The quirks of Singaporean Chinese names*

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*The quirks of Singaporean Chinese names*

Some of us have switched to hanyu pinyin names but the appeal of dialects as an identity marker still endures.

https://www.straitstimes.com/opinion/the-quirks-of-singaporean-chinese-names

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2025-06-29

Ho Ai Li

Assistant Foreign Editor

• Ho Ai Li is assistant foreign editor at The Straits Times, helping to oversee its coverage of East Asia. She also writes columns on culture and heritage.

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If you are a Chinese Singaporean of a certain vintage, like me, you would have gone through the days of being known by a hanyu pinyin name.

I grew up in the 1980s, the first decade of the Speak Mandarin Campaign when there was much zeal for all things Mandarin.

In primary school, I was He Aili; by secondary school, I became Ho Ai Li and could drop my full pinyin name, though it remains in brackets on my Singapore identity card (IC). 

I was reminded of “the comfortable chaos of Singaporean Chinese names”, as writer Don Shiau titled it at his recent well-attended talk at the National Library, where he outlined the chequered history of pinyin names in school. While my two names look about the same, Mr Shiau seems to turn into another person when he changes to his pinyin name of Xiao Weixiong.

Singapore’s language policy has certainly impacted the names by which many of us are called. But even after so many years, dialect names continue to endure.

Perhaps it’s because, in a very Singaporean way, we have embraced the practicality of standardisation, while clinging on to links to our past.

Hanyu pinyin, also called pinyin, or “spelt sounds”, was created by Chinese linguists in the 1950s to standardise the pronunciation and romanisation of Mandarin, and started gaining traction widely in China from the late 1970s.

In Singapore, a campaign to promote the use of Mandarin was famously launched in 1979, to get Chinese Singaporeans to switch to using Mandarin instead of dialects.

Among other objectives, this was to improve communication and understanding among Chinese Singaporeans.

In 1981, pinyin names were introduced in pre-primary and Primary 1 classes, and this was later extended to levels up to pre-university. 

“Standardising the spelling of Chinese names by using pinyin will help reduce (the) consciousness of different dialect groups and help to build a more cohesive Singapore,” according to a circular to parents from the Ministry of Education. 

As The Straits Times reported then, teachers began to take attendance in pinyin and students had their pinyin names written above or beside their dialect names on their textbooks and exercise books.

“Initial name-calling sessions in class were met with giggles and blank stares”, with students not used to their pinyin names. 

Schools were even urged to hold crash courses or use videos to help non-Chinese teachers master the pronunciation of these names.

There were complaints of course: the X, Q and Z sounds in pinyin could prove tricky for those who don’t speak Mandarin – the name of Chinese President Xi Jinping, for example, is sometimes mispronounced as “She Jumping”.  

Some parents also questioned why the Government was taking their dialect surnames away from them. One ST reader, who signed off as “A PROUD, A VERY, VERY PROUD TAN”, submitted a poem to the Forum page to lament the move, Mr Shiau highlighted.

“When you determined what language I/should speak,/I complied./Now, you want me to change my name after/four generations in Singapore.../It’s tough, it’s real tough!”  

He’s a woman, she’s a man

Names are, of course, very personal and everyone has their own preference.

I don’t use my full pinyin name any more, but it remains on my IC; it is a fond reminder of my days in Qiaonan Primary, born Kiau Nam School in 1933 but made to take on a pinyin name in the 1980s, just like I was. 

Other former Chinese-medium schools that ditched dialect names for pinyin ones include Chin San (formerly Cheng San) School, which became Jing Shan Primary, and Tai Cheong School, which was renamed Dazhong Primary. 

Streets and housing estates like Bishan and Simei were christened with Mandarin names too (but this is a topic perhaps for another time). 

Unlike individuals, housing estates or schools cannot modify their names by adding a Western name, as young Chinese Singaporeans (or their parents) are wont to do, adopting a Western name, or even two, like my niece and my cousin’s daughter.

There are those who prefer pinyin names and are known professionally by them. 

