This was originally written on October 10, 2025, as a letter to The Guardian, P.E.I.’s sole “daily” newspaper (no Sunday edition, and now no print edition on Mondays). Apparently the Postmedia hollowing-out has replaced their editorial department with crickets as well, as my submission was entirely unacknowledged, even though they’ve published two of my letters before, or in one case explained why they wouldn’t. But those were the Saltwire days.
Dear Editor,
I note with chagrin that you have cheered the acquiescence of the provincial government in the matter of potentially renaming Savage Harbour. For my part, I would aver that “savage” does not automatically or necessarily remark on the wildness of persons, but being cognate with the French sauvage, often means merely wildness generally. (For an example, listen to Stan Rogers singing “Northwest Passage”.) You kind of have to be looking for a problem to see this as derogatory, but of course such linguistic busybodiness is a common pastime.
Even worse, in my humble opinion, is the notion that English is somehow improved by changing well-worn-in adaptations – dareisay appropriations! – into transliterations that only a linguist could love. Chief among these are the efforts to bury Abegweit, a name well-known and loved by the Island’s English speakers, and replace it with “Epekwitk”. Perhaps the latter better reflects the sound in the venerable, storied Micmac tongue, but that tongue is not the English tongue, nor is the English tongue the Micmac tongue. We are talking about (and in) two different tongues, and it is perfectly normal not only to have words end up sounding different when being taken up in another tongue, but also to use entirely different names in the first place.
When was the last time you ran into a German tourist and they were offended that you said they were from “Germany”, or that they spoke “German”? The German words for Germany and German are completely different from the English ones, but somehow those Germans find a way to take it all in stride – often quite literally, if we’re talking about Belgium or Poland, but I digress.
Eastern European countries make the Germans seem easy-going, at least in this regard. There the names change every other Tuesday. Even Turkey is trying to get in on the action. The matter of Kyiv I can sort of understand, as it is the wont of a country called Ukraine (in English; it is more like “Ookraiina” in Ukrainian) to assert a name that reflects Ukrainian rather than Ye Olde High Muscovian. But I wouldn’t call Kiev somehow cosmically incorrect, as it is a grand old city fundamental to the Russian ethos as well, and the Russian tongue is widely spoken in Ukraine. (With a good Carneyian “if I may,” I would suggest the authorities in Kyiv adopt a clear policy of “Russian language okay, Russian Army not okay.”)
There is a sign in Wood Islands that says “Welcome to Epekwitk – Land of the Mi’kmaq” and it depicts not a land being cradled on the waves, but being raised up out of the water entirely, flown alongside an eagle. Admittedly, such exploits of Glooscap, hero-creator, whether exactly those or on that scale, are verily Micmac legend. But in addition to the meaning of Abegweit being elided, this is but one land in which the Micmac have abided for generations in excess of reckoning. You can also, for example, find them in Cape Breton, whose Micmac name is kind of like Unamaki, meaning a land of fog or mist.
Wrenching the English reflections of Micmac concepts into spellings and pronunciations that you have to look up to get “right” serves to make these more foreign to English speakers. In the long game of advancing intercultural understanding as we share these blessed lands, this is counterproductive. I would also suggest that the province provide English meanings for Micmac names on signage, such that such signs may indeed bear significance for those who are not of the Micmac or learned in their speech.
I’ll leave you with this example of good, natural English:
“Peace! You never know what peace is until you walk on the shores or in the fields or along the winding red roads of Abegweit on a summer twilight when the dew is falling and the old, old stars are peeping out and the sea keeps its nightly tryst with the little land it loves. You find your soul then, even if you are not Abegweit born, you will say… ‘Why… I have come home.'” – L. M. Montgomery
– William Matheson
Halifax, NS (Souris, PEI, by birth)