Some believe that to truly connect with Alaska, you must try to understand the land’s history and Indigenous peoples’ perspectives. Using the name Koyukon Athabascans call North America’s highest peak—“Denali”—respects Native Nations.
What you call something imparts meaning. Names can invoke assumptions, connotations, stereotypes and influence how you perceive an animal or a place. A name can also make you feel connected to a more-than-human being or your heritage.
On January 20, 2025, the current administration issued an executive order changing the name of the highest mountain peak in North America from Denali back to Mount McKinley. (Only the name of the mountain will change—the name of the more than 6-million-acre Denali National Park and Preserve will remain the same.) That act sparked a tide of public discussions about the importance of language, cultural sensitivity and historical accuracy.
Increasingly, we’re grappling with geographic names that reflect historical perspectives that are no longer considered to be acceptable, leading to debates about whether to change them. When a name comes to be recognized as historically inaccurate, insensitive or offensive, sometimes a call is made for a change, particularly when it relates to a derogatory term toward Indigenous peoples or marginalized groups. In the case of the Denali name change, though, this is the first time that I can remember that an objectionable name was changed—and then changed back to the name originally deemed offensive.
The same executive order that directs that “Denali” be changed back to “Mount McKinley” also relabels the “Gulf of Mexico” as the “Gulf of America.”
This seems to be new ground.
Denali vs. McKinley
Rising tall above the endless tundra and boreal forests below, the highest peak in North America dominates the central Alaska landscape. Soaring 20,310 feet above the Earth, the mountain, known for its extreme weather and sheer vertical rise, has long been a challenge for mountain climbers and a sacred place for Koyukon Athabascans, who have lived with Denali (which translates to “the high one” or “the great one”) for thousands of years.
In 1896, the mountain was first designated “Mount McKinley” by a gold prospector named William Dickey. A written account of his dig in the sands of the Susitna River appeared in the New York City newspaper The Sun on January 24, 1897, under the title Discoveries in Alaska. Dickey wrote, “We named our great peak Mount McKinley, after William McKinley of Ohio, who had been nominated for the presidency; and that fact was the first news we received on our way out of that wonderful wilderness.” The naming was most likely politically driven; many silver miners promoted Democratic presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan’s ideal of a silver standard, probably inspiring Dickey to retaliate by naming the mountain after a strong proponent of the gold standard.
Alaska’s Koyukon Athabascans have lived in the shadow of Denali, the “Great One,” for millennia. Perhaps they should have the last word on what the formation should be called.
McKinley never visited Alaska or had any connection to the mountain. However, the name was federally adopted in 1917. In 1975, the Alaska State Board on Geographic Names officially changed the name to Denali, at least within the state; and in 1980, the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act changed the surrounding park’s name to Denali National Park and Preserve. In 2015, the Obama administration adopted Denali as the mountain’s name federally.
Already, Google Maps is using “Mount McKinley,” and the Associated Press has updated its style guide to say the peak’s name is “Mount McKinley.” To be official, however, the alteration must be reflected in the U.S. Board on Geographic Names, part of the Department of the Interior. And calling the peak “Mount McKinley” could be met with noncompliance from some entities.
For example, the Alaska House of Representatives passed a resolution on January 27, 2025, urging the president of the United States to maintain Denali as the official name. Representative Maxine Dibert said, “If the federal government moves to change the name, it is an affront to our state sovereignty. To officially change the name would not only dishonor those who have fought to protect the name Denali but also dismiss the voices of the Native communities whose roots are intertwined with this land.” And Explore Fairbanks, the regional destination marketing organization that oversees Denali National Park and Preserve, released a resolution opposing the renaming of the mountain on January 29, 2025, saying it will continue to call it “Denali.”
“Harney Peak” in South Dakota was originally named for an army general who led a violent massacre of the area’s Indigenous Lakota peoples. It was changed to “Black Elk Peak” in 2016 to honor a Lakota holy man. Black Elk Peak is the highest point in North America east of the Rocky Mountains.
