By Steven L. Shields
In times like these, with all the concerns and sometimes anger expressed over cultural appropriation, I find it odd that more and more Koreans adopt "Western" or "English" names. While national borders and cultural boundaries have been fluid throughout human history, I think one's name is closely connected with personal identity.
A name is not the person, and identity is more than the surface, but names connect us to our family and cultural heritage. For example, my surname, "Shields," is the anglicized form of a Scottish word, "shieling." The word refers to a hut or cottage, especially those used by herders during pasturing times for the animals.
My surname has nothing to do with battle armor. Indeed, my ancestors are Scots; our family history confirms a centuries-long heritage of sheepherding. The wool produced went into making the famous Scottish plaids.
When I arrived in Korea more than 45 years ago, Korean friends crafted my Korean name. It was their way of saying "welcome." In those early years, my friends called me by my Korean name. I felt honored and proud to belong. However, over the years, the name did not stick. It is perhaps odd that a non-Korean, and an expatriate, would have such a name.
I can't use the name legally in Korea, although many years ago, the ward office allowed me to register a "dojang" (legal seal stamp) with the Chinese characters of that name. These days, such registration cannot be done. A registered dojang must carry the name as it is given in a passport. My Korean name continues to be a treasured memento of my life in Korea.
What accounts for the spread of "English" names for Koreans? Some Christian traditions, especially Western religious denominations, have a mindset of a "proper" name, a name from the Bible. This tradition was widespread in Europe, where infants were baptized and given a name simultaneously. When these well-meaning priests came to Asia, they imposed Biblical names on all their converts.
These so-called Christian names were seemingly required for salvific grace. This practice is widespread in Korean Catholicism and Anglicanism, and perhaps some other Protestant groups.
I met a university undergraduate the other day, and I asked him about names. As an infant, he was baptized as a Catholic but hadn't gone to church in years. He said he was given a so-called "Christian" name, but as he has grown up, he realized that his given Korean name is just as good. He has never used the Western name. Frankly, I find it incredulous to suggest that Korean names (or other non-Western names) are not "good enough" for a religion.
Another reason for the spread of "English" names is Korea's globalization. In the past 20 or so years, more and more Koreans are heading to other countries for education and work-related trips. There has been an explosion of multinational businesses in Korea and connecting with Korea-based companies. I asked several friends as to why they chose an "English" name.
Each one said it had to do with helping foreigners call them by a name that was easy for the foreigner to pronounce. A few friends have done their military service at the Korean Augmentation to the United States Army (KATUSA). Each of them was known by an American-style name: Jason, Daniel or Jay.
Another former KATUSA went by "DJ," which are the first English letters of his Korean name. One friend, who did postgraduate studies in Australia, became so tired of having her name pronounced wrongly (associate Aussie students mispronounced her name as "jeong-yook," meaning "butcher"), she chose an English name in exasperation.
Another friend, who worked in New York City for a few years got tired of having to spell and pronounce his name repeatedly to the same co-workers that he gave up and became known as "Michael," but all through high school and university in the United States he never had the problem. Other friends who are engaged in multinational businesses have done the same thing. All for the comfort of their mostly American colleagues.
Not surprisingly, European colleagues have little trouble with Korean names, perhaps because of the multilingual education typical in Europe ― but not in the U.S. ― two years of high school Spanish doesn't cut it when compared to Europe, American friends.
Perhaps another problem is the challenge of romanization. Despite dozens of scholars' efforts over the past 130 years or so of contact with the West, there is yet to be discovered an accurate and easy-to-read romanization for Hangeul. Phonetic writing systems are not one-to-one fully interchangeable. My name, when put into Hangeul, is "su-tee-bun." Similar, but not quite.
Names are part of who we are. Our name identifies us and connects us with family heritage and images of meaning that are essential cultural ideals. I know my Korean friends take pride in their names. I hope more foreigners could take the time to learn to pronounce their colleagues' names and give honor to the rich cultural heritage of Korea and its people.
