The Oregon Historical Society has already identified 107 locations across Oregon with offensive names that remain unchanged. Many of them include derogatory terms used to demean Black individuals, immigrants and Native American women — such as Squaw Creek in Douglas County, Chinaman Hat in Josephine County and Cannibal Mountain in Lincoln County.
As I’ve said before, “Squaw” means “woman” in Eastern Algonquian languages. That’s the etymology. Chinaman seems on its face no different that “Englishman” or “Frenchman.” In fact, again, that is the etymology—descriptive, not racist. The word “cannibal” describes someone who eats members of their own species (tastes like chicken?).
Erasing or renaming historical place names based solely on modern offense undervalues historical context, intent, and linguistic integrity. Three questions:
1. Were the place names created with malice? If so, there is a stronger argument for changing the names. But if not, to retroactively impose offense, especially when the intent was neutral or even respectful, is a form of historical revisionism.
2. Does changing the name sever communities from their past? Place names are part of our geographic memory. They preserve layers of cultural history, including flawed or uncomfortable ones. Renaming risks turning history into a curated, sanitized version of itself—where only inoffensive elements survive. Even controversial names can spark dialogue and learning, which erasure prevents.
3. Is the offense subjective and not universally shared? Not all Native Americans object to “squaw”; not all Chinese-Americans feel “Chinaman” is a personal insult. The demand for change is often driven by activists or institutions, not always by local consensus. If we change a name every time someone takes offense, there’s no limiting principle — and society becomes vulnerable to performative outrage.
Two points:
First, language is not violence, and offense is not harm. The idea that names like “Cannibal Mountain” or “Chinaman’s Hat” cause harm relies on a modern, receiver-centered moral framework that conflates offense with injury. But place names don’t injure; they reflect the language and values of a particular time. Understanding is better than erasure.
Second, changing names doesn’t fix the real problems. Symbolic changes (like renaming mountains) can become a substitute for material improvements to the lives of marginalized groups—such as property rights, education, or access to land. These gestures signal sensitivity but often avoid substantive engagement with history or justice.
Changing place names based on modern standards puts emotion ahead of context, fragility ahead of resilience, and present values ahead of historical complexity. We should preserve these names not because they’re perfect, but because they are honest markers of who we were, and thus help us understand who we are.