New Country, New Name? Migrants Navigate Tradeoffs

When moving to a new country, migrants sometimes change or adapt their names in response to a range of potentially conflicting social, institutional, and personal circumstances. These changes come in many forms and may include adopting a related name that is more common in the destination country, such as switching between Juan, Jean, Jhon, or John. Others abandon accents and other marks that official paperwork do not recognize, trim their names to fit new standards, or transliterate from one alphabet to another. Sometimes, individuals whose names consist of a single word must choose a family name, even though such a name category does not exist in their native culture, as is the case in Afghanistan or Indonesia, or the tradition is to use their father’s and grandfather’s name and not a hereditary surname, such as in Ethiopia or Somalia. These decisions are complicated. Names are much more than labels: They identify individuals, signal social belonging, and are embedded in cultural, legal, and political discourses.

Two core pressures run through migrants’ experiences in this regard. On the one hand, names are deeply personal identity markers that are tied to family, ethnicity, religion, and memories of earlier life. Yet they are also public and administrative identifiers that must fit into legal systems, bureaucratic forms, and local expectations of what is considered pronounceable and appropriate. This tension can lead to difficult decisions; even as many migrants change their names or adopt new ones, others insist on continuity. Depending on local policies, changing one’s official name legally is not always practical, potentially involving significant fees, time, and the know-how to navigate complicated bureaucracy. As such, many migrants keep their legal name but use a modified name or a nickname in certain settings, juggling multiple forms depending on where they are and the people around them.

For individuals, the decision can have both tangible and ideological ramifications. Names influence how people are treated in classrooms, workplaces, housing markets, and the legal system. Using a more locally recognizable name has been linked to higher incomes, better housing opportunities, and greater likelihood of obtaining a job interview,1 but many worry about severing connections to their past. Historically, governments have also forced members of minority groups to change their name as part of assimilationist campaigns, including people with foreign backgrounds as well as native-born minority ethnic groups. Many decisions about individuals’ names are embedded in the larger relationship between majority groups and marginalized populations. 

"Names are much more than labels: They identify individuals, signal social belonging, and are embedded in cultural, legal, and political discourses."

This article discusses why migrants change their names, use multiple names in different situations, or decline to do so amid external pressure. It explores the perceived benefits and costs of changing one’s name and the role of legal bureaucracy.

Why Migrants Change Their Names

When people cross borders and settle elsewhere, they often encounter new languages, naming systems, and expectations about what a name should look and sound like. In this context, personal names are not fixed tags, but dynamic resources that are central to how others recognize—or misrecognize—them.

Pragmatic Adaptations

One common motive for name changing is straightforward: Migrants learn quickly that some names are hard for locals to pronounce, spell, or fit into existing administrative formats (more on this below). To avoid constant corrections or awkward interactions, they make pragmatic adjustments. These changes include:

• Dropping or adapting alphabet letters or diacritics (accents, tildes, and other markings) that are uncommon in the local orthography,
• Shortening long or multi-part names, or
• Choosing a variant that matches local sound patterns, such as switching to a locally familiar given name, adapting the pronunciation, or using a short form.

Studies have shown that people with foreign-sounding names often adjust to match local pronunciation, sometimes leading to the loss of the original pronunciation in later generations. Take for instance Norwegians who migrated to North America in the late 19th century: Some used English names based on translation, when possible, or on phonetic likeness. For example, the family name Bakken might become Bacon to sound familiar to English speakers.2 This kind of change made everyday communication smoother while leaving an audible trace of the original name.

This illustrates how pragmatic changes are usually prompted by the desire to make daily life easier: filling out forms, avoiding repeated mispronunciation, and navigating institutions more smoothly. Even small shifts in spelling or structure can help migrants settle into the host society without abandoning their sense of self.

Parallel Names: One Person, Multiple Names

Another strategy is to use parallel names: different versions in different settings. Migrants may keep a heritage-language name in family contexts but use another version in official or majority-language settings.3 Many of the aforementioned Norwegian immigrants to North America, for instance, used their Norwegian first names and sometimes also family names within their own community, but accepted English versions in public and official contexts.4 A common strategy is to use a related version of their first name, such as going by Lewis in one context, Louis in another, and Ludwig in a third.

The use of parallel names can reflect a multilingual identity. It allows people to navigate multiple cultural spheres, signaling different aspects of their identity depending on the setting. This strategy is not necessarily about rejecting the old name, but often designed to reduce misunderstandings while keeping a strong sense of self and community in intimate contexts. This approach can be a way to navigate the tension between sustaining cultural heritage and assimilating into local traditions.

Economic and Social Incentives

Immigrants may also choose to change their names for concrete economic and social reasons. Studies from Western Europe have shown that foreign-sounding names can trigger discrimination in hiring, housing, and other arenas of life. In one study, job applicants with immigrant-background names received fewer positive responses than those with majority-sounding names, even with identical qualifications.5 Research on immigrants in Sweden showed their wages increased by about 12 percent after changing to a majority- or neutral sounding name.6 In cases such as these, migrants may feel their names are working against them, allowing others to judge their perceived background rather than their skills.

