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https://www.discovernikkei.org/en/journal/2024/10/29/whats-in-japanese-name/

What’s in a (Japanese) Name?

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Years ago, a Japanese American television actor sneered after I introduced myself to him.

“Ew!” he screeched. “You don’t even pronounce your name right!”

At the time, I was attending a gala honoring Asians in entertainment. As we stood next to each other in the crowded room, he turned and asked me my name. 

Earlier, I had been meeting and greeting others and, while introducing myself, I enunciated each syllable of my name. “YAH. YOH. EE.”

Since my name is unfamiliar to most western ears, I have a habit of pronouncing it slowly and with articulation, as I did with that actor. However, he had clearly been offended. 

Of course I know the difference between the authentic Japanese pronunciation of my name versus the Americanized one. In true Nihongo fashion, there is no stress on any syllable so each carries the same weight. But Americans tend to emphasize the first syllable and so do I when speaking to them.

As the evening wore on, I realized that the actor’s reaction had really bothered me. I’d had no idea how to respond to him because he was somewhat heroic to me due to his political activism. And now, he was criticizing me for, of all things, mispronouncing my own name according to him.

I wondered if he was trying to imply that he was more Japanese than me because I was visibly mixed-race. Did he think he was closer to his roots because he knew how my name should be correctly pronounced in Nihongo and I seemingly did not?

Over the last few years, I’ve noticed that having a Japanese connection has reached a near-cultish status symbol in the U.S.

Following WWII and its devastating effects of wrongful incarceration of American families of Japanese descent, and the shunning of Japanese war brides immigrating to the U.S. with their American spouses, being Japanese was considered shameful. A three-letter slur starting with “J” was commonly heard in U.S. media and movies, including children’s cartoons.

But once Japan became an economic powerhouse in the 1970’s, anything reflecting Japanese culture became more acceptable. Today, sushi restaurants dot most large American cities, kids worldwide play video games featuring Japanese historical figures, and anime starring Japanese characters is hugely popular outside of Japan.

These days, people proudly proclaim their Japanese-ness. There are even Facebook groups that post questions like, “You know you’re Japanese when?…” as if to have commenters one-up each other with facts about food they grew up with or rituals their families practiced.

But what makes a person more Japanese than another? Is it in their lineage or in their name? Or, is there even such a thing as being a genuine Japanese person? 

People from different areas of Japan speak Nihongo with localized dialects and regional accents. There’s even a language battle between Kanto and Kansai sides of the country, much like there is between Americans in New England versus Southerners. 

I grew up with a Japanese national mother who spent her first 33 years being a Tokyo woman. She didn’t understand American culture because it was not hers. So she taught us kids about the Heian, Sengoku and Edo periods, and about clan leaders like Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu. She recited Japanese nursery rhymes, sang popular children’s songs, and told us stories like Momotaro (Peach Boy) and Akai Kutsu (Girl with Red Shoes).

In other words, she taught us what she knew best.

Even though she cooked soul food for my father, a black man from Texas, she relished the Japanese delicacies she prepared for herself and her children. Every meal we ate included steaming hot gohan.

Passport photo of baby Yayoi taken in 1952, Tokyo. 

At the time I was born in Tokyo, my parents had been unable to marry due to U.S. military bureaucracy. Since my mother couldn’t utilize the American Army hospital, she went to a clinic in Machida-shi to have me delivered by a Japanese doctor.

Several years ago, I visited that clinic with my cousin and met the daughter who had inherited it from her father. Oddly, neither my cousin nor the daughter seemed to understand why it was important for me to return to my birthplace. After all, the doctor likely delivered thousands of babies.

But my birth was a unique story according to my mom, and one she often repeated. It seems the doctor was concerned that because I was half-black, I’d be too big to carry to term. So in her eighth month of pregnancy, my mom was injected with a balloon that forced me out. When I emerged, the doctor grabbed me and, again according to my mother, held me in his arms and openly stared because he’d never delivered a biracial child before.

When it came to naming me, my mother had decided on “Yayoi.” But the Japanese doctor argued that it being May made it too late for me to be called that. He offered up “Rumiko” instead. My mom refused.

She claimed he bristled at her insolence and shouted at her, “Yayoi is for March! May is too late!”

While it’s true that the name does translate to the beginning of spring or March, my mom, being a poetic soul (who later wrote haiku), insisted on it. 

Whenever I asked for a definition, she would explain, “Look at the early spring sky. It’s not deep blue like summer, it’s not gray like winter. It’s just a little light blue.”

A Japanese man once explained to me why he thought my mom gave me the name despite the lateness of my birth.

“During the war,” he said, “people in Japan were so desperate. Your mother likely starved as food was rationed. She probably ran and hid from bombs falling from the sky. She saw a lot of death and destruction all around her. So, by the time the war ended and she had you, she had hope again. Early spring is a time of hope because the darkness of winter has passed.”

Despite the doctor’s protests, my mom did not give in. So I became “Yayoi”—spelled “Yayoe” on my birth certificate by unmindful American military clerks.

The truth is, I’m not a stickler for having my name pronounced exactly the Japanese way without an accent on any syllable. Most of the time, if someone doesn’t know me and sees it written down, they will admit they are clueless about how to say it. I’m usually very good natured about enunciating each syllable so they can get it. Unlike the television actor who sneered at me, I don’t feel a need to prove my Japanese-ness.

 

© 2024 Yayoi Lena Winfrey

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What’s in a Nikkei name? Ten years ago, we read your wonderful stories about names that connected families, reflected cultural identity, discussed struggles, and more. Now we’re returning to that theme with Nikkei Chronicles #13, Nikkei Names 2: Grace, Graça, Graciela, Megumi?, which explores the meaning and origins behind Nikkei names. 

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If you like the story, please give it a “star.” The story that receives the most stars will be manually translated into the site’s other languages! To submit your story to this series, please check out the guidelines at 5dn.org/names2. We encourage diverse perspectives, including historical essays about naming people, cross-cultural names, and names other than your own. Submissions are accepted until October 31, 2024 at 6 p.m. PDT.

 

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About the Author

Yayoi Lena Winfrey is an artist, writer and filmmaker. Her short screenplay Obaa-chan in the House is about a multigenerational Japanese family living in California. Chaos ensues when their matriarch arrives from Japan and questions who can claim to be authentically Japanese. The script was a Finalist in the 24 Hour APIDA Writing Contest and table read by Entertwine actors in July 2023 at JANM in Los Angeles.

Yayoi’s 5-part film series War Brides of Japan, a docu*memory is available for viewing on Gumroad.

Updated October 2024

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