No, Your Honor, you cannot call yourself a “High Judge” in Chinese when voting

Hong Le remembers meeting a charismatic woman in 2003 who was campaigning for San Francisco district attorney. In Cantonese, that woman's name was 賀錦麗, which is pronounced as Ho Gam-lai and means “Congratulations Brocade Beautiful.”

Most Americans know her by another name: Kamala Harris.

“She is currently the vice president,” the 88-year-old Mr. Le said in Cantonese. “And she deserves it.”

In San Francisco, where more than a fifth of residents are of Chinese descent, politicians have long adopted middle names in Chinese characters. And every serious candidate knows how to order campaign material in English and Chinese.

But the city's leniency toward adopted names has frustrated some Chinese-American candidates, who say non-Chinese rivals have gone overboard by using flattering, flowery phrases that at first glance have little to do with their actual names. Some candidates have gained an advantage or engaged in cultural appropriation, the critics say.

Not anymore. For the first time, San Francisco rejected Chinese names submitted by 22 candidates, in most cases because they could not prove they had used the names for at least two years. The city has asked translators to provide names that have been transcribed, a process that more closely approximates English pronunciations.

That means Michael Isaku Begert, who is running to retain his local judgeship, cannot use 米高義, which means in part “high” and “justice,” a name that suggests he was destined to sit on the bench.

And Daniel Lurie, who is challenging Mayor London Breed, must drop the name he has been campaigning with for months: 羅瑞德, which means “promising” and “virtue.” Mr. Lurie's new name, 丹尼爾·羅偉, pronounced Daan-nei-ji Lo-wai, is a transliterated version that uses characters closer to the sound of his name in English, but are meaningless when are strung together.

Most Chinese names contain two to three characters: a surname and a first name of one or two characters. In the Chinese-speaking world, choosing a baby's name can carry so much weight that some parents still consult fortune tellers who consider factors such as the exact time of birth and the number of strokes in a character to suggest a promising name that is imbued with meaning.

The federal Voting Rights Act requires jurisdictions with a significant number of voters who are not fluent in English — such as San Francisco's large Cantonese-speaking population — to provide translated ballots and voter materials. However, the law leaves it up to local election officials to decide whether candidates' names are included.

Certain Alaska cities must translate ballots into Yup'ik, an Alaska Native language, while some Arizona counties must do so in Navajo and Apache. Hundreds of jurisdictions across the country must translate their ballots in Spanish, while 19 must print them in Chinese, 12 in Vietnamese and four in Korean.

Since 1999, San Francisco has required that candidates' names appear in both English and Chinese. But now, in accordance with a 2019 state law, transliteration is required for new applicants, while those who can prove they have used a Chinese name for at least two years can continue using it. (The law also applies to ballots printed in other character-based languages, such as Japanese and Korean.)

The switch is not universally popular. It ends a San Francisco tradition, cherished in some quarters, in which Chinese leaders have named their favorite candidates. And it has the potential to result in long nicknames that are difficult to remember or even cringe-inducing, because the characters that sound like someone's name can translate into strange phrases in Chinese.

Fiona Ma, California's state treasurer, supported the legislative effort in 2019 after inconsistent policies led to her Chinese name being changed without her knowledge.

The daughter of immigrants from China, Ms. Ma has used her Chinese name – 馬世雲, meaning “Horse Worldly Cloud” – in voting since the early 2000s, when she first ran for the Council of San Francisco Supervision. She said she had always been proud of her name, and that Chinese-language media had long referred to it. But Ms. Ma learned that her name had been changed to a transliteration in the June 2018 vote.

The legislation that Ms. Ma sponsored set new ground rules. She wanted to ensure that candidates with a legitimate claim to a Chinese name could use it, but also that others would not gain an unfair advantage by making up flattering names.

“If it's a good name, like 'Most Amazing Trustworthy Person' or 'Pro Public Safety,' then it can make a difference,” Ms. Ma said.

At a recreation center in San Francisco's Richmond District, some voters said a candidate's name has less influence on who he chooses than what someone has done. Mr. Le said between games of ping-pong that what was more important to him was whether the candidates met the needs of the Chinese community.

“If you're interested, we know your name,” he said.

Jen Nossokoff, who first ran for the San Francisco Democratic County Central Committee in March and for the Board of Supervisors in November, said she was given a name, 高素貞, by a Chinese supporter last summer. The name is pronounced Gou Sou-zing in Cantonese and is reminiscent of someone famous Chinese folk character which is considered a symbol of good-naturedness.

“It means integrity,” she said. “It means ambition.”

She printed the name on her campaign signs, many of which hang in the windows of her neighbors' homes.

But the name was rejected by the Ministry of Elections, which recently gave it a transliterated name, 珍·諾索科夫, or Zan Nok-sok-fo-fu in Cantonese – a hodgepodge name that lacks any of the lofty symbolism of has hair. desired name.

Voters are now casting ballots for the March 5 election, and Ms. Nossokoff said it is confusing that the name on her campaign documentation does not match the one on the ballot. She said the mandatory name change was unfair because her opponent in the supervisor's race, incumbent Connie Chan, is the one who notified the Department of Elections that it was violating state law.

Born in Hong Kong, Ms. Chan, 45, moved to San Francisco's Chinatown at age 13 with her mother and younger brother. Her first name was Szeman, but she quickly changed it after arriving in the United States because, she said, it “sounds like semen.”

Instead, she joined legions of other Chinese girls her age and officially changed her name in honor of Connie Chung, the pioneering news anchor.

Ms. Chan, who knew the state had passed the 2019 law, wrote a letter asking questions to the city's elections department last fall. It's still unclear why the city didn't comply with state law — elections director John Arntz said he didn't know — and the Board of Supervisors unanimously ordered Mr. Arntz's department to comply.

Mr Arntz said candidates can use a birth certificate or even a wedding invitation to prove they have a legitimate claim to a Chinese name. Otherwise, the city will provide their transcribed names.

“I strongly believe that our Chinese names are not a trend,” Ms Chan said. “It signals a relationship with the community that I'm not sure they've worked hard to build. It's cultural appropriation.”

Ms. Chan has given Chinese names to white colleagues in the past. When Supervisor Matt Dorsey was the spokesman for the city attorney in 2016, he wanted a Chinese name that could appear consistently in the Chinese press, rather than reporters in different outlets coming up with different translated versions.

Ms. Chan, a city hall worker herself at the time, thought he had demonstrated his commitment to the Chinese community through his years of public service. She gave him a name that sounded like Matt Dorsey and had a pleasant meaning.

Yeah, sort of.

He is now known in the Chinese community as 麥德誠: “Kind Barley.”

Zhe Wu provided a Cantonese interpretation of this story.