Hong Le still remembers meeting a charismatic woman campaigning for San Francisco district attorney in 2003. In Cantonese, that woman’s name was 賀錦麗, which is pronounced Ho Gam-lai and means “Congratulations Brocade Beautiful”.
Most Americans know her by another name: Kamala Harris.
“She is the vice president at the moment,” Mr Le, 88, said in Cantonese. “And she deserves it.”
In San Francisco, where more than a fifth of residents are of Chinese descent, politicians have long taken a middle name with Chinese characters. And every serious candidate knows how to order campaign materials in English and Chinese.
But the city’s leniency for adopted names has frustrated some Chinese-American candidates, who say non-Chinese challengers have crossed the line by using flattering, flowery phrases that at first glance bear no relation to their real name. Some candidates have gained an advantage or engaged in cultural appropriation, critics say.
Not anymore. For the first time, San Francisco rejected Chinese names submitted by 22 applicants, in most cases because they could not prove they had used the names for at least two years. The city asked translators to provide transliterated names, a process that more closely approximates English pronunciations.
This means that Michael Isaku Begert, who is running to retain his local judgeship, cannot use 米高義, which means partly “high” and “justice,” a name that suggests he was destined to sit on the bench .
And Daniel Lurie, who is challenging Mayor London Breed, must drop the name he’s been fighting under for months: 羅瑞德, which means “auspicious” and “virtue.” Mr. Lurie’s new name, 丹尼爾·羅偉, pronounced Daan-nei-ji Lo-wai, is a transliterated version that uses characters closer to the sound of his name in English, but which make no sense when combined.
Most Chinese names have two to three characters – a surname and a first name of one or two characters. In the Chinese-speaking world, choosing a baby’s name can carry so much weight that some parents still consult fortune-tellers who consider factors such as the exact time of birth and the number of strokes in a character to suggest an auspicious nickname imbued with meaning.
The federal Voting Rights Act requires jurisdictions with significant numbers of voters who are not fluent in English — such as the large Cantonese-speaking population in San Francisco — to provide translated ballots and election materials. The act, however, leaves it up to local election officials to decide whether that includes the names of candidates.
Some cities in Alaska must translate ballots into Yup’ik, an Alaska Native language, while some counties in Arizona must do so into Navajo and Apache. Hundreds of jurisdictions across the nation must translate their ballots into Spanish, while 19 must print them in Chinese, 12 in Vietnamese and four in Korean.
San Francisco has mandated since 1999 that candidates’ names appear in both English and Chinese. But now, under a 2019 state law, it requires a transcription for new applicants, while allowing those who can prove they’ve used a Chinese name for at least two years to continue using it. (The law also applies to ballots printed in Japanese and Korean.)
The switch is not universally popular. It ends a San Francisco tradition, beloved in some circles, in which Chinese leaders have named their favorite candidates. And it has the ability to create long-winded nicknames that are hard to remember or even cringe-worthy, as characters that sound like someone’s name can translate into strange phrases in Chinese.
Fiona Ma, California’s state treasurer, supported the legislative effort in 2019 after inconsistent policies resulted in her changing her Chinese name without her knowledge.
Ms. Ma, the daughter of Chinese immigrants, had used her Chinese name — 馬世雲, meaning “Horse Worldly Cloud” — on the ballot since the early 2000s, when she ran for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. She said she has always been proud of her name, and the Chinese media has long mentioned her. But Ms Ma learned her name had been changed to a transcription on the June 2018 ballot.
Legislation championed by Ms Ma set new ground rules. He wanted to ensure that applicants with a legitimate claim to a Chinese name could use them, but also that others would not gain an unfair advantage by inventing flattering names.
“If it’s a good name, like ‘Most Amazing Trusted Person’ or ‘Pro-Public Safety’, then it could make a difference,” Ms Ma said.
At a recreation center in San Francisco’s Richmond area, some voters said a candidate’s name has less of an effect on who they choose than what someone has done. Mr. Le said between games of ping pong that it mattered most to him if the candidates responded to the needs of the Chinese community.
“If you care, we’ll know your name,” he said.
Jen Nossokoff, a first-time candidate for the San Francisco Democratic County Central Committee in March and for the Board of Supervisors in November, said she was given a name, 高素貞, by a Chinese supporter last summer. The name is pronounced Gou Sou-zing in Cantonese and is reminiscent of a well-known Chinese folk character considered a symbol of nobility.
“It means integrity,” he said. “It means ambition.”
She printed the name on her campaign signs, many of which hang in the windows of her neighbors’ homes.
But the name was rejected by the Department of Elections, which recently gave her a transliterated name, 珍·諾索科夫, or Zan Nok-sok-fo-fu in Cantonese — a nickname that has none of its lofty symbolism. desired name.
Voters are now casting their ballots for the March 5 election and Ms Nossokoff said it was confusing that the name on her campaign literature did not match the one on the ballot. She said the mandatory name change was unfair because her opponent in the supervisor’s race, incumbent Connie Chan, is the one who notified the Department of Elections that she was violating state law.
Ms. Chan, 45, originally from Hong Kong, moved to San Francisco’s Chinatown with her mother and younger brother when she was 13. Her name was Szeman, but she quickly changed it after arriving in the United States because, she said, “it sounds like sperm.”
Instead, she joined legions of other Chinese girls her age and officially changed her name to honor Connie Chung, the pioneering news anchor.
Ms. Chan, knowing the state had passed the 2019 law, wrote a letter of inquiry last fall to the city’s Department of Elections. It’s not yet clear why the town wasn’t complying with state law — Chief Elections Officer John Arntz said he didn’t know — and the Board of Supervisors unanimously ordered Mr. Arntz’s department to comply.
Mr Arntz said applicants can use a birth certificate or even a wedding invitation to prove they have a legitimate claim to a Chinese name. Otherwise, the city will provide their transliterated names.
“I feel strongly that our Chinese names are not a trend,” Ms Chan said. “It shows a relationship with the community that I’m not sure they’ve worked hard to build. It’s cultural appropriation.”
Ms. Chan has previously bestowed Chinese names on her white colleagues. When Supervisor Matt Dorsey was the city attorney’s representative in 2016, he wanted a Chinese name that could appear consistently in the Chinese press instead of finding reporters in different translated versions in different media.
Ms. Chan, then a City Hall aide herself, thought he had proven his commitment to the Chinese community through his years of public service. She gave him a name that sounded like Matt Dorsey and had a pleasant meaning.
Well, sort of.
He is now known in the Chinese community as 麥德誠: “Kid Barley”.
Zhe Wu provided Cantonese interpretation for this story.
