For many, a last name is simply a familial identifier, but for those of Mexican heritage, a last name, or apellido, carries a profound weight of history, culture, and identity. My own last name, Guerrero, Spanish for warrior, is a testament to this. As a child navigating the nuances of American culture, I learned to soften its edges, anglicizing the pronunciation from the full-bodied Spanish articulation to a muted, anglicized version. This act, though seemingly small, was symbolic of a larger struggle with identity and belonging, a sentiment echoed by many with Mexican Last Names in the United States.
Growing up in San Diego in the 1990s, a period marked by significant anti-Mexican sentiment in California, my Mexican last name became a point of quiet contention. The vibrant sounds of Spanish, my first language, were often hushed in favor of English, the dominant language in my school and broader society. Teachers, in an attempt to assimilate immigrant children, discouraged the use of Spanish, even punishing students for speaking their native tongue. This environment fostered a sense of shame around our heritage, subtly suggesting that our Mexican last names and the culture they represented were somehow less valuable.
The author, Jean Guerrero, reflects on her journey of reclaiming her Mexican last name and cultural identity.
This pressure to assimilate wasn’t unique to my experience. For many children of immigrants, particularly those with Hispanic surnames, the desire to fit in often leads to a modification of their names, a linguistic bending to the will of the dominant culture. This can range from simplifying pronunciations to outright adopting anglicized nicknames. The motivation is often understandable: to avoid mispronunciations, to ease interactions, and sometimes, to circumvent prejudice. However, this act of linguistic compromise carries a deeper implication, potentially leading to a disconnect from one’s cultural roots and a weakening of ethnic identity.
The renowned Mexican-American author Reyna Grande poignantly describes this phenomenon as “subtractive bilingualism,” the psychological violence of losing a piece of oneself through the suppression of one’s mother tongue. This linguistic erosion extends beyond just language; it impacts self-perception and the fundamental way we interact with the world. Research consistently demonstrates a correlation between a weak ethnic identity and poorer mental health outcomes among Latinos and other minority groups, including increased risks of depression, substance abuse, and even suicide.
The historical context of name alteration is rooted in systemic oppression. Throughout history, Anglo-Protestant colonizers and English-language supremacists have employed the suppression and alteration of names as a tool of racial subjugation. Native Americans and African Americans were often robbed of their ancestral names, replaced with names deemed more “acceptable” within the dominant culture. This practice extended to language itself, with English becoming the official language in many states and a prerequisite for citizenship, further marginalizing non-English languages and the cultures they represent. The intention, as linguistics professor Reynaldo Macías explains, was to solidify Anglo-American dominance and perpetuate white privilege.
However, in recent times, a powerful counter-movement has emerged: the reclamation of original names and pronunciations. This act of linguistic self-assertion is a potent form of resistance against the historical and ongoing pressures of assimilation and white supremacy. It is a declaration of cultural pride, a way to honor heritage, and a means of connecting with one’s ancestry on a deeper level.
Jean Guerrero with her father in San Diego, highlighting the importance of family and heritage in reclaiming cultural identity.
For individuals with Mexican last names, this reclamation can be particularly meaningful. Mexican surnames are rich in history, often tracing back to Spain and reflecting the country’s colonial past, while also sometimes having Indigenous roots. Many common Mexican last names like García, Rodríguez, Martínez, López, and González, are patronymic, meaning they were originally derived from a father’s given name. Others relate to occupations, places, or descriptive characteristics. Understanding the origin and meaning of a Mexican last name can be an empowering journey of self-discovery, fostering a stronger sense of identity and connection to one’s cultural heritage.
Linguistics professor Carmen Fought emphasizes the profound connection a single word, like a name, can create to an entire culture and heritage. Reclaiming the correct pronunciation and embracing the full form of a Mexican last name becomes an act of cultural affirmation, a way to connect with ancestors and community, and a powerful statement of self-acceptance in a world that often seeks to erase or diminish non-dominant cultures.
This movement of name reclamation is gaining momentum across various communities. Asian Americans are similarly reclaiming their names in response to rising anti-Asian hate. Individuals are correcting pronunciations in classrooms, on social media, and in everyday interactions. Shubham Gupta, an Indian student, chose to reintroduce himself with the correct pronunciation of his name after initially adopting an anglicized nickname to fit in. These acts, seemingly small on an individual level, collectively contribute to a broader cultural shift towards inclusivity and respect for linguistic diversity.
Embracing and celebrating diverse names and pronunciations is not merely an act of cultural sensitivity; it is also beneficial for cognitive function. Research demonstrates that multilingualism can offer protection against dementia and enhance brain function. The notion that multilingualism is detrimental is a uniquely American concept, often rooted in a desire to control who belongs and who doesn’t. By normalizing and celebrating linguistic diversity, we can challenge these exclusionary narratives and foster a more inclusive and equitable society.
Ultimately, reclaiming and correctly pronouncing our names, especially those that carry the rich history and cultural weight of a Mexican last name, is a powerful step towards dismantling structures of white supremacy and building a more inclusive future. Our names are not just labels; they are integral parts of our identity, our heritage, and our connection to the world. Embracing the full richness of our names is embracing the full complexity and beauty of who we are.
My own journey of reclaiming “Guerrero” has been a gradual process, fueled by the voices of multilingual writers and thinkers who have inspired me to embrace my full identity. Living in Mexico and speaking Spanish again allowed me to reconnect with my heritage and pronounce my last name correctly for the first time in years. This linguistic reclamation was intertwined with a deeper personal reclamation, a reconnection with my father and my Abuelita, and a renewed sense of belonging.
While code-switching, navigating between anglicized and Spanish pronunciations, can be a necessary tool, it is within this very code-switch that I, and many others, find our center. The beauty lies in the fluidity, in the ever-evolving nature of language and identity. Just as Spanglish, a vibrant hybrid language, is entering the mainstream, so too is the acceptance and celebration of diverse names and cultural expressions.
In the words of Assétou Xango, “I want a name like fire / like rebellion … A name Donald Trump might choke on.” For me, Guerrero is such a name. With each correct pronunciation, I assert my identity, not in spite of my heritage, but because of it. I am American, and I am Guerrero.
