In the wise city of Christchurch, there is a library named Tūranga. A simple but elegant name, with a connection to local heritage. It means "stopping place". Recently, I encountered a lively debate about the building's name. Some people argued that the word "library" must be included so that everyone would know the building's function. Others argued that the name is fine as it is. In my usual manner, I joined the conversation and offered these words:
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Tell me, friends: when you enter a building filled with books, with people reading, learning, gathering—do you know it is a library only if the word “library” is printed on the wall?
And if a place calls itself by another name—say, Tūranga—yet offers all the treasures of a library, have you been deceived? Or have you simply encountered a name that carries history, spirit, and meaning unfamiliar to you?
I wonder: should every place declare its purpose in plain English? Must every restaurant be called “restaurant,” every museum “museum”? Is The Smithsonian not a museum because the word is missing?
Perhaps we are asking the wrong question. Not “Does it say ‘library’?” but “Does it act as one?” Not “Is the name familiar to me?” but “Am I willing to learn what it means to others?”
There are many ways to name a place. But there is only one way to close our minds—by refusing to ask.
