Nước mắm — that ruby-hued elixir; that salty, fish-flesh-sweet open secret in your favorite recipe; that indispensable icon of Vietnamese culture and, by extension, identity — owes itself to Commerson’s anchovies. That’s right, if your fish sauce comes from the central region, where it was first developed, the fish pressed with salt to produce it are Stolephorus commersonnii, a species named in 1801 after Philibert Commerson, a white Frenchman. Picture all the hardscrabble village homes suffering under the yoke of colonialism, where one of the day’s few pleasures was a humble meal made delicious by a carefully rationed dash of fish sauce and an ingredient whose name pays homage to their colonizers.
Left: Philibert Commerson. Photo via wikimedia.
Right: Stolephorus commersonnii. Photo via Arobid.
Sadly, naming endemic creatures after foreigners is a convention not unique to Commerson’s anchovies. Scanning lists of animals native to Vietnam yields a great number of western men (it’s always men). Delacour's Langur (Trachypithecus delacouri), Lichtenfelder's gecko (Goniurosaurus lichtenfelderi), Osgood's rat (Rattus osgoodi), and Griffin's leaf-nosed bat (Hipposideros griffini) are all Vietnamese animals, as much as an animal can be claimed by a nation, with names honoring non-Vietnamese.
Left: Delacour's langur. Photo via Orangepopp.
Right: Lichtenfelder's gecko. Photo via Biolib.
Binomial nomenclature, the globally accepted standard for naming organisms, includes a first, “generic” name that identifies the genus and a second, specific name that distinguishes the species within that genus. Unlike common names, which differ across languages (i.e. tiger or cọp are the common names for Panthera tigris), scientific names allow for a precise, relatively simple means of discussing organisms across regions and disciplines. This is particularly important when it comes to plants and animals that may have medicinal qualities or be poisonous. The system, developed by 17th-century Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus during his ill-fated attempts to identify every living creature on Earth, is currently governed by various internationally agreed-upon codes of rules, including the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature (ICZN).
Binomial, also called scientific names, and their conventions are as messy as one might expect from scientists working before the advent of electricity, gas engines, refrigerators, typewriters or telephones. The second halves of the names often reference physical characteristics, geographical locations, or behaviors to aid in accurately identifying an organism. But sometimes they are simply used as a means of paying respect to individuals. While the science community frowns aggressively on naming any animal or plant after oneself, specific names, since their advent, have been a way to compliment a mentor, peer, friend or loved one. More than one scientist have used them in attempts to woo a woman or land a promotion.
Left: Beyonce's horsefly. Photo via NBC News.
Right: Darth Vadar's isopod. Photo via Pensoft.
In addition to all the names of scientists that appear in the records, there are more playful examples that involve puns and pop culture, such as the Darth Vader isopod (Bathynomus vaderi); a genus of crustaceans named Godzillius; a large-eyed, swamp-dwelling fish named after a Lord of the Rings character (Galaxias gollumoide); and even a horsefly with a golden bum named after Beyoncé (Scaptia beyonceae). Considering the vast number of beetles, worms, fungus and microscopic sea creatures in the world, not just now, but across all time in the fossil record, it’s easy to understand how Diego Maradona has a damselfly (Librelula maradoniana) and Lady Gaga has a wasp (Aleiodes gaga).
Sanqiaspis vietnamensis, an ancient, jawless fish that lived over 400 million years ago, was formally described in 2009. Illustration by Stanton Fink.
Let’s return to Vietnam. Because of many reasons including the western origins of the naming conventions, global inequalities that have historically placed western science at the forefront of discoveries, and accepted racism, references to Vietnam are relatively rare in the records, despite the thousands of opportunities. Certain geographical references do appear, including countless annamensis, tonkinensis, and cochinchinensis. More recent examples include Rhacophorus hoanglienensis, a frog found within the Hoàng Liên National Park; a gecko (Gekko badenii) whose name references the Bà Đen mountain where it lives; an ancient, jawless fish (Sanqiaspis vietnamensis); and even our beloved sao la (Pseudoryx nghetinhensis), as noted by researcher Khôi Nguyễn.
