The Observer view on Turkey’s name change | Observer editorial

What’s in a name? A great deal, if Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, is to be believed. His years-long quest to change his country’s moniker to Türkiye (pronounced Tur-key-yay) reached a successful conclusion last week when the UN gave its official blessing. “Türkiye is the best representation and expression of the Turkish people’s culture, civilisation and values,” Erdoğan declared. Maybe so, although in typically high-handed fashion, Erdoğan does not appear to have asked the Turkish people for their views.

Nor has he consulted Welsh and French speakers, for example, who have their own ways of talking turkey. Trying to book a flight from Caerdydd (Cardiff) to Twrci this summer could cause confusion. The French, being French, will likely stick to Turquie.

The change to Türkiye has a sound historical basis. Land areas occupied by present-day Turks were known by various names over the centuries, including Asia Minor, Anatolia and eastern Thrace. But Turkey formally became the Republic of Türkiye (Türkiye Cumhuriyeti) after independence in 1923, following the abolition of the Ottoman sultanate. Its centenary will fall next year.

Erdoğan is said to have wanted rid of a westernised, anglicised name that jarred with his neo-Islamist, nationalist-populist brand. In Ankara, as elsewhere, identity is everything. More prosaically, it is suggested the word turkey conjured up unwelcome images of Thanksgiving dinners and the Christian feast of Christmas. Worse, in American slang, a turkey is a silly, foolish person.

Changing a country’s name is not a new idea. Shifting political landscapes are often the cause. In 1707, the Acts of Union created the novel concept of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. In 2019, Macedonia, formerly a republic within Yugoslavia, itself a 20th-century invention, became North Macedonia after a vexatious dispute with Greece.

What became the United States was previously known, by indigenous peoples at least, as Turtle Island. Before the revolution of 1776, it gloried in the name of United Colonies. Some now call it Great Satan or Global Hegemon. Russia became part of the USSR, then had second thoughts. War also turned East Pakistan, initially East Bengal, into Bangladesh. Less dramatically, Swaziland became Eswatini in 2018 so as not be confused with Switzerland.

Colonial hangovers inspired many national makeovers. Shrugging off the yoke, Bechuanaland became Botswana, Rhodesia became Zimbabwe and Nyasaland became Malawi. Likewise, Siam became Thailand. Until 1972, Queen Elizabeth II was also Queen of Ceylon. When it became Sri Lanka, it deposed her by mutual consent. In contrast, Burma’s 1989 transformation into Myanmar was contentious. Opponents rightly complained the new name had been imposed by fiat by an unelected military junta.

Geography is another determining factor, as with the relatively new creations of North Korea and East Timor. When Sudan’s southern regions won independence from the north in 2011, they chose, a tad unimaginatively, to become South Sudan. Like Mesopotamia and Palestine, Persia was as much a location and a civilisation as a country. Now it’s named Iran.

Many leading world cities have rebranded, too, reflecting old roots and shifting identities. New York was once New Amsterdam and, briefly, New Orange, a surprising name for the Big Apple. St Petersburg was Petrograd and Leningrad in between. Bombay is Mumbai. Constantinople, formerly Byzantium, now goes by the less exotic name of Istanbul, which brings us back to Tur-key-yah.

Should the United Kingdom follow Erdoğan’s example? If Scotland secedes, it will no longer be united. And the way the younger royals carry on, it could soon be a republic. As Great Britain inexorably shrinks and shrivels into Little England, a new name may be required. How about Brexitannia?