Türkiye vs Turkey
A couple of weeks ago, I watched an episode of the Apprentice. The two teams were selling team-building days in Cappadocia and Bodrum.
The Turkish authorities – probably the tourist board – had obviously spent a considerable amount of money to make this happen. I say obviously, because the candidates kept saying they were in Türkiye, rather than Turkey.
I imagine this will have involved a lot of retakes. Almost no-one says Türkiye unprompted, even though the country officially changed its name in 2022.
I still say Turkey. I might change to saying Türkiye at some point, but it instinctively feels wrong. And I’m not sure why.
Countries that changed their names
The odd thing is that this isn’t an instinctive resistance to using new country name. I’ve switched to Eswatini from Swaziland. I’ll usually go with Cote d’Ivoire rather than Ivory Coast. Only an hour ago I changed Czech Republic to Czechia in an article I was proofreading.
My general instinct on renamed places is to go with what the country or city wishes to be called. I don’t want to feel like an old bigot who still calls Zimbabwe “Rhodesia”. But I am somewhat inconsistent on this, as I suspect most of us are.
However, I can’t quite explain the reasoning behind this inconsistency.
Name changes in style guides
Part of it is a journalistic desire for clear communication. I want a reader to know where I’m talking about. Thus I use the name the reader is more familiar with.
When writing for a newspaper, I’ll usually defer to that newspaper’s style guide. Depending on who I’m writing for, for example, I might end up using south-east Asia, South-East Asia, southeast Asia, Southeast Asia, South East Asia or south east Asia.
My personal instinct, by the way, is for South East Asia. But my arguments for it would be half-heartedly equivocal.
Reader familiarity with city names
On other occasions, it’s simply a case of using what the reader is more familiar with. Even so, this changes over time. Thailand took years to become established over Siam. Same with Mumbai over Bombay and Ho Chi Minh City over Saigon.
Yet there are other cases where I’ll impulsively stick to the old name. For example, I was vaguely aware that Port Elizabeth in South Africa had changed its name. But I had to look at Wikipedia a few seconds ago to learn the new name. It’s now Gqeberha, apparently.
Virtually no-one outside South Africa would know where Gqeberha refers to.
When new names are more complicated
I’d like to say there’s a firm pattern of when I’m resistant to using the new name.
One reasonably common factor is that the new name is more complicated. Cabo Verde, for example, has more syllables than Cape Verde. The same applies to Türkiye versus Turkey.
Yet I’m clearly not consistent on this. I’ll use Timor l’Este and Bengaluru, even though East Timor and Bangalore are easier.
Place names in native languages
Then there’s the issue of renaming places to reflect native language preferences. This is something, again, I’m not consistent with.
I’m absolutely fine with Denali over Mt McKinley and Mt Taranaki over Mt Egmont and have recently switched to K’gari over Fraser Island.
I can also get on board with Aotearoa over New Zealand, although I’ll use New Zealand in articles for clarity’s sake.
I’m more hesitant when it comes to cities, though. Tourism Australia is pursuing a policy of dual naming for major Australian cities, such as Sydney/Warrane.
This is where I’m reluctant to go along with the change, as Sydney is city – a construct that didn’t exist before European settlement of Australia.
It seems like unnecessary retconning to pick an Indigenous name for an entity that didn’t exist until it was introduced by newcomers.
Islands, mountains, rivers… sure. Cities? It doesn’t make as much sense – although I’m far from certain on my argument on this.
The one concrete exception
There is, however, one name change I’m happy to take an absolutist, certain hard line on, however. It’s the Gulf of Mexico, not the Gulf of America.