Indigenous peoples vs. colonizers
By some counts, there are more than 800 names for creeks, lakes, mountains, valleys and other physical landmarks in the U.S. with the word squaw in them. No one knows the exact derivation of the word, but over the centuries it’s become a misogynistic and racist slur directed at Indigenous women. And at least 1,400 other places across the U.S. have official names that contain a racial epithet.
In the past, colonizers routinely imposed names from their old countries on Native American lands, which is why we have Albany, Boston, New England, New Jersey, New York and Portland. Others christened places with names that reflected their religions: Los Angeles, Sacramento, Saint George, San Clemente, San Francisco and Santa Barbara. Some colonizers bestowed upon the land the names of those who actively worked to destroy Native American nations: Carson, Custer, Jackson, Jefferson and Washington.
It’s particularly offensive to Native Americans when geographical features in their ancient homelands and sacred places bear the names of violent colonizers. Kit Carson Peak in Colorado, for example, honors an army officer and notorious killer of Native Americans. In 1864, Carson led a ruthless campaign to relocate 11,000 Navajos to the Bosque Redondo internment camp in New Mexico. More than 2,000 died during the Navajo Long Walk.
Devils Tower in Wyoming is a sacred site known to the Lakota as “Mato Tipila,” or “Bear’s Lodge.” Years of efforts to change the name of the columnar rock formation and the national monument to “Bear’s Lodge” and “Bear’s Lodge National Monument” have been unsuccessful so far.
Native Americans have long fought to change derogatory place names. There have been some successes. One is Harney Peak in South Dakota, originally named for an army general, William S. Harney, who led a violent massacre of the area’s Indigenous Lakota peoples. It was changed to Black Elk Peak in 2016 to celebrate a famous Lakota holy man, Nicholas Black Elk. In 2020 in Santa Barbara, California, the name of Indio Muerto Street (Dead Indian Street) was changed. The original street name was created in 1851 after surveyors laying out the city’s grid dug up the grave of a Chumash man. Some people believe that the street’s name was meant to recognize the man, but in a state that had an explicit policy of Indian extermination when the road was named that seems naive. In 2020, the Barbareno Band of Chumash Indians Tribal Council, state legislators and the Santa Barbara City Council agreed to change the street’s name to Hutash. It’s a Chumash word that means “Mother Earth.”
No monuments may be more offensive to California Indians than the dozens honoring Spanish missionary Junipero Serra. California Indians hold Serra responsible for the brutal mission system that enslaved and abused them, leading to a precipitous population decline beginning in the late 18th century. During the racial-justice protests in summer 2020, several Serra statues were toppled throughout the state, including one in Sacramento’s Capitol Park that had stood since the 1960s. Some Catholics were shocked by the vandalism, not understanding why people of Native Nations see Serra as a villain.
Natural habitats vs. the military
Scott’s oriole got its name in 1854. The bird is named for General Winfield Scott, who played a role in the U.S. military effort to push the Seminoles out of Florida. Under orders from President Martin Van Buren in 1838, Scott oversaw the brutal campaign to force 60,000 members of the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee and Seminole Nations from their ancestral homes to lands west of the Mississippi. The forced march and relocation killed thousands, and many more faced disease, exhaustion, exposure and starvation after their arrival.
The Townsend’s solitaire is named for ornithologist John Kirk Townsend (1809–1851), who collected the skulls of Native Americans during his birding expeditions. He also made racist comments and remarked that the death of Native peoples via disease would be “very convenient for [his] purposes.”
In 1854, a U.S. Army officer named Darius Couch observed a striking, black-and-yellow, desert oriole. The bird already had a scientific name: Icterus parisorum. But it had no common name, so Couch called the bird “Scott’s oriole,” after his commander, Winfield Scott. Three decades later, when the American Ornithological Society published its first checklist of common English bird names, “Scott’s oriole” became official.
