As a native of Port Blair, it is difficult to reconcile with the renaming of my city to Sri Vijaya Puram. My introductions have always begun with, “Hi, I’m from Port Blair, where Subhas Chandra Bose hoisted India’s first freedom flag.” With the change in the city’s name, such an identity feels lost.

India is a land deeply tied to its history and heritage, where identity is often intertwined with names. The renaming of Port Blair to Sri Vijaya Puram, proposed by the Narendra Modi-led Union government, has ignited a debate over the rationale behind the move and its implications. The government claims that the renaming honours the “rich history” of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, but many local residents and critics argue that the move is politically motivated, intended to erase certain colonial legacies while imposing a new nationalist narrative. The renaming raises important questions about the politics of identity, history, and decolonisation.

Port Blair’s identity is deeply tied to its colonial past. The city was named after British naval officer Archibald Blair, who surveyed the Andaman Islands in the late 18th century. It was a centre of British administration and played a key role in India’s colonial history, particularly with the infamous Cellular Jail, where Indian freedom fighters were imprisoned, being located here.

Ruling party leaders claim the name change aligns the city’s identity with India’s ancient past and honours the Chola empire, yet the historical links between the Cholas and the islands remain tenuous. The proposed name, Sri Vijaya Puram, draws on dubious notions that Srivijaya in Sanskrit referred to the Chola or Vijayanagar empire and that the Andamans were part of this empire. Historians have largely debunked these ideas. By invoking the name of the Srivijaya kingdom, the government appears to be stretching the historical narrative to fit a contemporary political agenda.

The renaming also doesn’t take into account the sentiments of the residents, for whom it is more than just a political decision—it is an emotional and cultural shift. The name Port Blair carries with it a deep sense of history, identity, and pride. It is tied to the city’s role in India’s freedom struggle, the sacrifices of the freedom fighters incarcerated in the Cellular Jail, and the city’s unique multicultural heritage. Port Blair is home to people of different faiths and communities, and its identity transcends religious or political divides. By renaming the city, the government risks alienating its residents and erasing a part of their shared history. For many, Port Blair is more than just a name—it is a symbol of their identity and their connection to the past. The renaming of the city to Sri Vijaya Puram may appeal to a certain section of the population, but for many others, it feels like an erasure of their heritage.

So this brings us to a critical question: does the renaming reflect a genuine attempt to correct historical injustices or is it more about political symbolism?

While the government argues that renaming cities is a step toward decolonisation and helps break free from colonial legacies, it can also be viewed as an attempt to impose a new form of ideological colonisation. The renaming of Port Blair to Sri Vijaya Puram is less about honoring the city’s historical significance and more about reshaping its identity to fit a particular narrative. It is, as some critics have pointed out, an act of “epistemic colonisation,” where historical facts are reinterpreted to serve political ends.

Critics wonder how a name tied to a South-East Asian empire honours the Andaman Islands’ role in India’s freedom struggle. The Srivijaya kingdom was a maritime empire that flourished from the 7th to 13th centuries, centered in present day Indonesia, not India. According to renowned historian Nilakanta Sastri, the Chola expeditions were aimed at securing trade routes rather than expanding the empire. Historians such as Himanshu Prabha Ray and Tansen Sen also emphasise that the Chola interactions with Srivijaya were primarily driven by commercial interests. Rajendra Chola I’s naval expeditions were attempts to safeguard trade routes, not to extend the empire to the Andaman Islands.

Despite these facts, the renaming of Port Blair to Sri Vijaya Puram feeds into a larger nationalist narrative that seeks to reclaim a glorious, ancient past. This mythologised history is not only inaccurate but also overlooks the more recent and tangible historical significance of the city—its role in India’s freedom struggle. The Cellular Jail serves as a stark reminder of the sacrifices made for India’s independence. By renaming the city, the government risks overshadowing this crucial history of the city in favour of a vague and distant connection to the Cholas.

The renaming of Port Blair is not an isolated incident. It follows a broader pattern seen under the current Union government, where cities, roads, and institutions with colonial or minority names are being renamed to reflect a majoritarian heritage. This phenomenon is often framed as an attempt to decolonise India and restore pride in its ancient history. For instance, in 2018, the names of Ross, Neil, and Havelock Islands were changed to Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Dweep, Shaheed Dweep, and Swaraj Dweep respectively, to commemorate India’s nationalist icons.

Many critics argue that the renaming of cities and places is a strategy to appeal to India’s majority population by promoting a vision of an ancient, unified empire. This is seen as part of the current government’s broader agenda of cultural nationalism, which seeks to assert majoritarian identity at the forefront of India’s history and politics. When the renaming happens ahead of some major elections, it’s hard to ignore the timing of such decisions.

Ultimately, the renaming of Port Blair is not just about correcting history—it is about constructing a new narrative that fits the political agenda of the ruling party. In doing so, the government risks alienating the city’s residents and erasing a part of their shared identity. The city’s name may change, but its history and significance will endure in the hearts of its people.

Absar Kalathingal is a sociology student and a native of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. With a passion for exploring the intersection of culture, identity, and politics, he focuses on writing about the unique issues of the islands.

Views expressed are the author’s own.