From 2003 onwards, Tom Kiefer has been collecting and photographing confiscated items from detained migrants along the U.S. - Mexico border. His growing hoard includes crosses, keys, toys, perfumes, and decks of cards, eerie remains that reinsert the vivid lives and hopes these migrants carried with them.
His work inspired me to think about the materiality of migrants’ lived experiences. On the basis that migration is a transitory state, I asked myself, what does one choose to bring with them from their past and into their future? How do they decide? Is there something that always remains? In other words, is there something that cannot be taken away?
This got me thinking about names.
My project considers migrants’ names, which, depending on how “foreign” they appear, might sometimes have to be whitewashed, pronounced incorrectly, or replaced with a nickname instead. What does a name convey about a person to others, especially given the fact that in the United States, “ethnic” sounding names are disproportionately discriminated against in resumes?
Even further, what does a name convey to the person it belongs to? We name children after ourselves to continue a legacy and achieve a quasi-immortality of sorts, which a migrant can complicate as they try to achieve both new beginnings and new futures. Someone may have a Biblical name — and many do — but not necessarily identify with the religious tradition from which it came. Yet, they carry the name around, maintaining the idea it invokes in society either consciously or subconsciously. For those who do not live in their country of origin, their name can be a source of pride or of shame, both of which deal with questions of responsibility.