Although Westerners have pretty well given up believing that the name is the thing, or even that there's some kind of resonance between names and things, it hasn't always been so. My ancestors were about as western as you can get in Europe, and they used names to induce malefactors to commit suicide: "sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can really mess me up."
Here are a few examples of Old Irish satire, that most feared of all arts:
Cen cholt for crib cernini,
Without food quickly on a dish,
cen gert ferbba fora n-asa aithrinni,
without cow's milk on which a calf thrives,
cen adba fir iar ndruba disoirchi,
without a man's dwelling after the staying of darkness,
cen dil daimi rissi,
without a storyteller band's payment,
ro sain Brisse.
so be Bres.
A "poem to raise blisters" from Cormac's Glossary:
Maile baire gaire Caier
Evil, death, short life to Caier
combeodutar celtra cath Caier
May battle spears slay Caier
Caier diba Caier dira Caier foro
Caier by land, Caier by earth, Caier rejected
fomara fochara Caier.
Under mound, under rocks, Caier.
And a single line from a much longer satire; each word means "I will satirize" using three different roots:
gromfa gromfa glamfa glamfa aerfa aerfa
I suspect that these curses probably did "work" in their context: an intensely shame-oriented (as opposed to guilt-oriented) culture in which people identified extremely strongly with their public reputations, to the point where the destruction of that reputation could send them into overwhelming depression. (God knows it isn't so today: the Irish have acquired an overwhelmingly guilt-oriented culture somewhere along the way.)
I often wonder if Japan might have been able to escape the spiral of events leading to World War II if they had institutionalized public satire as an escape valve.
Go away, you silly samurai, or I will satirize you ... a second time!