Watch what you call your child
COPENHAGEN -- If Denmark somehow morphed into the celebrity epicenter of the universe, there would be no place for the baby-naming eccentricities of the world's megastars. Apple Paltrow Martin would be rejected as a fruit, Jett Travolta as a plane (and misspelled, to boot), Brooklyn Beckham as a place, and Rumer Willis, as, well, Danish name investigators would not even know where to begin with that one. "Cuba is also a problem," said Michael Lerche Nielsen, assistant professor for the Department of Name Research at Copenhagen University. "I have to decide: Is this a typical boy or girl name? And that's the problem with geographical names." In Denmark, a country that embraces rules with the same gusto that Italy defies them, choosing a first and last name for a child is a serious, multitiered affair, governed by law and subject to the approval of the Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs and the Ministry of Family and Consumer Affairs. At its heart, the Law on Personal Names is designed to protect Denmark's innocents -- the children who are undeservedly, some would say cruelly, burdened by preposterous or silly names. It is the state's view that children should not suffer ridicule and abuse because of their parents' lapses in judgment or their misguided attempts to be hip. Denmark, like much of Scandinavia, prizes sameness, not uniqueness, just as it values usefulness, not frivolousness. "You shouldn't stand out from anyone else here; you shouldn't think you are better than anyone else," said Lan Tan, a 27-year-old Danish woman of Singaporean and Malaysian descent who is trying to win approval for her daughter's name, Frida Mei Tan-Farndsen. "It's very Scandinavian." While other Scandinavian countries have similar laws, Denmark's is the strictest. So strict that the Danish Ministry of Justice is proposing to relax the law to reflect today's Denmark, a place where common-law marriage is accepted, immigration is growing, and divorce is routine. The measure, which would add names to the official list, is scheduled for debate in Parliament in November. "The government, from a historical point of view, feels a responsibility towards its weak citizens," said Rasmus Larsen, chief adviser at the Ministry for Ecclesiastical Affairs, discussing the law. "It doesn't want to see people put in a situation where they can't defend themselves. We do the same in traffic; we have people wear seat belts." People expecting children can choose a pre-approved name from a government list of 7,000 mostly Western European and English names -- 3,000 for boys, 4,000 for girls. A few ethnic names, like Ali and Hassan, have recently been added. But those wishing to deviate from the official list must seek permission at their local parish church, where all newborns' names are registered. A request for an unapproved name triggers a review at Copenhagen University's Names Investigation Department and at the Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs, which has the ultimate authority. The law only applies if one of the parents is Danish. Many parents do not realize how difficult it can be to get a name approved by the government. About 1,100 names are reviewed every year, and 15 percent to 20 percent are rejected, mostly for odd spellings. Compound surnames, like Tan-Farnsden, also pose a problem. Parents who try to be creative by naming their child Jakobp or Bebop or Ashleiy (three recent applications) are typically stunned when they are rejected. In some cases, a baby may go without an officially approved name for weeks, even months, making for irate, already sleep-deprived, parents. Greg Nagan, 39, and Trine Kammer, 32, thought it would be cute to name their new daughter Molli Malou. To their surprise, Malou was not a problem, but Molli with an i, which they thought sounded Danish, had to be reviewed by the government. The church told Kammer she needed to state in a letter the reason for choosing Molli. She did so, and said she told the clerk, "Here's your stupid letter: The reason for naming her Molli is because we like it." "Isn't this silly?" Kammer said. "We love to make everything a rule here. They love to bureaucratize." The century-old law was initially designed to bring order to surnames. Before the law, surnames changed with every generation: Peter Hansen would name his son Hans Petersen. Then Hans Petersen would name his son Peter Hansen. And on it went, wreaking bureaucratic havoc. The law ended that. It also made it difficult for people to change their last names, a move that was designed to appease the noble class, which feared widespread name-poaching by arrivistes, Nielsen said. Then in the 1960s, a furor erupted over the first name Tessa, which resembled tisse, which means to urinate in Danish. Distressed over the lack of direction in the law, the Danish government expanded the statute to grapple with first names. Now the law is as long as an average size book. It falls mostly to Nielsen, at Copenhagen University, to apply the law and review new names, on a case-by-case basis. In a nutshell, he said, Danish law stipulates that boys and girls must have different names, first names cannot also be last names, and bizarre names are OK as long as they are "common." "Let's say 25 different people" worldwide, he said, a number that was chosen arbitrarily. How does Nielsen make that determination? He searches the Internet. Generally, geographic names are rejected because they seldom denote gender. Cairo, if it is approved at all, may be approved for a boy, but then could not be used for a girl. Jordan is a recent exception to the one-gender rule. In some cases, Nielsen says, he believes he is performing a vital public service. He advised the Ministry that Anus and Pluto be rejected, for example. He also vetoed Monkey. "That's not a personal name, " Nielsen explained. "It's an animal. I have to protect the children from ridicule." Leica, however, has been approved, as has Benji, Jiminico and Fee. "People's names have become part of their identities now," Nielsen said. "And people change their names the way you change your clothes or your apartment. It has become more common." And what about Molli Malou? Approved, by government decree, just recently. © Copyright 2004 Star Tribune. All rights reserved.
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