In response, migrants may feel that changing or softening their names is the only realistic way to be treated fairly. In Norway, for instance, an immigrant from Poland was observed to have changed his name from Michał to Mikael to repackage himself as someone employers would take seriously.7 The name change was not only an attempt to escape stigma; it was also a way of claiming agency, to feel he was actively shaping his life. In these environments, migrants may reasonably believe that adopting a more locally familiar name will reduce obstacles. These stories show how name change can be used strategically as part of a broader effort to gain access to jobs, housing, and social recognition. Yet this places the burden on individuals, rather than on institutions, to rectify discrimination.

Social attitudes shape these pressures. Recent research in Spain investigating how people respond to foreign-sounding names found that immigrants’ feelings of being pressured to change their name was often rooted in expectations from the surrounding society.8 Migrants sense that keeping a visibly foreign name may lead to misrecognition or discrimination, while adapting it is seen as a route to smoother interactions and social acceptance.

Even still, the names that are considered foreign change over time and vary between contexts, showcasing the fluidity of foreignness. Historically, in Western Europe, aristocrats translated or adapted their names when moving across linguistic borders.9 Migration also reshapes host-country name inventories: Over time, imported names enter the repertoire, are adapted to local norms, and sometimes become standard among the majority population. Variations of Mohamed, for instance, are now some of the most common first names for newborn boys in Belgium, the United Kingdom, and other European countries, owing to significant immigration in recent decades.10 Acceptance of newer names, however, is uneven and influenced by broader political and social dynamics.

Retaining Names for Children

Importantly, name choices are not always about conforming to the majority. They can also express identity claims and integration on one’s own terms, which may manifest less in a person’s naming choice for themselves and more in what they choose for their children.

Several studies on migrant parents highlight their high level of reflection and awareness about the significance of the names they give their children. Many choose “bridge names” which exist in both their heritage language and the local language, sometimes with slight differences in pronunciation or spelling. For example, a Portuguese-speaking couple in German-speaking Switzerland might select Daniela or Lucas, which feel familiar at home but also fit comfortably in Swiss schools and public life. These choices aim to facilitate the child’s life in the local environment while maintaining a connection to the family’s origins. A common practice is to select internationally recognizable names that work in multiple languages, signaling a transnational identity rather than a simple shift from one national context to another.11 Another common practice is to use “compromise” double first names where both cultures are included, such as in the name Erik Carlos with one parent from Norway and one from Peru.12

Other families deliberately reinforce their minority identities. Here, too, the trend is not necessarily limited to those with a migration background. In Nordic contexts, some parents of minority-language backgrounds choose distinctively Sámi or Finnish names, even when they know these may be harder for majority speakers. For them, naming is a conscious project of keeping heritage visible in the next generation.

Of course, these choices tend to be deeply personal and may vary widely even within one national-origin group. Among Ethiopians in the United States, for instance, some Oromo parents have been documented to choose distinctively Oromo names to reinforce ethnic maintenance and as resistance to historical marginalization in Ethiopia, while many Amhara parents prioritize names they feel will distinguish their children from other Black people in the U.S. racial landscape.13

Why Migrants Keep Their Names

Amid all these pressures, why do many migrants keep their names?

Emotional Power

Names carry deep emotional and biographical weight. As suggested by parents’ choices for the second generation, names connect people to family, place, and history. For many, a given name recalls grandparents, religious figures, or admired personalities; a family name can link a person to villages, clans, or past migrations.

People of Finnish background in Sweden have emphasized to researchers that their surnames “tell where we come from” and are essential to their self-image.14 One interviewee insisted on keeping his Finnish surname, even though he knew Swedes would find it hard to pronounce, because it was “a piece of home” he did not want to lose.

Such accounts are common. Adult migrants frequently describe their names as non-negotiable parts of who they are. Even when facing mispronunciation or subtle exclusion, many prefer to keep their names rather than feel like they are erasing their story. This emotional weight makes formally changing one’s name difficult, even when doing so might bring practical benefits. In short: Names matter as identity markers, not just as administrative labels.

Resistance to Pressured Assimilation

Keeping or re-using a name can also be a way to resist pressured assimilation. Migrants may feel that being asked to change their names is an implicit demand to renounce their origins, while keeping the original name allows them to assert that integration does not require erasure.

There is a long history of names being used for political purposes in this way. For instance, more than a century ago, in the late Habsburg Empire, Hungarian officials sought to impose majority-language spellings on minorities’ names, yet many resisted and preserved the traditional forms.15 Another striking historical example comes from Germans in the early 20th century United States, who responded to the prohibition of their language in school by choosing more obviously German names to assert their cultural pride.16 Names therefore became a subtle battleground over identity, loyalty, and belonging.

