“You have great energy. But you don’t look like a ‘Theresa.’”

That’s how I was greeted by one of the male leaders after I delivered a workshop for a group of oil & gas leaders.

Ah. The name game again. Not my first rodeo with this nonsense. Okay, I’ll play along. This oughta be good.

I countered with, “Then what do I look like?”

He took the bait.

“Your name should be Tina, like Tina Turner. I love Tina Turner. Great singer. Great dancer. And you’re probably good at both. ‘Theresa’ is a plain, white girl name.”

There it is. The caucacity. I decided to contradict his “standard operating stereotypes” of equating Black women with fetish, with exoticism, with rhythm.

“Actually I can neither sing nor dance well. And your name?”

Oh please, please, please let his name be ‘Dick.’ Sure, the irony would be wasted on him, but what delicious karma it’d be.

“Paul.”

Sigh. Oh well. I’m too blaxhausted to take this on right now.

“I hope you found value in the workshop, Paul.”

Behind the Name

Well, there was one thing that Paul got right. My parents also viewed “Theresa” as a white-girl name, and that’s exactly the reason I have it.

Let me explain.

Because my parents knew what they knew and experienced what they experienced, they were already thinking ahead and wanted to give me the best chance to secure a job when the time came. It was their way of partially protecting me from the system of whiteness by “co-opting” a piece of it and “gifting” it to me on my birth-day.

In their mind, success—within a system despite the system—meant my having a white name, which they believed would increase my chances of getting my resume fairly reviewed, of getting my foot in the otherwise closed door.

They chose what they thought was a “nice white Catholic girl’s name”—Theresa Marie.

The intent behind my name is not unique. It represents one of several naming strategies when it comes to naming conventions within the Black community. I’ll touch on just three of them.

(1) “White” Naming Strategy (beat the system)

This strategy is not unique to the Black community and is used by many melanin-enriched marginalized groups. It’s a strategy grounded in a belief that the “white American Dream” can be accessed more readily when we take on the naming attributes of whiteness. The message is not necessarily “I am like you” but rather “When in Rome, do as the Romans do so you might access what Romans access.”

(2) “Blackity-Black-Black” Naming Strategy (resist the system)

Words and phrases that come to mind when characterizing this strategy are “pride” and “Black is beautiful.” So distinct and unique are these names as to veer as far away from whiteness as possible. Not necessarily African. Not necessarily American. Names in this category reflect the “in—between” nature of African Americans and our ability to create and innovate despite our oppression.

Bearers of “Blackity-Black-Black” names are rarely mistaken for any other identity except Black. And therein lies the point. “Blackity-Black-Black” names are ours alone. We created them. We own them. No matter what your feelings are on these names, they are uniquely us.

“When, in 2013, Quvenzhané Wallis, the youngest actress ever nominated for an Oscar, had her moment on the red carpet, the media could not give her grace. Instead, they took it upon themselves to give her nicknames (and vulgarities). They might have addressed her with a respectful ‘Miss. Wallis’ or politely asked how to pronounce her first name. Or best of all, they might have done the research ahead of time to learn how she preferred to be addressed. Instead she was called ‘Q,’ ‘little Q,’ ‘Miss Q.’ A reporter even decided, ‘I’m just going to call you Annie,’ to which she replied, ‘My name is not Annie. It’s Quvenzhané.”

(3) “Give Me Respect” Naming Strategy (compel the system)

To counter the disrespect of being called “boy” or “girl,” these names themselves have respect built into them. Black parents, wanting better for their children, resorted to names like “Mister,” “Sir,” “Prince,” “Royal,” “Precious,” or “Queen,” for example, so that white people would be forced to use these words when addressing us.

Consider Laurence Tureaud, better known as Mr. T.—

“I think about my father being called ‘boy’, my uncle being called ‘boy’, my brother, coming back from Vietnam and being called ‘boy’. So I questioned myself: ‘What does a black man have to do before he’s given respect as a man?’ So when I was 18 years old, when I was old enough to fight and die for my country, old enough to drink, old enough to vote, I said I was old enough to be called a man. I self-ordained myself Mr. T, so the first word out of everybody’s mouth is ‘Mr.’’

The Relationship of Names/Naming to DEI

Our names and naming can be reminders of oppression and resistance to oppression. For many, this comes with trauma.

Like an ongoing microaggression, “others” are constantly…

questioned about our names

teased about our names

asked to compromise on our names

expected to abandon our names for the sake of white comfort or preconceptions

That there exists the reality that some of us won’t even get an interview due to an aspect of our identity that our name might signal….

That some of us with “white” names opt to not have our picture be a part of our LinkedIn profile in order to complete the illusion ….

Where is the equity and inclusion in that? Where is the belonging?

There is none.

When names become the focus, it’s a constant reminder to folks that they’re being “othered” and “don’t belong.”

Let it sink in that too many folks can’t even be bothered to honor a person’s name. It’s such a low bar for DEI to clear.

Let’s consider another example of pronunciation comfort prioritized over the person.

Say Her Name

Xiaolei, relayed to me “an incident” that happened in a global team meeting where leaders from several regions had come together, some of whom were relatively new to the team and had never met or spoken before. Xiaolei was the only woman in the male-dominated room and also the youngest.

Her account is a prime example of the intersectionality of naming with whiteness and patriarchy.

“During the introductions when it was my turn, I gave my name to the group, only to have one of the male participants interject with, ‘That’s going to be too hard for us to say. We’ll call you Shelly.’”

“The other men in the room all nodded in agreement.”

“I was so shocked that I couldn’t even speak. I just sat there for the remainder of the meeting trying to process the fact that my name—and me, by extension—had just been dismissed and erased by the group. They proceeded with the meeting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.”

“Anyway, I got over the shock, and since that day, for every instance of ‘Shelly’ that I was called, either during a conference call or in an email, I responded with, ‘It’s Xiaolei.’”

“I can’t remember how many times it took, but they finally caught on.”

Whiteness Will (Try to) Name It and Claim It

Do you remember how the breaking and breaking-in of Kunte Kinte as portrayed in Roots centered around forcing him to accept the name Toby given to him by his enslavers?

Part of power’s power is naming and renaming.

Historically speaking…

Who gets to name?

Who gets (re)named?

Exactly!

Erasing names and forcing names on “others,” coupled with violence, is how colonizers established themselves and controlled the colonized. Erasing names and wiping out identities and cultures are blatant acts of dominance and control.

The men in the meeting felt entitled to “whiten” Xiaolei’s name so that they could pronounce it.

Just like it happened with Quvenzhané, they communicated to her that her name was less legitimate.

Quvenzhané and Xiaolei were basically informed they they’re “not worth the effort.”

Xiaolei’s account of what happened to her is not uncommon. Over the years in my workshops, I’ve come across participants—of various identities—who have a name given to them by white comfort. They’ve just resigned themselves to it because correcting folks all the time is just so tiring.

Renaming betrays a belief that “non-white” or “non-traditional” names which whiteness deems “too difficult” are not valued or valuable.

For both Quvenzhané and Xiaolei, reclaiming their name when others attempted to hijack it, was an act of resistance and affirmation.

Isn’t it interesting that “name hijackers” don’t seem to have an issue with being expected to say and pronounce Schwarzenegger, Buttigieg, Dostoyevsky, or Tchaikovsky.

A person’s name is not a negotiation.

You don’t get to weigh in.

It’s not a debate.

A person’s name is a done deal.

Theresa Marie—not Tina— signing off for now.

What’s the story behind your name?