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WHY BRITISH AWKWARDNESS CAN MAKE IT TOUGH HAVING A FOREIGN NAME
New Statesman, UK
May 30 2014
>From being given a curious stare to having your CV overlooked, having
an ethnic name can bring out the worst in British awkwardness.
by Anoosh Chakelian
The Joseph Rowntree Foundation published its reaction this week to the
recent British Social Attitudes Survey results, concluding that racial
prejudice is "bad economics". The piece also remarks upon a DWP study
that showed people with "names associated with ethnic minority groups"
were almost a third less likely to be called for a job interview than
someone with a 'White British' name.
In fact, there are examples of people changing the name they put at
the top of their CVs in order to aid them in their job hunts. Only
last year, Virgin Atlantic was taken to an employment tribunal by a
man called Max Kpakio, who claimed they had turned him down because
of his name, as they accepted him when he reapplied under the name
"Craig Owen". (Although he eventually lost the tribunal, because he'd
changed more than just his name on the second application).
As someone without a 'White British' name - though, as it's Armenian,
I suppose it is the very definition of Caucasian - this brought to
mind the various implications of having a foreign name in modern
Britain. Among decent people, these are mainly socially awkward,
often superficial, repercussions, but it's easy to see how they could
filter up to a prospective employer's mindset. It's the British
propensity for wanting an easy life. A seemingly innocuous, often
endearing attitude. But not when it means avoiding someone because
their name's a bit funny.
First, pronunciation. This is a factor that plays out a splurge of
Britain's neuroses in one botched jumble of syllables. Working out
how to converse with a stranger, while constantly feeling on the
brink of offending them. With different accents involved. It's just
one big two-way apology.
Because if we're going to start a conversation with someone new
- already a highly unsavoury idea for many of us, let's admit -
a supposedly difficult name makes this minefield even trickier
to navigate. And then we have to make sure we remember the name in
question, as it would be unthinkable to slip into terms of endearment
("Mate") or the weird gender-political mess of "Sir" and "Miss"
- these options are conveniently anonymous, but too despicable to
contemplate for a decent professional human person.
And then once you've met someone with a foreign name - particularly
if you've read it rather than heard it from the scary, cosmopolitan
horse's mouth - how to ensure you pronounce it correctly? We couldn't
possibly ask. That would require a potentially awkward conversational
opener. So people generally just go for it, eyes forward, resolutely
spluttering through each impossible syllable, or avoid the issue
completely.
I've encountered this problem of politeness in all sorts of contexts:
missing a doctor's appointment for not recognising my mispronounced
name being called; a family I stayed with on holiday consistently
calling me "Louche" for the entirety of my stay (when I hadn't
once lounged on their chaise longue); the presenter on Radio 5 Live
soldiering through an interview repeatedly addressing me as "Anoosh
Shake-a-Line". Which is not how it's pronounced, but meant a more
amusing 10.45pm weekday news slot for my listening friends, at least.
Essentially, it's the conversational equivalent of when BBC newsreaders
take a deep breath and just power through those ambiguously pronounced
names that crop up from time to time. Boko Haram. Sven-Goran
Eriksson. Gaddafi. Farage.
But mispronunciation isn't the biggest problem. It's usually by the
politically correct and polite people who just want to say your name
with minimal fuss; their hearts are in the right place, even if their
diphthongs aren't. No. It's the "oo-er, that's exotic" aspect that's
worse. Because introduce yourself to someone with perhaps more Ukippy
credentials than you'd hope, and you'll usually receive the response:
"So where are you from?"
To which I take great pleasure in replying "London", and watching
them nod bemusedly, their eyes betraying insurmountable confusion
that I haven't regaled them apologetically with tales of a journey
from the harsh plains of Anatolia to Zone 3.
