the director of multilingual education services for the Santa Clara County, Calif., office of education.
Wan came to the United States as an adolescent English-learner, and almost immediately faced pressure from instructors to adopt an 鈥淎merican name鈥� to replace her given name, which means 鈥渨arm friendship鈥� in Cantonese.
Gundry and Wan developed 鈥淢y Name My Identity鈥� after hearing a principal share a story about his effort to build connections with English-language learners in school, then feeling the push fall flat when he mispronounced the students鈥� names at graduation.
鈥淎s educators, we have the power to bring awareness to valuing diversity ... so that all of our students will feel included,鈥� Wan said.