One example mentioned by Mr Shiau in his talk is Senior Minister of State for National Development and Transport Sun Xueling, whose dialect name is Soon Sher Rene. Or there are the 1980s TV stars like Li Nanxing, Chen Liping or Zeng Huifen. 

Some friends prefer their pinyin names as they have grown used to them. One friend likes that her dialect and pinyin given names are very different, allowing her to go “incognito” with her pinyin moniker. 

Another friend prefers her dialect name in writing for practical reasons: She had tumbled down the class register, going from C to Z, when her surname Chong became Zhong, following hanyu pinyin. 

I prefer my dialect name to my pinyin one.

I was reminded of how my surname in Mandarin can be mined for laughs when I chanced upon an English-language stand-up routine by a Chinese comedian surnamed Huang and named He, who joked about having a “he” in her name.

When I mention this to a friend, she knows exactly where I am going and says: “Oh, there’s this joke about women whose surnames are He and men whose surnames are She.” 

This is a case of He’s A Woman, She’s A Man – incidentally the title of a 1977 song by German rock band Scorpions and a 1994 Hong Kong movie starring Leslie Cheung and Anita Yuen. 

But, actually, the most famous person I can think of with She as a surname is a woman – Hong Kong actress Charmaine Sheh, whose name in Mandarin is She Shiman. 

To add to the ensuing confusion, I sometimes hear people pronouncing my Mandarin surname as the English pronoun “he”, when it should, in Mandarin, sound more like “her”.

In any case, I feel pinned down as He Aili, given the attendant pinyin stresses – the characters of my given name are all pronounced in the heaviest fourth tone. I can take up more space and breathe more easily as the unstressed Ho Ai Li. 

But I prefer pinyin names in other contexts, such as the time when I had to read out the dialect names of my classmates and tripped over a name like Nga Wan (sorry, Yayun!).

The emotional bond of dialect names

As a child, I had little inkling of the larger tussle between Mandarin and dialects here.

By the time I was old enough to watch TV in the 1980s, dialects had largely been scrubbed from the airwaves, or dubbed over in pitch-perfect Mandarin. 

After more than 40 years of the Speak Mandarin Campaign, Mandarin has long overtaken dialects like Hokkien and Teochew in terms of usage among Singaporean Chinese families.

But personal names have proven to be a pocket of resistance. 

In 1991, the Ministry of Education announced that dialect names could appear first in school records from the following year, effectively reversing the pinyin name policy. 

The ministry noted that only 7.5 per cent of Chinese parents here registered their children’s names in full pinyin in 1990, while some 20 per cent registered full dialect names, with about 50 per cent going for a dialect surname combined with a pinyin given name. 

The latter would be names like Goh Hanyan or Goh Pei Ming for instance, as opposed to Goh Meng Seng, where the entire name is in dialect. 

“It is evident that parents have strong sentiments regarding the retention of dialect for their children’s surnames,” the ministry had said in its statement. 

Retaining the dialect spelling of surnames helps to reduce confusion, in which members of the same family appear to have different surnames, one in dialect and another in pinyin.

One famous example: Senior Minister Lee Hsien Loong’s children have their surnames written as Li and not Lee. 

In a 1984 speech, founding prime minister Lee Kuan Yew said that the “loyalties to dialect names are emotional and strong”, noting that pinyin names were less popular.

But he also pointed out the practical utility of Mandarin.

He said: “The value of a language is its usefulness, not just in Singapore, but also in the wider world. If you speak Hokkien or Cantonese, you reach some 60 million in Fujian and Taiwan, or about 100 million in Guangdong and Hong Kong. With Mandarin, you can speak to 1,300 million Chinese from all provinces in China.”

While Mandarin has eclipsed the likes of Hokkien or Cantonese here in terms of usage, dialect names, especially surnames, still hold a place in the hearts of many Chinese Singaporeans, reflecting the enduring appeal of these names as an identity marker and a link to one’s forebears.  

hoaili@sph.com.sg