Middle-Ground Solutions

Still, as mentioned above, migrants often accept nicknames, simplified pronunciations, or different forms in different contexts, while keeping the full form in legal documents or intimate settings. These compromises indicate that identity is dynamic; naming choices allow them to negotiate who they are across time and space.

Laws, Bureaucracies, and Reform

Beyond individual choice, migrants’ naming practices are also shaped by the rules of the societies in which they live. Registers, identity documents, laws, and social biases can quietly restrict or reshape what is officially possible, regardless of what individuals prefer.

Legal and Bureaucratic Constraints

In many countries, government regulations and bureaucratic limitations set strict parameters for what counts as an acceptable name. Many have fixed structures for a person’s name, such as requiring that it includes one or more given name(s) and a family name, which can pose problems for migrants from cultures where it is common to use only one name or, elsewhere, a given name, father’s name, and grandfather’s name. On the flipside, governments may limit the number of names that can be recorded, complicating matters for individuals with additional names. Migrants may also encounter restrictions on characters and diacritics in societies using different writing systems.

People whose names do not fit may need to truncate, reorder, or transliterate them, at least for official purposes. This is the case for instance with migrants from Ethiopia or Somalia who use three personal names tracing paternal ancestry; some have had to compress or reorder their names in certain European contexts to use two names for official records, even if they retain the full traditional names within their communities.17

Historically, officials often forced unfamiliar names into local norms, altering them phonetically, morphologically, or semantically without the individual’s choice. An extreme example occurred in the 1980s, when approximately 850,000 ethnic Turks in Bulgaria were compelled to adopt Slavic names as part of a state-led assimilation campaign. Although many later reclaimed their prior name after the fall of communism in 1989, many nonetheless experienced the change as a violent break with identity, imposed through bureaucratic means.18

Reforms Have Sought to Widen Inclusion

Recent work on personal names in multicultural contexts suggests institutions are taking these issues seriously, as part of broader efforts to increase inclusion. Key proposals include:

• Integrating technical solutions (such as updated software and flexible forms, and Unicode-based standards);
• Training front-line staff—teachers, health-care workers, registry officials, and others—on name diversity, so they can handle unfamiliar names respectfully and accurately; and
• Ensuring that minority and immigrant communities have a voice in how naming rules are designed and implemented.

These initiatives can empower immigrant communities to preserve their cultural identities while also making administrative processes more efficient and fair. Cultivating an inclusive understanding of personal names is essential for fostering a sense of belonging in multilingual and multicultural societies.

Some countries have made strides in this regard. In Switzerland, for instance, authorities since 2025 have used a new technical standard for registering names that allows for a broader range of characters and therefore includes more original foreign names. The process was not simple: It required amending civil registry regulations and updating government software. While the reform enables more faithful spelling of names, it also raises practical questions, including how to handle names originally written in non-Latin scripts such as Arabic or Chinese. The government has also needed to train registry staff and ensure that a range of government systems (including for taxes, social insurance, and schools) can cope with the expanded character set.

Elsewhere, name specialists working together with governments have frequently answered questions from individuals about whether their names are “confusable,” “appropriate,” or “suitable” for registration. Such advice can assist bureaucratic decision-making while preserving individuals’ autonomy and integrity.19 These cases show that technical concerns such as database limitations and clarity in communication are intertwined with more profound questions about recognition and respect for minority and foreign names.

It is not only governments that have sought to confront these issues. In the United States, Major League Baseball has gradually included Spanish diacritics on players’ uniforms and in official materials, reacting to grassroots pressure from Spanish-speaking players and fans.20

Carrying Names Across Borders

Migrants’ name changes illustrate a tension between integration and identity. On one side, people face pressures to change their names to ease communication, access opportunities, and avoid discrimination. On the other side are motives to maintain continuity as a matter of identity, dignity, and heritage. Many migrants live in the space between, juggling multiple identifiers as they navigate different worlds, using one name at home and another in public, or shifting between versions depending on language and audience.

These maneuverings are not trivial. Individuals’ names are central to their inclusion in cosmopolitan societies, shaping everyday interactions and influencing whether they feel seen and respected.

The fact that naming practices differ between countries demands a balance between technical needs and respect for personal and cultural identities, as well as more historically grounded, comparative research across countries and time periods. Linking past to present can help scholars see how different legal regimes, ideologies, and social hierarchies have shaped naming practices, and how they might be reformed. For policymakers and the public, the broader questions can be:

• How do people react to unfamiliar names in their own institutions, schools, and workplaces?
• Do systems demand that some people alter their names to be accepted?
• What would it mean to design procedures, databases, and practices that take name diversity seriously?

In a world marked by mobility and multilingualism, answering these questions is part of building societies where people can carry their names—and the identities they represent—without being asked to leave them at the border.

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