Ao ler o texto que partilho a seguir, pensei no orgulho que ainda sinto hoje por, aos cinco anos, ter decidido como queria que me chamassem. Na altura era a Malagui, o nome que resultara da tentativa de o meu irmão mais velho dizer Margarida. Mas isso era nome de bebé, pensei eu aos 5 anos, e decidi que Gui era muito mais eu.
A família e os amigos aceitaram a mudança sem problemas. E só hoje, ao ler este texto, me perguntei: que espécie de pessoa seria eu se, aos cinco anos, me tivessem imposto o nome que escolheram para mim, em vez daquele que eu sentia ser o meu nome mais certo?
Parece simples, mas podia ter sido a bifurcação em que eu virava para o caminho de andar de bem com o mundo, ou enveredava pelo outro, no qual sentia que tinha o mundo todo contra mim.
***
Do facebook:
I go by a shortened version of my name.
So does my dad.
So does my brother.
My wife uses her middle name. So does her brother.
No one ever made us get permission.
In third grade, my teacher misspelled my last name on my name tag — Wilt instead of Witt. Since she had to redo it anyway, she asked if I wanted to go by “Alex” instead of “Alexis” on the name tag. And while she wasn’t my favorite teacher for many reasons, I will never forget that act of kindness. The power of seeing my name — the one that felt right — on the tag in front of me.
I never needed my parents’ permission to be called by my name.
My teachers never had to fear being fired for using my name.
And yet, I’ve had people refuse to use it.
Family members who won’t use nicknames.
Strangers who tell me “Alex” is a boy’s name, and refuse to say it.
One time in seminary, a man asked to sit at my library table. Fine. He asked my name. I said “Alex.” He wouldn’t accept that. Kept pushing. Finally, I told him my full name just to get him to stop. His response? “I bet your boyfriend doesn’t call you Alex.” (I responded with something like, "Yeah, he respects me. So he does call me Alex." I didn't have a boyfriend, but ya know... you work with what you've got)
As a Christian, our Scriptures are full of name changes.
Abram becomes Abraham.
Sarai becomes Sarah.
Jacob becomes Israel.
Simon becomes Peter.
Saul becomes Paul.
And in every case, the name change signals something sacred: a new beginning, a clearer identity, a deeper call.
Honoring someone’s name — the one they choose, the one that fits — isn’t just basic decency. It’s holy.
Everyone deserves to be called the name they call themselves. That includes trans and non-binary people - who face not just resistance, but cruelty, for doing what the rest of us do without question.
That’s not radical. That’s just human dignity.
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