Scientists are more likely to name new species after Vietnamese locations, as opposed to individuals, but a few do reference the immense impact of Vietnamese researchers, including Dr. Ngô Văn Bὶnh and Dr. Nguyễn Văn Sáng, who were honored with snakes (Dendrelaphis binhi and Coluberoelaps nguyenvansangi, respectively). Historical figures make appearances as well, including a moth (Marcopoloia leloi) named after Lê Lợi; a beetle (Cyphochilus leducthoi) after Lê Đức Thọ; and an ant (Xymmer phungi) for Phan Đình Phùng. Hồ Chí Minh, meanwhile, received the privilege of having both a spider (Pholcus hochiminhi) and a beetle (Oedichirus hochimini).
Commonly called Bình's bronzeback snake in honor of Dr. Ngô Văn Bὶnh, Dendrelaphis binhi is a rather charismatic critter. Photo via iNaturalist.
I think the names could be doing even more, however, and experts agree. A recent paper from the Royal Society concluded that: “Because the nomenclatural Codes impose surprisingly few constraints on the formation of a new scientific name, naming is one of the most creative acts in all the sciences. The results of unleashing scientists’ creativity have been fascinating, with species bearing scientific names coming from many source languages and with a remarkable variety of etymologies. Scientific names (like the scientists who confer them) can be beautiful, irritating, amusing, poignant, provocative or infuriating. They raise important issues of social justice and equity in the history and practice of science. Finally, they can apparently have a role in directing our scientific attention to study.” If scientific names can make people excited about the natural world, aware of important issues, interested in local history, or proud of their heritage, we should embrace creative naming with great enthusiasm.
A few recent namings give me hope that things are headed in the right direction. A Central Highlands hedgehog was given the name Hylomys macarong, because its front teeth resemble the fangs of a vampire (ma cà rồng), and any use of non-western languages helps decolonialize science and invite young people here to envision a place for themselves within it. Meanwhile, a dainty bird, the Actinodura sodangorum, honors the Södang (or Xơ Đăng) ethnic minority group that lives in the forest where it was found, and promotes Vietnam's multi-ethnicity.
Left: The so-called vampire hedgehog. Photo via Discover Wildlife.
Right: Actinodura sodangorum, commonly called the black-crowned barwing in English. Photo via Wikimedia.
But where is the whimsy? Where is the child-like joy and silliness that accompanies rigorous thought and logic to uphold humanity? It is here: Banhxeochelys trani. Named in 2019, Banhxeochelys describes an extinct genus of turtle that lived in Vietnam 39 to 34 million years ago. Thin, flat, and cracked, the fossilized shells found in the Na Dương coal mine in Lạng Sơn reminded the Vietnamese scientists of bánh xèo, and thus, the entire new genus was named Banhxeochelys (the Greek word chelys means "turtle"). The first, and so far only species within the genus was given the specific name trani to honor Đặng Ngọc Trần, a retired director of the Department of Geology and Minerals, who helped the nation make great strides in geological research.
The shells of Banhxeochelys trani as described in the 2019 scientific paper. Photo via Wikimedia.
An interpretation of what Banhxeochelys trani would have looked like alive. Artwork by Alain Beneteau via Facebook.
A prehistoric turtle named after a delicious Vietnamese meal: could such a whimsical name attract attention to Vietnam’s important and vulnerable biodiversity? Could it inspire hesitant young Vietnamese to dream about their rightful place in global scientific discourse? Does it at least make you chuckle and want to go out for bánh xèo? If even one of these is true, I hope you’ll join me in my desire to see many more such names in the near future. With hundreds of new species identified every year in Vietnam, there are plenty of opportunities.
