What’s in That Writer’s Name?

By Barrie | September 6th, 2007 | 2 Comments »

If it were not for comments like “I learned so much from your piece on Balinese names” and “Thanks for reminding us of the power of names,” I would have no idea that anyone reads this column.

Besides my mother, of course.

Baring the bones of why some Balinese prefer to use nicknames and hide their true names, I seem to have invited confessions and gossip from the literati about the origin of pen names among their peers.

Many Indonesians have yet to adopt a family name: the majority, in fact. While traditions that use name to emphasize kinship abound, in Java there is also a strong tradition of choosing one’s own professional name.

A propitious name would be selected to be more in line with one’s chosen path in life. Some simply rearrange the letters in their name, or reveal or hide particular parts of their names, while others adopt a completely new name altogether.

In Bali, to be a priest one goes through a ceremonial rebirth after which the initiate chooses a name for himself. Roles can also be all-consuming. As a token of respect, some high priests in Bali are only referred to by their position as spiritual guide for society.

The concept of “being reborn through knowledge” has been around for centuries, so it is also not rare for a teacher to give a star pupil a new name upon graduation.

For many reasons not explored here, many Indonesian writers seem to hide their Christian names, which often refer to a saint or biblical personage whose character is admired by their parents.
Names given by parents are often wishes so strong they should be considered a blessing. In fact, parents would like them to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

However, writers are an independent lot and like to assert self-determination of identity.

When Sugeng becomes Eros (Djarot) and Susetyo becomes Mohamad, one would think there is a desire for something universal: Not so much abandoning the local, but more an attempt to break away from bearing too thickly a particular identity.

For Japanese flavor, novelist Seno Gumira Ajidarma once chose to write as Mira Sato in homage to Zatoichi.

*****
At the outset of his career, Sarwendo found his name unlucky. With it he could never catch an editor or publisher’s eye, so he rearranged his father’s gift to Arswendho — more fitting to his tongue-in-cheek, slapstick, open character.

With the new name, Arswendo had the Midas touch — everything he touched turned to gold. Monitor became the largest grossing tabloid in the world in its day and Hai magazine the youth favorite.

His stellar rise was matched with his fall from grace for daring to publish a list of “most popular people” based on mailed nominations that led to his name sharing the top 10 with the prophet Mohammad.

Rapidly, he was denounced and sacked. For his own safety, he was thrown in the clink to save him from the hordes baying for his blood. Like Pramoedya, he went on to write many books behind bars.

*****
Hardly anybody remembers that the “Pablo Neruda of Indonesia” once went by the generic rural Javanese single name of Sunarto. In fact there were two of the name at university, so he was referred to as Sunarto B for showing up second.

He studied wordcraft and poetry under the tutelage of cultural impresario WS Rendra. Adept he sure was, the nuances of words and internal rhyming of verse as natural as conversation to him.

So as a graduation gift, he was given the name Sitok Srengenge.
Worthy of a poet, the name that means “One Sun” has helped build a shining identity that has taken his poetry from strength to strength.

*****
A young writer by the name of Goenawan Susetyo was having trouble getting his work published.

Always knocked back by editors, he opted to use the second name given to his older brother: Mohammad.

Under the new name, his submitted work was soon published in various media.

There was a time he had to abandon it, however, and write under pseudonyms such as Mundardjito and Tisna Aji to remain published.

In 1963 the Karl Marx admirer helped pen a Cultural Manifesto that irked the powerful Lekra, the media mouthpiece of the communist movement of the time.

The rise of the New Order government meant that he could resume publishing under Goenawan Mohammad.

However, the pattern repeated in 1994. Tempo, the newsweekly of which he was editor in chief, was ordered to tow the government line. Rather than sacrificing his ideals, he chose to close it and set up an institution to resist the control of information.

Perhaps there is something in the name about being the voice of reason, empowering the marginalized with a progressive movement to set people free from the shackles of backward thinking.
His namesake was similarly persecuted in his time.

Kadek Krishna Adidharma is a Bali-based environmental engineer who works as a cultural liaison officer and is an interpreter. He can be reached at kadek@adidharma.net