The Countries That Changed Their Names (and What It Really Hides)
Burma, Swaziland, Ceylon, Macedonia, Turkey: behind every new label on the map sits a story of power, pride and identity.
When a country changes its name, it's rarely an administrative whim. Almost always, someone wants to rewrite a history, erase a coloniser, send a message or, more prosaically, stop being mixed up with somebody else. The world map shifts less under our feet than we tend to imagine, but its labels come unstuck on a regular basis. Here's a quick tour of the most telling rebrandings, the ones that keep tripping up quiz players.
When the New Name Smells of Gunpowder
In 1989, the ruling military junta decreed that Burma would henceforth be called Myanmar. On paper, both words come from the same root: "Bamar", the majority ethnic group. "Myanmar" is the literary form, more solemn. The problem isn't linguistic, it's political. Unelected generals imposed the change without consulting anyone much. The upshot: the democratic opposition and part of the international community long carried on saying "Burma" as a matter of principle, refusing to endorse the regime's legitimacy. France, for its part, stayed loyal to "Birmanie". Even today, the word you choose can give away a political stance.
Macedonia, meanwhile, changed its name to keep the peace with a touchy neighbour. For nearly thirty years, Greece blocked just about everything this small Balkan country tried to do, on the grounds that "Macedonia" is also the name of a Greek province, the one belonging to Alexander the Great. Two countries squabbling over an ancient inheritance: that can drag on. The Prespa Agreement, signed in 2018 and in force from February 2019, settled it: North Macedonia it would be. Add one geographical adjective and the door to NATO swings open (membership in 2020), along with the road toward the European Union. Rarely has a preposition cost so much in negotiation.
Settling the Score With the Old Master
Some name changes are a way of closing the colonial chapter. Ceylon is the perfect example. Europeans had cobbled that name together over the centuries: the Portuguese said Ceilão, the Dutch and then the British anglicised it into Ceylon. On becoming a republic in 1972, the island took back its local name, Sri Lanka, "the resplendent island" in Sinhalese. The coloniser had packed his bags, and the colonial label had to follow. The one stubborn survivor of the old world: the tea, still sold as "Ceylon tea", because a commercial brand couldn't care less about independence.
Swaziland killed two birds with one stone in 2018. King Mswati III used a speech to announce that his kingdom would become Eswatini. The word means "land of the Swazis" in the local language, siSwati. Two stated reasons: to erase the name inherited from British colonisation, and above all to stop being confused with Switzerland. In English, "Swaziland" and "Switzerland" look alike enough to send a diplomat to the wrong reception. The monarch made the announcement at the fiftieth anniversary of independence, which also happened to fall on his fiftieth birthday. A king handing his country a brand-new name for his birthday: the story doesn't lack for flair.
A Matter of Branding
Sometimes the motive is more down to earth: tending one's reputation. For a few years now, Turkey has run a campaign to be called Türkiye, in English and internationally too. Erdoğan's government filed the request with the UN, which approved it in June 2022. The official argument talks about national identity and staying faithful to the way Turks name their own country. The unofficial argument, widely remarked upon, boils down to a single word: "turkey", in English, also means the bird. It's hard to sell your country when its name conjures up the fowl on the Christmas table. In French the debate rather passes us by, since "dinde" and "Turquie" have nothing in common, yet the spelling Türkiye is still gaining ground in official documents.
Those five are the most famous, but the list of rebranded nations keeps quietly growing. Zaire became Congo again. The Netherlands has asked people to stop shrinking it down to "Holland". The Czech Republic has been pushing its short name, Czechia, since 2016. Every time, the same mechanism: a name is never neutral, it's a declaration in three syllables.
Next time a geography question drops on you mid-game, be wary of the old maps filed away in your memory. The world keeps its records up to date, and it doesn't always send word.
