As incredible as it is infantile, the media of the ruling party has taken to referring to the new leader of the Malta Labour Party as “Joe” rather than the familiar “Joseph” by which he is popularly known. The guy who sent this order down the editorial chute must, still in a very naive way, have been associated with that similarly puerile move when Eddie the ex-Prime Minister overnight became Edward the President.
Someone certainly needs to consult a shrink. It is either this hidden imbecile or the rest of us who have always found common sense in Shakespeare’s famous adage “what’s in a name?” People do indeed play about with names. Sam Goldwyn’s famous quip says it all: “Now why did you name your baby John? Every Tom, Dick and Harry is named John.”
It is only when names are changed for the sake of some hidden political or PR agenda that it becomes tiresome. So many years on, some radio and TV newsreaders still stumble over the word “Edward” when referring to the President of the Republic, while those who revered him during his political lifetime naturally still prefer the old name.
I know of only one politician who seemed comfortable, as most were when referring to him, with the two names accorded to him – Dom Mintoff. Somehow, Duminku Mintoff still rang an appreciable tone. Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici, his successor, everyone knew affectionately as Karmenu, while in the 1960s Gorg Borg Olivier was sometimes referred to by old-timers from both sides of the political fence, and who perhaps fondly or bitterly remembered the fascist era, as Giorgio.
In any case, it is true that in politics a person who is out to make a name for himself or herself gets called many names, and not all of them are printable, alas.
And so it goes, right down to the personal and family levels. Up to the generation when I was born, for example, the tendency was to name children after the patron saint of the village or town of birth. It is why there are so many ageing Helens in Birkirkara, Gaetans in Hamrun, Lawrences in Vittoriosa, Cettas in Cospicua, Pauls in Valletta, Marys all over the place and Joes/Josephs in Rabat, Msida, Qala, Ghaxaq and, well, Kalkara.
So how did I end up being called Carmel? That’s another story, I’m afraid. Mum was just about to name me Joe when a neighbour who had helped in my rather unannounced transfer from the world of angels to this earth, intervened. A devotee of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, old Rozi suggested the name to mum (and mum, no doubt exhausted by the ordeal, simply agreed) in recognition of my somewhat adventurous – miraculous to Rozi – earthly download.
But at the time, no one called Carmel, Carmel. It either became Charlie (pronounced Cali) or Karmenu/Nenu. So Cali it was for a good part of my early life, until it gradually developed into Charles, more so when I started dabbling in the media and had made my first modest forays into Maltese literature. The result is that most of my old friends still call me Cali, the other half prefer Charles. I react positively to both. The problem is, like every Carmel of my age, I have O level and A level certificates, diplomas and other academic records in two different names. Even my ID card has to carry the all-important abbreviations k/a – Carmel known as Charles.
Other frequent name changes occur in some of the far-flung places that the Maltese have emigrated to during the past half-century. More often than not, these changes are necessitated by the acceptable urge to integrate more with new environments and societies, so Guzi becomes Joe, Manuel becomes Mannie, Tonina becomes Antoinette, Cettina becomes Connie and so on. It is at first difficult for those who stay behind, like friends and family, to adapt to the new names, but they eventually do.
All that has since changed, of course. Babies then started being named after film stars and rock singers. Both Dallas and Dynasty provided a host of new names for babies born in the late 1970s and early 1980s – from Pamela and Sue Ellen to Krystle and Alexis – and the trend sadly continues. In a way, however, due to exposure over the years of popular national figures in the fields of fashion, music and sport, the local media has also helped in reviving a number of interesting Maltese names, like Xandru, Wenzu, Salvu and Cettina.
It is not always easy on the parents, though. The same goes for strange-sounding names that often do not mix well with traditional Maltese surnames. Here’s how to fight a horrible name.
“I’ve made up my mind what we’ll call the baby,” the young mother announces. “We’ll call her Eulalia.”
The father does not care for this name but prefers to be shrewd. “That’s fine,” he says. “The first girl I loved was named Eulalia, and it will evoke pleasant memories.”
The wife goes silent for a moment. “We’ll call her Mary after my mother,” she says.
Only recently, I discovered that a good friend who, for the past 30 years or so I have always known as Tony, is actually called Twanny by family and loved ones. I wanted to know why, so I asked him bluntly: what do you really want me to call you? His embarrassed reply was that to old friends and his immediate family, he is known as Twanny. The “Tony” came in when he was active in the PR world where we got to know each other. His birth certificate refers to him as Anthony, by the way.
A man has three names: the name that he inherits, the name his parents give him and the name he makes for himself. It is why Joseph need hardly worry there are dimwits who, for the most hopeless of reasons, persist in calling him Joe.