Chinese New Year, Lunar New Year

I returned to work on the third day of Chinese New Year, still carrying the lingering warmth of the New Year.

The inbox, of course, was already waiting: messages, statements, invitations, and yes, the annual debate that now seems as predictable as mandarin oranges.

Is it Chinese New Year, or Lunar New Year?

Every year, the argument grows louder.

Social media posts declare indignation.

WhatsApp messages circulate emotional manifestos.

Some even go so far as to say greetings using ‘Lunar New Year’ should be ignored, or worse, resented.

I read one such message over the holidays.

It insisted that calling the festival ‘Lunar New Year’ was a betrayal of Chinese heritage; that it diluted cultural ownership; that it erased civilisational roots; that it showed a shameful reluctance to even utter the word ‘Chinese’.

The tone was fiery and the emotion, unmistakable.

But as I sat at the dining table on the first day of the New Year, watching four generations share a meal, I found myself wondering – are we winning a cultural argument; or losing the spirit of the festival itself?

Let us be clear.

The festival’s origins are undeniably Chinese.

Its calendar system, seasonal markers, zodiac cycle, and many core customs emerged from ancient Chinese civilisation.

No serious historian disputes this.

Calling it Chinese New Year is historically grounded and culturally valid.

But history does not stand still.

Over centuries, the lunar calendar travelled: through trade, migration, diplomacy and cultural exchange, into Vietnam, Korea and beyond.

Each society adopted, adapted and localised the celebration.

Their New Year meals differ.

Their rituals differ.

Even their zodiac interpretations differ.

Yet the seasonal turning point, the new lunar year, is shared.

So while the roots are Chinese, the branches have grown regionally.

Acknowledging that does not erase origin. It recognises cultural evolution.

Why then has the terminology become so politically charged?

Partly, it is a reaction to global discourse: fears of cultural dilution, anxieties over identity, and the modern tendency to politicise heritage.

In multicultural societies and international institutions, the term Lunar New Year emerged as a neutral, inclusive expression – one that allows multiple communities to celebrate without privileging one label over another.

Governments use it. Corporations use it. Global media uses it.

Not to deny Chinese heritage, but to acknowledge shared observance.

Language, after all, often shifts with audience and context.

We speak differently at home, in the newsroom, at diplomatic receptions, and on international platforms.

Terminology adapts. Meaning need not be lost.

Here in Malaysia, and especially in Sarawak and Sabah, the debate often feels strangely disconnected from lived reality.

Our festive calendar is shared terrain.

Hari Raya sees open houses across faiths.

Christmas lights glow in non-Christian homes.

Gawai and Kaamatan draw urban visitors from every community.

And when the Lunar New Year arrives, whatever we choose to call it, the greetings flow just as freely from friends of all backgrounds.

Some say ‘Chinese New Year’; some say ‘Lunar New Year’; some say simply ‘Happy New Year’.

None intend disrespect. All intend goodwill.

To reject the greeting because the adjective differs seems, at best, misplaced pride – and at worst, ingratitude.

On the first morning of the New Year, my son served lotus seeds and peanuts – the symbols of abundance and continuity.

He wished his father ‘马上发财’ (to get rich immediately).

He wished me ‘马上放假’ (to have holiday immediately).

Same tray. Different blessings. In that moment, the festival needed no label.

Its meaning was already complete: family continuity; shared food; gentle humour; living memory.

No terminology debate could make it more authentic. No naming dispute could make it less.

Yes, cultural heritage deserves protection, and historical origins deserve recognition.

However, festivals are not museum artefacts. They are living experiences.

If we guard terminology so fiercely that we alienate goodwill, we risk shrinking the very cultural space we seek to defend.

When a neighbour of another faith wishes you ‘Happy Lunar New Year’, it is not cultural theft – it is cultural bridge-building.

And bridges, especially in divided times, are worth far more than semantic victories.

So call it Chinese New Year; call it Lunar New Year – history will not change because of the label.

Heritage will not disappear because of translation.

But something far more fragile can be lost, if we allow vocabulary to harden hearts.

Because the real danger to culture does not come from how others greet our festivals; it comes when we turn celebration into confrontation, and belonging into boundaries.

If a festival that teaches reunion ends up dividing goodwill, then we have misunderstood the very civilisation that we claim to defend.

Interestingly, in China itself, the debate hardly exists.

The festival is officially called ‘Spring Festival’ – a seasonal, cultural name rather than an ethnic one.

It marks renewal, reunion and the arrival of spring – not ownership – which perhaps reminds us that the festival’s essence was never meant to be confined by terminology in the first place.

Names matter, but how we receive one another matters more.