“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell just as sweet.” Here, Shakespeare suggests that names are arbitrary. History tells a different story. Renaming places has long been a tool wielded by those with authority to assert dominance. Renaming rewrites narratives, and can erase the histories of cultural “others”. The Trump Administration’s executive orders renaming the Gulf of Mexico the “Gulf of America” and restoring Denali’s colonial name “Mount McKinley,” highlight how this practice persists.
Renaming is never a neutral act. It tends to reflect the values or priorities of those in power. It disregards those who find significance in the original name. Trump’s executive action requiring the federal government to use the name “Mount McKinley” instead of Denali is rooted in nostalgia for a colonial America that prioritized Euro-American figures over indigenous names and histories. Denali means “the high one” in the Koyukon Athabaskan language. For Alaskan Native communities, it represents thousands of years of cultural and spiritual connection to the land. Renaming the mountain after a former U.S. President who never even set foot in Alaska, signals that Trump does not respect this cultural and linguistic importance. Trump has undeniably prioritized settler colonial narratives over indigenous heritage, just as European colonists did when they renamed the mountain in the first place.
Trump’s notion of renaming the Gulf of Mexico to the “Gulf of America” reflects a broader vaunting of American exceptionalism. This approach overlooks the region’s rich and complex history that predates the United States. The Gulf of Mexico was originally referred to by the Spanish as the Gulf of New Spain or the Spanish Sea. By the late 18th century, it was renamed for the Mexica people who inhabited what would eventually become Mexico. The Gulf of Mexico has been a crossroads of indigenous, African, and Hispanic cultures for centuries. Rebranding it with a shamelessly U.S.-centric name risks overshadowing this history with a narrative centered on U.S. dominance and ownership.
These contemporary examples are not isolated incidents. Rather, Trump’s renaming campaign is walking the same path that colonists beat dusty. When European-Christian colonists arrived in new territories, one of their first acts was often to (re)name places — a symbolic declaration of control and ownership. For instance, the Taíno people of the Caribbean Sea called their homeland Borikén. The name reflected their identity and heritage. After the Spanish came, they renamed the island Puerto Rico, emphasizing its utility as a “Rich Port” for the Spanish Crown. The name of Borikén lives on in discourse as some Puerto Ricans refer to themselves as Borinqueños, or to the island as Borinquen. However, this choice of name often also serves as a political indicator. Many Puerto Rican Nationalists elect to use Borinquen and Borinqueño instead of Puerto Rico or Puertorriqueño, respectively.
Renaming is not merely symbolic, as Shakespeare argues; it has tangible effects on cultural memory and identity. When indigenous or local names are replaced, the histories and stories that attend those names are often erased. Such acts of erasure contribute to the alienation of communities from their heritage and disrupt the intergenerational transmission of cultural knowledge. Restoring original place names, as in the case of Denali, is a crucial step toward acknowledging and respecting the histories of marginalized communities. The resistance to such efforts highlights how deeply entrenched colonial attitudes remain in modern society. Opponents to the restitution of original or indigenous names often argue that these changes are unnecessary or politically motivated. This ignores the fact that the original renaming was itself a political act.
The renaming of places — whether driven by political agendas or colonial conquest — is a practice derived from power dynamics. From Denali to McKinley and back again, and from the Sea of New Spain to the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America, these acts remind us that the act of renaming is a recurrent, oppressive tool. It is a tool that minimizes the cultural influence of the political other. Recognizing and challenging these acts of destruction protects and preserves the diverse cultural legacies that shape our world. The world is not dominated by one ethnic, religious, or racial group but is shared by all — despite the rhetoric of politicians and imperialists like Trump.
Photo via Diego Delso, delso.photo, licensed under CC BY-SA
