Psychology
The words we use for people and places assert our identity in the world.
The words we use for people and places assert our identity in the world.
When I read that Victoria University of Wellington may change its name to avoid confusion with universities overseas (more than 10 have “Victoria” in their titles), my initial reaction was not positive.
After seeing the argument laid out in reasonable detail, I’m not sure I can rationally fault it. My opposition is more emotional.
I work at the university, all my qualifications (and other guff people put on their walls with pride) have the Victoria University of Wellington crest and name on them. It is part of my personal identity and my social identity.
Consider the “N-word” in the US and the subversive stealing back of “queer” by the group it originally stigmatised.
I don’t typically spend a lot of time thinking about the name of my employer, but it’s tightly locked into the mental picture I have of where I study and work, and who I am. Changing it then, is a wrench.
Names and labels are important, and it’s not hard to find examples where talk of changing them has resulted in animated discussion and anger. Before the New Zealand flag referendum in 2016, many of us had probably thought very little about it, or what significance it held. But all that changed when the option of altering it was mooted: opinions became vocal and divided.
We feel a weight of responsibility in naming our children, we argue about changing the names of streets and districts, and even the labels we use to describe who we are.
I recall, in 2003, then Associate Maori Affairs Minister Tariana Turia stirring up a fuss by suggesting the phrase “tangata whenua” was a more desirable label for Maori than “Maori”. Fellow minister John Tamihere, perhaps predictably, disagreed, showing that words can have different connotations and meanings for different people.
I remember that episode well because I was dragged into the debate by a journalist from the Dominion Post, who interviewed me about it. Names can gain new meanings over time, I said. Words that were once acceptable can become less so: consider the “N-word” in the US; the subversive stealing back of “queer” by the group it originally stigmatised; and the change over time from referring to people as retarded, then disabled, and more recently, differently abled.
And what ended up in the paper? “Marc Wilson … compared the change proposed by Turia to a change of the term disabled to differently abled”. Not at all what I meant, taken out of context, I cried – to no avail. I learnt a valuable lesson about working with the media that day.
Consider the words used to refer to people in New Zealand who are not Maori and hail at some point from Europe. It’s common to be asked for your ethnicity and have the options: NZ European/Pakeha. I’ve done my share of pencil-and-paper surveys and I have seen many instances where a respondent has enthusiastically scrubbed out one or other of these descriptors. These people are making a strong statement about identity.
Sometimes people who don’t identify with either of these labels will suggest, “Why can’t we just all be Kiwis?” I acknowledge the commonsensicality of this, but writers on race relations in New Zealand, such as Margaret Wetherell and Jonathan Potter or Ray Nairn and Tim McCreanor, would no doubt observe that this kind of rhetorical call comes mainly from those with the social and economic power – those who don’t want to be Pakeha. l