My name is who I am

By Negeen Sadeghi-Movahed, Esq.

My name is Negeen Sadeghi-Movahed. My name is the first badge of honor I ever received. My name is laced with the glory of my heritage. My name is my family’s story. My name is long and unapologetic. My name is a statement.

For many years, I wrestled with the constant, repeated butchering of my name. I could not understand how my teachers would breeze through an attendance list filled with Tylers and Chelseas, but pause in distress when they stumbled upon mine. I could not understand why my tennis coach insisted on calling me “Melissa.” My name doesn’t even remotely resemble “Melissa.” Most of all, I could not understand why some people insisted on giving me, an Iranian-American, a “white nickname,”

After years of trying to navigate this world with my heavy, ethnic name, I started to slowly but surely give up on it. First, I gave fake “Starbucks” names, then started introducing myself with more Western, palatable names. I just wanted to avoid the hassle of constantly trying to pronounce my name. It was the same conversation every time, “The ‘g’ in Negeen is a hard ‘g’ sound; no, it’s not Negreen.” It’s exhausting.

But the only thing I hate more than dealing with people’s carelessness was disappointing my parents. My father also has a heavy name, but he has never shied away from it. Even when he immigrated to the United States over 30 years ago, he never entertained the idea of changing his name for anyone’s comfort. I remember the look on my father’s face when he witnessed me water my identity down to make other people’s lives easier. Every time I argued with him about it not being a big deal, he vehemently disagreed. He told me, “If you are the first Negeen they ever meet, you will teach them your name and they will never make the same mistake again. They will ask what it means and where it comes from. They will learn who you are.” Father knows best. He was right.

By the time I got to law school, I thought I resolved the issues I had with my name. I always spoke up in class to correct mispronunciations. I reveled in the glory of people seeking to say it right. My identity felt respected and honored by so many of my peers and professors. I felt like I could own my Iranian heritage in the face of Western discomfort. However, there was always a part of me that doubted whether I could ever really feel empowered in a courtroom with my heavy name.

I was a proud mock trial competitor. During mock trial competitions, even being surrounded by fellow advocates with non-Western names, mine was usually the longest at 20 letters and a hyphen. Introducing myself to the mock trial court became my least favorite part of competitions. So unliked that it became obvious to my coaches. I continuously rushed through reciting my name and tried to poke fun at the fact that it was “complicated.”

All of my insecurities came to a head when I was in the midst of preparing for a mock trial competition during my second year. One coach suggested I change my name so I would not disadvantage myself or the team. They suggested I change my name to something shorter and more recognizable to “white, old, male” judges. Looking back on it now, I am disappointed in myself for wasting a second of my time even entertaining the idea that my name was a liability to the team’s success. In the moment, I considered shrinking myself to fit a standard that was never made for me. A white standard that I was never meant to be.

Law school was not meant for people like me. The legal profession was not meant for people like me. The system was not meant for people like me. But, I am here, heavy name and all, and, as my father said, “They will learn.”

Thankfully, I did not shorten my name or water it down for a mock trial competition, job applications, or interviews. I do not water my name down when I say it in court. I feel respected when someone asks me to clarify the spelling, how to pronounce it, what my name means, and/or where it’s from.

My name is Negeen Sadeghi-Movahed. In Farsi, it means “jewel.”. Its origins are Iranian. My name is my power. My name is my story. My name is who I am.