During a second, extended stint of
unemployment, I came across an article about a man having trouble finding work.[1]
He realized it must be his unisex, but usually assumed to be female, name. He
remedied it by adding Mr. to his resume. All of a sudden, he started receiving
call backs from employers, whereas there was only silence during the previous
months. I then came across a study that determined it took longer for those
with ethnic or non-Anglo sounding names to find work. I have an “ethnic” name
since I’m Persian and live in the U.S. It’s a unisex name, but it ends in an
“a” and has a “sh” sound in it, so it sounds feminine. I felt like less of a
failure, but I was pissed.
I’d been sending out resumes on and
off for years to no avail. I would get jobs through friends or family. I
figured the adage, “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” to be true, but
it was so limiting. So, I did my own experiment. I changed my name on my resume
and set up a corresponding resume. I started receiving calls the same day I
sent out those resumes, even from placement agencies. I felt victorious! The
world was my oyster! I started thinking I should change my name to a unisex,
Anglo name. World domination was only a few letters away.
Unfortunately, I’d underestimated
the love I have for my own name and what it means to me.
I’m sitting in the waiting room of
a placement agency filling out paperwork, when one of their staff comes out and
starts calling for a Nicole. “Nicole? . . . Nicole? . . . Nicole?” I give the
blonde girl across the room a death stare thinking, “Hello. Don’t you know your
own name?” Then, I would remember and raise my hand. I ended up being placed as
a temp.
The feeling of my soul caving in
whenever someone called me by my chosen Anglo name was not something I had
anticipated. I didn’t think I would care or that it would be a big deal. After
all, most people seem to use the nickname versions of their names. I thought it
would be the same thing. No, not even close. I felt invisible and resentful. I
would think, “Why can’t people just suck it up a teensy, tiny, the tiniest bit
and try to say my short, phonetically spelled, not-so-common name? It even has
an English word in it! Why am I not worthy of a job with the beautiful name my
parents gave me? An old name with meaning? I have the same credentials – all of
the same experience and education. Hell, better and more. I worked so hard, but
it doesn’t matter because of my name? Does it really make you that
uncomfortable/nervous/self-conscious?”
I started to dread receiving a
permanent placement or coming across a posting for a dream job and having to
apply with one of my fake-name resumes. Luckily, my mom passed along my resume
with my name to someone at a
placement agency who was the same ethnicity as us. I was placed in a permanent
position where I wowed my employer so much, I received a promotion and more
than a 10% raise within the first year. Could I have done the same if I’d been that
other girl with that other name? Probably, but I know it would’ve been more
bitter than sweet.
Whenever I meet other Persians who
introduce themselves as Mike, Henry, or Mo and I know their names are actually
Mehrdad, Hamid, and Masood, I cringe. To each their own, but whenever we have
to change something so fundamental to please a weakness in society, it is
wrong. It just feeds the disease. As an immigrant woman, I come up against all
kinds of powers that want to change me. I refuse as much as I can. We lose
something of ourselves each time we have to change when we don’t want to. If
enough of those little bits are lost, it will add up to larger and larger
chunks of our culture and our history being lost. I have no quarrel with
assimilation, but both sides of our identities should be acknowledged and
accepted in public spaces.
I found myself back on the job hunt,
in a city where I don’t know anyone, much less anyone of my ethnicity. Remembering
the feeling of being called by the other name, I hesitated about which resume I
need to use. I hesitated, but I know it’s about survival. Paying rent and
buying food shouldn’t trump what I consider an essential part of myself. My
name doesn’t do me much good sitting in my old room at my parents’ house. So, I
compromised.
My new resume has an Anglo nickname
in quotes between my first and last names. I posted it on Monster and started
receiving inquiries from recruiters for non-sales, in-my-industry positions
almost immediately. I was taken aback until I realized that a funny thing had
happened on the way to globalization. Those recruiters? Outsourced employees of
American companies all of whom have Indian names. This time around, I didn’t
feel victorious or that the world was my oyster. I almost cried from relief at
the thought of a level playing field where I was judged by the content of my
resume and not the origin or perceived difficulty of my name.
Oddly enough, companies trying to
benefit their bottom line may have inadvertently lessened discrimination in hiring.
Studies on cost-savings and how outsourcing erodes the middle class were a
regular occurrence when it first started happening. There have also been
studies on how outsourcing could help developing countries. However, I haven’t
come across any studies on how globalization could benefit those of us in the
U.S. with unusual names, i.e. immigrants and minorities. Maybe it’s time to
mine through the data.
I came across an article from 2014
about a man named Jose who dropped the “s” in his name on his resume.[2]
He hadn’t had any luck finding a job and then, all of sudden, he started
getting responses. Here’s hoping that the José’s and Newshas in this world will
soon no longer have to become Joes and Nicoles. Our accomplishments will be
enough and who we are will be enough. Working may not be a right. It may be a
privilege, but it’s one we have more than earned.
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