- Feb 5, 2002
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Last fall, when I took my daughter to her college orientation, all new students had been issued ID lanyards, to which they were invited to affix pronoun stickers. To opt out would be conspicuous—and based on my observation, no one did. A week later, I too was subjected to the same demand. The new director of my community choral group had just returned from a workshop on “diversity and inclusion,” and she insisted that I and nine other middle-aged women in the group introduce ourselves around the circle with our “names and pronouns.” The point was obviously not that anyone needed any pronoun clarification. The point was to say the words.
And so the pronouns creep in, just a tiny word here, a little checkbox there. Our nation’s first female vice president has elevated the practice to unofficial national policy. At a public meeting at the White House on July 26, 2022, she announced: “I am Kamala Harris, my pronouns are she and her, and I am a woman sitting at the table wearing a blue suit.” It is difficult to see why I should not go along. Stating my pronouns doesn’t seem to conflict with living in truth—unlike, say, a girl’s suddenly wanting me to call her “him” or “them” or “zim.” What is wrong, for normies like me, with stating the obvious?
I have no problem declaring my proper name; in fact, I have long been a huge fan of nametags. Maybe because my name is unfamiliar to many people, I’m sensitive to the potential difficulties and embarrassments of communicating it to a new acquaintance, and eager for interventions that make this task easier. Nametags and verbal self-introductions are useful because proper names do not reveal themselves in any other way. You could not possibly know my name just by looking at me. My name is unique to me, and at the same time, entirely contingent—that is to say, my name could be anything else, and it would still be my name.
Continued below.
The Pronoun Ritual | Samira Kawash
And so the pronouns creep in, just a tiny word here, a little checkbox there. Our nation’s first female vice president has elevated the practice to unofficial national policy. At a public meeting at the White House on July 26, 2022, she announced: “I am Kamala Harris, my pronouns are she and her, and I am a woman sitting at the table wearing a blue suit.” It is difficult to see why I should not go along. Stating my pronouns doesn’t seem to conflict with living in truth—unlike, say, a girl’s suddenly wanting me to call her “him” or “them” or “zim.” What is wrong, for normies like me, with stating the obvious?
I have no problem declaring my proper name; in fact, I have long been a huge fan of nametags. Maybe because my name is unfamiliar to many people, I’m sensitive to the potential difficulties and embarrassments of communicating it to a new acquaintance, and eager for interventions that make this task easier. Nametags and verbal self-introductions are useful because proper names do not reveal themselves in any other way. You could not possibly know my name just by looking at me. My name is unique to me, and at the same time, entirely contingent—that is to say, my name could be anything else, and it would still be my name.
Continued below.
The Pronoun Ritual | Samira Kawash
