WHY HIGHER EDUCATION ISN'T.

The house organ for all wokeness, all the time, in higher education, offers "Inclusivity starts with correct name pronunciations, Constanza Bartholomae writes," and as it runs on April 2, it's being offered in all earnestness.

In the context of higher education, the concept of “hidden labor” often encompasses tasks that are crucial but go unrecognized within institutional structures. One such form of hidden labor is the act of pronouncing names correctly, especially for folks with non-Western or culturally diverse names. This issue highlights the complexities of identity, inclusion and the often unrecognized emotional labor involved in maintaining respectful communication in academic environments.

Names are deeply tied to individual identity and cultural heritage. They often reflect a person’s ethnicity, family history and cultural background. Correctly pronouncing someone’s name is not merely a matter of linguistic accuracy; it is an affirmation of that person’s identity and demonstrates respect for their background. In a higher education setting, where diverse identities converge, the act of name pronunciation becomes a crucial component of fostering an inclusive environment.

My first name—Constanza (kun-stawn-zuh)—was given to me by my father, as it means “constant” and “faithful.” Apart from the pronunciation of it being beautiful, he thought that the qualities the name described were noteworthy. Growing up, I was not the biggest fan of my name. Those who didn’t know me were unable to pronounce it correctly. I grew up in a small town, so I was fortunate enough that the folks I grew up with would correct others in the room who might have mispronounced my name—but this help was short-lived as I moved out into the world. By this point in my life, I loved my name—and, to this day, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Good grief, does she get paid by the word for that?  What she calls "hidden labor" is something I understand as "good manners," and in the Milwaukee public schools of years ago, whenever veteran teachers made a botch pronouncing Slavic surnames, of which there were more than a few on the south side, undoubtedly after years of experience with the Americanized forms a lot of my classmates used, I seethed a little.

And if you're going to turn every bit of unfamiliarity into a micro-aggression, that way leads madness.  Work out, dear reader, how many ways somebody, maybe even somebody with deep family roots in the United States, might mishandle "Stephen Hopkins Karlson."  I'll put people at ease when "look in the Ks" doesn't register with "If that's the worst thing that happens today it's a good day."

That, though, is not how the academic culture of complaint works.

One of my biggest regrets in higher education happened when I was almost five years into my career. I was meeting with a dean who had just appointed me to teach several classes, and he told me that I’d have to come up with a nickname because my full name was too difficult for him to pronounce. Rather than push back on this comment, I told him that he could call me Connie. Soon, the nickname spread across the campus, and my true name was mostly lost among my colleagues. Those who tried to pronounce my full name often mispronounced it, and I became increasingly frustrated—and ultimately too defeated to push back, as correcting folks often resulted in visible annoyance on their part. Too often they would ask—or assume—that Constanza was my last name and would almost seem insulted if I corrected them on that as well.

More often than not, faculty members who have a name that is often mispronounced find themselves in the position of having to regularly correct students or colleagues. This can create an awkward dynamic, where the individual feels compelled to assert their identity while simultaneously worrying about how their corrections will be perceived. Such situations can lead to a sense of fatigue, as the individual navigates the delicate balance between affirming their identity and maintaining collegial relationships.

Feeling constantly compelled to correct the pronunciation of one’s name can contribute to a broader culture of exclusion in academia. When students feel that their names are consistently mispronounced or disregarded, it can diminish their sense of belonging and undermine their confidence. This, in turn, may affect their participation in classroom discussions, networking opportunities and overall engagement within the academic community.

She's probably a lot of fun at faculty gatherings.  There's such a thing as manners, and it sounds like many of her colleagues lack them.  Or they're as clueless as those ancient teachers in Milwaukee.  I hope they're not signalling their contempt by deliberately mispronouncing "Constanza" the way some populist pundits continue to say "Ka-mah-la."

But "hidden labor?"  Good grief, it's not that hard.  "Academic culture must emphasize the importance of respect and inclusion in all interactions. Faculty and administrators should model correct pronunciation and encourage peers to do the same."  Such bourgeois notions!