Luana Vasconcelos

Our names are more than words. They carry our culture, religion, language, and identity. When someone says your name correctly, they acknowledge all those layers of who you are. When they don't, it can chip away at your sense of belonging. Changing or shortening your name often becomes a survival tactic; a way to assimilate, to fit in, to avoid discomfort. But in doing so, many of us lose a part of ourselves. 

I went through that. I went as Ray when my name is Rida. People struggled to say my name. No matter how many times I taught them, they couldn't get it right. In Spain and Pakistan this wasn't a problem, but when I moved to England in secondary school, suddenly it was “too hard”. By sixth form, I stopped introducing myself as Rida altogether. Why bother? They’d forget, mispronounce or give me a unwanted nickname anyway. I made myself easier for them to digest. But in doing that I diminished myself.  

Now, I'm reclaiming my name and with it a part of my identity back. Rida means contentment or satisfaction with God’s will in Arabic. And it’s a part of me I will no longer change for others. 

Why should we people of colour always have to shrink themselves to be accepted? 

“It’s just a name; it’s not that deep”. So it’s not deep when the teacher says “Sorry everyone, I’m really bad with names” as soon as they have to read an ethnic name, it's not deep when you have to say your name in a whitewashed way because they can’t seem to understand when you say your name the correct way, and it’s certainly not deep when you introduce yourself and they say “Ugh that’s hard, I’ll just call you _”. It is deep.  

That happened to me. A girl in my biology class decided to call me Ray because Rida was “too hard” and because I was “ray of sunshine”. She didn’t mean any harm, but it felt like erasure. Did she truly care? 

These small moments: these microaggressions accumulate. They tell you, again and again, that who you are isn’t easy enough, simple enough, or not worthy enough. And when you hear that long enough, you start to internalize it.  

Many people grow up distancing themselves from their culture, not because they dislike it, but because of how others treat it. I once felt the same way. When I moved here, stereotypes about Brown people; “smelly”, “dirty”, “scammers”, were casually thrown around. It wasn’t overt racism, but subtle and persistent.  

That’s how people learn to shrink themselves; one “hard-to-pronounce" name at a time.  

Getting someone’s name right isn’t just a matter of politeness; it's a matter of respect. It’s about inclusion. Diversity means we’re all here; inclusion means we’re all heard, seen, and called by our names correctly. Learning to say someone’s name is one of the simplest yet most powerful acts of respect you can show. 

 Your name carries your story. It deserves to be heard and said properly. 

Take a moment to learn, to ask, to try again. It matters.  

#MyNameIs Rida- what’s yours? 

The Race Equality subnetwork's main campaign is the #MyNameIs for 2025-2026. This campaign was created by the Race Equality Matters organisation- you can find more information about their work here. The Network will be hosting several events, content initiatives and different opportunities to get involved across the year.