Why Does “José” Become “Joe,” But Not The Other Way Around?
June 29, 2011 
9 Comments
Recently I was picking up my dry cleaning when the attendant asked me for my name. “Sara Calderón,” I told her, trying to shorten my name a bit to make it easier and quicker for her to look up. “Is that like ‘Sarah’?” She asked me a few times in a few different incarnations. “Um, it would be like Sarah, except my name is Sara, so no. It’s S-A-R-A.” I told her.
As I left the dry cleaners, a flood of memories hit me. Moments with my father starting from the time I was just young enough to be proud of spelling my name in its entirety. “Te llamas ‘Sara Inés’ no ‘Sarah,’” he would tell me. “No permitas que te llamen ‘Sarah’ porque eso no es tu nombre.” Don’t let them call you Sarah, that’s not your name. It was lost on me as a kid what a valuable gift my father gave me by demanding I make a distinction between these two names, but as I’ve grown up and come to understand the history of this country, I’m grateful everyday for being Sara and not Sarah.
My family is from the border region in Texas, a place where — almost by a miracle — Latinos with Spanish names are awarded English nicknames almost as soon as they walk in the door. José becomes Joe. Francisco becomes Frank. Rogelio becomes Roy. María becomes Mary. Josefina becomes Josie. And so on. You might think this inconsequential, but the buck didn’t stop there, it went further.
No speaking Spanish in school, by penalty of a beating sometimes, and so an entire generation of Franks and Joes and Josies who don’t speak Spanish and cannot properly pronounced their names was born. And so their children and grandchildren travel to Spain to learn Spanish, and in just a few generations, people forget who they are, where they came from, and what their real name is anyway.
My father the historian, in the conversations we came to have as I grew older, would tell me that this type of memory cleansing is what control is really about. Because if you think about it, people named “John” never become “Juan.” A “Margaret” never transforms into a “Margarita” spontaneously in conversation — so that must mean something, right? It means one conversion is acceptable, whereas the other, is simply not.
Going back to my own name, I’m proud to have what some have told me is a somewhat complicated and long name. Although it may not be easy to pronounce, I appreciate it when people try, and although it may not always be popular to correct the pronunciation of my name until people get it right, I’m not about to let somebody else tell me who I am.
Follow Sara Inés Calderón on Twitter @SaraChicaD
Names are funny. My name is Alexandra – my mother, who grew up in Mexico, chose to spell it with an “X” for several reasons. Shen knew I’d grow up going back and forth between Spanish and English – in the U.S., I am Ale”KS”andra, and in the Mexico I am “AleHandra” – I kind of like having dual identities. My mother was criticized in Mexico for spelling it with an X, but she argued that the X in Mexico is pronounced the same as the J. Therefore, in Spanish, Alexandra can be pronounced exactly the same as Alejandra. I have the opposite problem – people are trying to “Spanishify” the spelling of my name. Good thing my parents aren’t Irish Gaelic, or my name might be “Alastríona,” and then it would all be even more confusing.
Love this post! They always gives me something to think about I that I dont find anywhere else. Thanks!
If you made it clear how to actually pronounce your name “Sara” versus “Sarah,” this article may make its point to non-Spanish speakers. When read, both would have the same pronunciations, as there are many “American” girls and women whose names are spelled Sara and pronounced the same as “Sarah.”
Your assertion that as a result of an immigrant generation coercing their children to assimilate into American culture resulted in “improperly” pronouncing their names, forgetting who they are and where they come from is, in my opinion, a weak argument. An individual can pronounce his or her name however they choose; who are we to judge and say what their real name is supposed to be or sound like? I think even the “mispronunciation or change” of a Juan to John can eventually be accepted by the named person and ultimately become his identity, if he chooses it. This is the reality of cultural melting pots and globalization: traditions and cultures all meld together and create diverse communities, cultural fusions if you will.
Also, I completely disagree that “people named ‘John’ never become ‘Juan’” or “a ‘Margaret’ never transforms into a ‘Margarita.’” I am not Hispanic, and many everyday conversations and encounters with native Spanish speakers have resulted in the “Spanish-ization” of not American names but objects, sayings, and the like. I just think people are people and talk and pronounce the words the way they know how and feel comfortable with.
Sara no se dice NO TE PERMITES se dice NO PERMITAS. Si tu papi habla espanol como primer idioma, no creo que el te haya dicho de la manera que lo escribiste. Un saludo …
de verdad, thanks for the correction! you should be our editor, lol
My old friend from Puerto Rico is named Jose. His father and mother insist on calling him Joe. Jose doesn’t seem to care much either way, but I always call him Jose. Most of his (newer) gringo friends call him Joe but his old gringo friends (like me) always call him Jose . . . strange . .
Great post, Sara. I remember in my predominately white grade school teachers called me Lucy instead of Luz. It stuck through high school although I never liked it and in college I started making people call me by my real name. Most non-Latino folks act like it’s such a difficult name to pronounce. It’s 3 letters. If you can say “Lucy,” you are perfectly capable of dropping off the second syllable. It’s more of a mental thing, a resistance to the unfamiliar. Even something as simple as a name can make someone feel out of their comfort zone.
I don’t know. I know a woman named Margaret that all of the Latinos at her church call her Margarita. The news in Spanish, for example Univision, calls Prince William “Guillermo,” et cetera. I think it’s a matter of your name being translated to the dominant language. To Americans, my name is Kristi (don’t know why my name is not in Spanish), my family and Hispanics are constantly trying to change it to Cristina, and when I lived in Germany people pronounced it the German way.
In elementary school I was Johnny, in middle school I was John, by High School I was Juan, and it’s stayed like that. I still know what part of my life someone is from by the way they greet me