WATANI International
28 June 2009
The official decision to change the name of the Upper Egyptian Minya village of Deir Abu-Hennes—literally, Monastery of St John [the Short]—into Wadi al-Neinaa (Mint Valley) triggered wide, shocked, uproar among the villagers. The name of the village goes back to the fifth century and St John the Short, while the village itself predates that time with several centuries. None of the villagers could understand the rationale behind the move. They resented what they saw as an attempt to obliterate their history and the history of their village, and they were wrathful that the unjustified name change was being implemented against their wishes and without their consultation
The crisis came to an end, however, once official decrees were issued a week later by Minya Governor and the Minister of Justice stipulating that the original name of the village would remain intact. The swift official response brought matters back to normal.
So the curtain was brought down on the predicament of Deir Abu Hennes, but the incident opens a file that has long remained on hold, that of the names of the places. A place’s name normally reflects its history, identity and character. Is it in any way acceptable that names should be changed in a haphazard fashion? What measures govern decisions to change names? Are people entitled to a say on changing the name of the place where they live? Do government officials have the right to impose a new name regardless of the inhabitants’ will?
These questions arise once a name of a place—whether a town, village, square, street or even a public building—is amended. Residents are more often than not never consulted or acquainted with the rationale behind the name change. It comes as no surprise then that they feel they are being treated as though the matter does not concern them; passive objects that are ordered around and abide by whatever is decided concerning their lives and identities. Names of places are changed nonchalantly, as though these places were some private property of the government. Officials usually say that the decision was taken upon the approval of the municipalities or local councils, but it is a non-contestable fact that these supposedly representative bodies are frequently separated from the people by a large gap.
As for the logic behind changing places’ names, it is almost non-existent. In most cases, the motive is political; the name of some historical figure may be removed in favour of some other figure that probably no-one knows or cares for. Furthermore, name changes create a messy situation when it comes to formal papers.
So we can safely say that when the names of places are changed arbitrarily, two negative consequences follow. First, the identity and heritage of a place are obliterated, which pains residents and severs the emotional ties between them and the place. Second, a great deal of money and effort are squandered on the process of amending maps, documents, signposts, official papers, and so on. All this makes me wonder at the appetite of official bodies for changing names of places.
It is impossible to overlook the actual detachment of the new names from the facts on the ground. People do not relinquish a name they used for ages upon a decision by an administrative body. Most inhabitants, spontaneously or deliberately, stick to the original name. It might take the residents a generation or more to get used to the new name, all the time gradually losing a part of their heritage, character, and identity.
The drive for the unjustified changing of names of places should come to an end. If there are indeed names that warrant special memorial or glorification, they could be very well used to name new places in new urban areas or in Egypt’s satellite cities. This should effectively avoid the loss of heritage, identity and people’s constants, to say nothing of the mess and confusion created by the introduction of new alien names.
