First Turkiye, next India? The curious process of changing the name of a country
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What’s in a name? Well, as it’s Christmas, let’s talk Turkey – or rather, Turkiye.
Last year the United Nations agreed to President Erdogan’s request that his country be known as Turkiye. Aside from in official documents, it hasn’t much caught on – but from Erdogan’s perspective, he’s pushed the Turkish language name into international institutions, thus burnishing his nationalist credentials at home.
In fact, the country hasn’t actually changed its name. It’s been Turkiye since the fall of the Ottoman Empire, but the anglicised “Turkey” was long used abroad. It’s thought Erdogan wanted to remove the association of his country with the large bird devoured by many at Christmas.
Likewise, feathers were ruffled in September at the G20 summit when India’s Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, sat behind a sign labelled “Bharat” – an ancient Sanskrit word referring to part of the country which lies between the mountains and the sea. Modi has long argued that the name “India” is tied to colonialism – and that a change would follow the logical process which has seen cities such as Kolkata, formerly Calcutta, and Mumbai, once Bombay, shed their colonial names – but critics have argued that it’s a political play intended to appeal to Modi’s Hindu majoritarianism.
So, Shakespeare may have written “That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet”, but it seems the adage is far less applicable to nations than flowers (and Montagues). As Erdogan and Modi know – names matter. They are the building blocks of identity and can reflect a country’s heritage, culture, identity and aspirations.
But of course, Turkey and India are far from trailblazers in the post-colonial name-changing game. The French may have named a region Upper Volta, for example, but by 1982 its people preferred Burkina Faso – a name derived from local languages. Likewise, in 1964, Congo-Leopoldville became the Democratic Republic of Congo, and the inhabitants of its capital city, Leopoldville, preferring not to be reminded of one of the most brutal of all colonialists, King Leopold II, renamed their home Kinshasa soon after.
There are similar stories the world over. Siam became Thailand, Burma is now Myanmar. Having been rebaptised Ceilon by the Portuguese in the 1500s (which became Ceylon when the British showed up), India’s island neighbour reverted to what was likely its original name – the Sanskrit “Lanka”, meaning “island” – in the 1970s, before adding “Sri” (“Beautiful”) in 1972.
And, of course, spelling matters too. You might remember that shortly after the Russian invasion of Ukraine last year, the Ukrainian government insisted that its capital city be transliterated as Kyiv, not Kiev, to reflect the Ukrainian tradition, not the Russian.
So, how do you change the name of a whole country? First of all, you’ll need to formally inform the UN, and advise how to write the new name in the UN’s six official languages (Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian and Spanish). Next, is often the pricey undertaking of replacing all your flags, official documents such as passports, ID cards, and driving licences, as well as documents related to international treaties, causing headaches when argumentative countries insist on a renegotiation, because the original was agreed with Country X not Country Y. This can all take time – just ask Sri Lanka, where references to Ceylon lingered on official documents, currency and websites until as late as 2011.
After that? Well, some changes are more successful than others.
In India and around the world, many still refer to Mumbai as Bombay, and several of its institutions – the Bombay Stock Exchange and the Bombay High Court – retain the old name.
Likewise, you won’t hear anyone in North Macedonia refer to it by the name it adopted in 2019: the change – from Macedonia – was done solely to resolve a dispute with Greece, which has a province of the same name, and get around a Greek veto on its joining of NATO.
Then we have Czechia – a work in progress. Officially the country remains “the Czech Republic”, but wants to be known as Czechia in international forums as it’s snappier – good branding, if you will. It also makes a better football chant.
And after all, nothing lasts forever. Paris was Lutetia (from the less-than-flattering Latin for “swamp”), Toronto was York, Istanbul was Constantinople, New York was New Amsterdam. Borders shift, and so do names – and though Turkiye may be the latest, it certainly won’t be the last.