There are other bird names honoring perpetrators of atrocities against Native Americans, such as Abert’s towhee, Clark’s nutcracker and Couch’s kingbird; or those who collected the skulls of Native Americans, such as Townsend’s warbler and Townsend’s solitaire.
Scientific names (often in Latin) for animal species are regulated by the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature and are usually changed only for taxonomic reasons, such as when a species is reclassified or subdivided. Less than a decade ago, for instance, scientists discovered that there were four genetically distinct giraffe species—not just one—and their scientific names changed accordingly. But common names vary from country to country and language to language. They are often certified by regional groups and societies, such as the American Ornithological Society and the Entomological Society of America.
Why not adopt names—such as “red-winged blackbird”—that will help fledgling birders with identification? For a lot of people, that would make the natural world more accessible and welcoming.
In the summer of 2020, 182 birders and ornithologists petitioned the American Ornithological Society to remove all bird names that contain “significant isolating and demeaning reminders of oppression, slavery and genocide.” While in some cases, as with Scott’s oriole, a legacy of brutality and ethnic cleansing is forever attached; in others, a name simply doesn’t describe an animal very well. And in still others, where an animal or plant is an invasive species that conservationists want eradicated, some fear that names that reference ethnic groups or foreign countries could promote xenophobia.
Many of those asking for change argue that these names discourage people from entering the natural sciences or from taking pleasure in nature—often the first step for encouraging conservation actions and behaviors. Despite accusations of political correctness and pushback, it seems clear that in the coming years, many birds, fish, insects and places will come to be known by new names.
In 2020, “Bird Names for Birds,” a group that proposes that we rethink bird names—especially those that memorialize people—was formed. The members came to a simple but far-reaching conclusion: rather than judging the moral worth of each bird’s namesake, the American Ornithological Society should eliminate all eponymous bird names. Why not adopt names—like “red-winged blackbird”—that will help fledgling birders identify the animals? Their petition to the society gathered more than 2,500 signatures.
In 2022, the moth formerly known as the “gypsy moth” was renamed the “spongy moth.” The Entomological Society of America changed to name to make it more respectful and inclusive, since “gypsy” is a slur for the Romani people. “Spongy” refers to the moth’s distinctive, spongelike egg masses.
Outdoor celebration vs. dishonorable past
I’m happy to report that we no longer have a grouper called a “jewfish.” It is now called an “Atlantic goliath grouper.” Similarly, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service stopped using the term “Asian carp” in official documents in favor of “invasive carp” to describe the worrisome fish that advocates are trying to keep out of the Great Lakes. In 2022, the moth formerly known as the “gypsy moth” was renamed the “spongy moth.” Gypsy is a slur for the Romani people, while spongy refers to the insect’s spongelike egg masses. And in 2021, Squaw Mountain in Colorado was renamed Mestaa’ehehe Mountain (“Owl Woman Mountain”) following efforts by representatives of the Arapaho and Cheyenne tribes. Once an insult, the mountain now acknowledges an Indigenous woman.
Our former Secretary of the Interior, Deb Haaland, has said that racist terms have no place in our vernacular or on our federal lands and waters. Such places should celebrate the outdoors and our shared cultural heritage—not perpetuate the legacies of oppression. We shouldn’t be inscribing disrespect onto geography and hatred upon the land. Erasing slurs from maps that were once graffitied with them is a way to affirm and respect the pre-United States existence of those who were dispossessed.
I think education will be the key to correcting a legacy of place names that celebrate a sordid past, even though it will be a major challenge after accepting derogatory names for so long.
A male Scott’s oriole lights up the Southwest’s earth tones with rich, black-and-lemon plumage. The birds are closely associated with yuccas, where they forage for insects and gather fibers for their nests.
But I already see signs of change. There is a proposal afoot to change the name of the Scott’s oriole to the “yucca oriole” after its habitat.
That makes a lot of sense—and sensitivity—to me.
Here’s to finding your true places and natural habitats,
Candy
