Bigotry in the garden

I was watering a few plants this morning when I noticed a shoot of Wandering Jew – the weed known by the Latin name of tradescantia – poking out from behind some of the leaves of the only plant that was intended to be in a particular container.

I was struck by two arresting thoughts: what do Jews called Wandering Jew, and are they offended by the name? I felt sure that they would find the term offensive; who would want to be associated with such a pervasive botanical menace? A quick internet search revealed nothing about what I imagined to be the high dudgeon in which Jews would find themselves if they worked as horticulturalists or were home gardeners and wanted to call a radio gardening program to ask advice about getting rid of this plant. My search terms were "wandering Jew plant offensive", yet there was almost no discussion from Jewish websites about being scandalised by this name and wanting to change it. Jewish groups object vehemently and rapidly to acts of anti-Semitism carried out by individuals or organisations. But why don't they protest as loudly – or at all – about this common name for the tradescantia plant that would seem to be quietly and insidiously perpetuating anti-Semitic sentiment?

Would doing so be seen as petty, thereby bringing more unwarranted scorn upon a people who have already suffered more than enough? Haven't they got more important things to worry about? some people might say.

Or might they feel an odd affinity for this plant, with their shared history of persecution? I've noticed this name affinity phenomenon (as I've just termed it) among people whose surnames are the same as words used to designate colours, such as Grey (or Gray), Brown(e), Green(e), Black and White. I once worked at a place where a colleague – a neatly attired woman in late middle age – had the surname of Grey. A few of us were sitting around one day and commenting on the drabness of our offices. One forthright colleague – who rarely stopped to think of the insulting implications of any of her utterances – said, "How about these grey office walls? Can you think of any colour more drab or dreary? I absolutely hate grey! It's such a boring colour." My eyes darted over to Mrs Grey to monitor her reaction. She sat mutely for a while, then said, "I don't think they're too bad. At least it's a light grey, so it reflects a lot of light."

Was this her heartfelt response to the colour of the walls? Or did she – unlike the colleague who made this comment – only too readily perceive the connection between her surname and the colour? If she liked her surname, would she feel reflexively (and perhaps irrationally) compelled to defend any denunciations of the associated colour? Or can some colour-surnamed people distinguish between the colour and the name and comfortably harbour contradictory feelings about each?

I once attended an editing course in which there was an indexing component taught by a very knowledgeable woman called Glenda Browne. Apart from her good teaching skills, one of the first things I noticed about her was that she wore items of brown clothing to every class. I wondered if she did this consciously, or as many students of onomastics (the study of names) have noted, we are motivated by unconscious forces to do so many things in our lives, including selecting a particular name for a child. Were the clothing choices of the indexing teacher a way of expressing solidarity with the Browne clan? And what if a person has a colour surname but doesn't like the actual colour it denotes? Would they feel like a traitor?

Ex-politician Bob Brown – the former leaders of the Greens – is a slightly different phenomenon. He's got a colour surname, but he's associated more with a more verdant hue than with brown. But it's still intriguing that both his name and his career have colour associations. And I've often wondered how the ABC political commentator Antony Green feels when he's commenting on the pasting that his namesake political party is taking in various polls or elections, now that their fortunes have turned.

You probably already know that the star of the hilarious movie School of Rock is the endearingly pudgy Jack Black. But did you know that his co-star in that movie – the spineless, put-upon Ned Schneebly – is named Mike White? Not only were their two characters polar opposites in personality – one loud, lazy and overconfident; the other meek, responsible and lacking in self-belief – but in real life their names were also chromatic opposites. What were the chances?

Names are indeed very strange and powerful things. When you start to think about them seriously you'll see all kind of patterns and possibly unconscious impulses at work, whether it's mothers choosing appellations for their newborns, people choosing a career (there's a vet in Sydney called Dr Melissa Catt) or freakishly serendipitous business collaborations; I once knew of a small firm of solicitors called Hazard and Friend. One name hints at the advisability of keeping one's distance; the other beckons with a cheery greeting.

Tradescantia – also known as Wandering Jew