These irritating, occasionally vaguely xenophobic, social implications
of having a foreign name in Britain aren't nearly as bad as being
declined for a job interview on account of it. But it's worth
remembering that awkwardness in conversation could easily translate
to awkwardness in considering CVs. And that, mate, is discrimination.
http://www.newstatesman.com/cultural-capital/2014/05/why-british-awkwardness-can-make-it-tough-having-foreign-name
From: A. Papazian
New Statesman, UK
May 30 2014
>From being given a curious stare to having your CV overlooked, having
an ethnic name can bring out the worst in British awkwardness.
by Anoosh Chakelian
The Joseph Rowntree Foundation published its reaction this week to the
recent British Social Attitudes Survey results, concluding that racial
prejudice is "bad economics". The piece also remarks upon a DWP study
that showed people with "names associated with ethnic minority groups"
were almost a third less likely to be called for a job interview than
someone with a 'White British' name.
In fact, there are examples of people changing the name they put at
the top of their CVs in order to aid them in their job hunts. Only
last year, Virgin Atlantic was taken to an employment tribunal by a
man called Max Kpakio, who claimed they had turned him down because
of his name, as they accepted him when he reapplied under the name
"Craig Owen". (Although he eventually lost the tribunal, because he'd
changed more than just his name on the second application).
As someone without a 'White British' name - though, as it's Armenian,
I suppose it is the very definition of Caucasian - this brought to
mind the various implications of having a foreign name in modern
Britain. Among decent people, these are mainly socially awkward,
often superficial, repercussions, but it's easy to see how they could
filter up to a prospective employer's mindset. It's the British
propensity for wanting an easy life. A seemingly innocuous, often
endearing attitude. But not when it means avoiding someone because
their name's a bit funny.
First, pronunciation. This is a factor that plays out a splurge of
Britain's neuroses in one botched jumble of syllables. Working out
how to converse with a stranger, while constantly feeling on the
brink of offending them. With different accents involved. It's just
one big two-way apology.
Because if we're going to start a conversation with someone new
- already a highly unsavoury idea for many of us, let's admit -
a supposedly difficult name makes this minefield even trickier
to navigate. And then we have to make sure we remember the name in
question, as it would be unthinkable to slip into terms of endearment
("Mate") or the weird gender-political mess of "Sir" and "Miss"
- these options are conveniently anonymous, but too despicable to
contemplate for a decent professional human person.
And then once you've met someone with a foreign name - particularly
if you've read it rather than heard it from the scary, cosmopolitan
horse's mouth - how to ensure you pronounce it correctly? We couldn't
possibly ask. That would require a potentially awkward conversational
opener. So people generally just go for it, eyes forward, resolutely
spluttering through each impossible syllable, or avoid the issue
completely.
I've encountered this problem of politeness in all sorts of contexts:
missing a doctor's appointment for not recognising my mispronounced
name being called; a family I stayed with on holiday consistently
calling me "Louche" for the entirety of my stay (when I hadn't
once lounged on their chaise longue); the presenter on Radio 5 Live
soldiering through an interview repeatedly addressing me as "Anoosh
Shake-a-Line". Which is not how it's pronounced, but meant a more
amusing 10.45pm weekday news slot for my listening friends, at least.
Essentially, it's the conversational equivalent of when BBC newsreaders
take a deep breath and just power through those ambiguously pronounced
names that crop up from time to time. Boko Haram. Sven-Goran
Eriksson. Gaddafi. Farage.
But mispronunciation isn't the biggest problem. It's usually by the
politically correct and polite people who just want to say your name
with minimal fuss; their hearts are in the right place, even if their
diphthongs aren't. No. It's the "oo-er, that's exotic" aspect that's
worse. Because introduce yourself to someone with perhaps more Ukippy
credentials than you'd hope, and you'll usually receive the response:
"So where are you from?"
To which I take great pleasure in replying "London", and watching
them nod bemusedly, their eyes betraying insurmountable confusion
that I haven't regaled them apologetically with tales of a journey
from the harsh plains of Anatolia to Zone 3.
These irritating, occasionally vaguely xenophobic, social implications
of having a foreign name in Britain aren't nearly as bad as being
declined for a job interview on account of it. But it's worth
remembering that awkwardness in conversation could easily translate
to awkwardness in considering CVs. And that, mate, is discrimination.
http://www.newstatesman.com/cultural-capital/2014/05/why-british-awkwardness-can-make-it-tough-having-foreign-name
From: A. Papazian