For the last week and a half I have been writing every day, sorting through old notes, editing and so forth

For the last week and a half I have been writing every day, sorting through old notes, editing and so forth. When I say old notes, I mean, for example, the field journals of the 1920s and 1930s from the Mongolian expedition and curious jottings on the Russian explorers of the sixteenth century, not the contents of my leopard-print notebook from last summer. It turns out that I have spent this time quite outside the current agenda. And so a shock found me where I least expected it.
American archaeology, which is at present my only serious interest, knows a culture called Denali. I shall not go into detail, but it is a very important period for an entire branch of the discipline. This culture is connected chiefly with Alaska, where, on the ancient lands of the Athabaskan peoples, there rises
the six-thousand-metre peak of McKinley, named after the assassinated 25th President of the United States. It was once called the Great Mountain and was the highest point of the Russian Empire. But its original name is Denali. Imagine my feelings, then, on learning that in 2015 Obama restored to the mountain its Indigenous name! It is hard to imagine that anything of the kind could happen in the coming years. Unless, perhaps, a state decoration were to be named in honour of General Philip Sheridan, who said "the only good Indian is a dead Indian". A pity.