Steven L. Shields (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. He served as copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977. He is a retired clergyman and president of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea.
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A name is not the person, and identity is more than the surface, but names connect us to our family and cultural heritage. For example, my surname, "Shields," is the anglicized form of a Scottish word, "shieling." The word refers to a hut or cottage, especially those used by herders during pasturing times for the animals.
My surname has nothing to do with battle armor. Indeed, my ancestors are Scots; our family history confirms a centuries-long heritage of sheepherding. The wool produced went into making the famous Scottish plaids.
When I arrived in Korea more than 45 years ago, Korean friends crafted my Korean name. It was their way of saying "welcome." In those early years, my friends called me by my Korean name. I felt honored and proud to belong. However, over the years, the name did not stick. It is perhaps odd that a non-Korean, and an expatriate, would have such a name.
I can't use the name legally in Korea, although many years ago, the ward office allowed me to register a "dojang" (legal seal stamp) with the Chinese characters of that name. These days, such registration cannot be done. A registered dojang must carry the name as it is given in a passport. My Korean name continues to be a treasured memento of my life in Korea.
What accounts for the spread of "English" names for Koreans? Some Christian traditions, especially Western religious denominations, have a mindset of a "proper" name, a name from the Bible. This tradition was widespread in Europe, where infants were baptized and given a name simultaneously. When these well-meaning priests came to Asia, they imposed Biblical names on all their converts.
These so-called Christian names were seemingly required for salvific grace. This practice is widespread in Korean Catholicism and Anglicanism, and perhaps some other Protestant groups.
I met a university undergraduate the other day, and I asked him about names. As an infant, he was baptized as a Catholic but hadn't gone to church in years. He said he was given a so-called "Christian" name, but as he has grown up, he realized that his given Korean name is just as good. He has never used the Western name. Frankly, I find it incredulous to suggest that Korean names (or other non-Western names) are not "good enough" for a religion.
Another reason for the spread of "English" names is Korea's globalization. In the past 20 or so years, more and more Koreans are heading to other countries for education and work-related trips. There has been an explosion of multinational businesses in Korea and connecting with Korea-based companies. I asked several friends as to why they chose an "English" name.
Each one said it had to do with helping foreigners call them by a name that was easy for the foreigner to pronounce. A few friends have done their military service at the Korean Augmentation to the United States Army (KATUSA). Each of them was known by an American-style name: Jason, Daniel or Jay.
Another former KATUSA went by "DJ," which are the first English letters of his Korean name. One friend, who did postgraduate studies in Australia, became so tired of having her name pronounced wrongly (associate Aussie students mispronounced her name as "jeong-yook," meaning "butcher"), she chose an English name in exasperation.
Another friend, who worked in New York City for a few years got tired of having to spell and pronounce his name repeatedly to the same co-workers that he gave up and became known as "Michael," but all through high school and university in the United States he never had the problem. Other friends who are engaged in multinational businesses have done the same thing. All for the comfort of their mostly American colleagues.
Not surprisingly, European colleagues have little trouble with Korean names, perhaps because of the multilingual education typical in Europe ― but not in the U.S. ― two years of high school Spanish doesn't cut it when compared to Europe, American friends.
Perhaps another problem is the challenge of romanization. Despite dozens of scholars' efforts over the past 130 years or so of contact with the West, there is yet to be discovered an accurate and easy-to-read romanization for Hangeul. Phonetic writing systems are not one-to-one fully interchangeable. My name, when put into Hangeul, is "su-tee-bun." Similar, but not quite.
Names are part of who we are. Our name identifies us and connects us with family heritage and images of meaning that are essential cultural ideals. I know my Korean friends take pride in their names. I hope more foreigners could take the time to learn to pronounce their colleagues' names and give honor to the rich cultural heritage of Korea and its people.
Steven L. Shields (slshields@gmail.com) has lived in Korea for many years, beginning in the 1970s. He served as copy editor of The Korea Times in 1977. He is a retired clergyman and president of the Royal Asiatic Society Korea.