By John J. Galluzzo 

From time to time, common names of wildlife species of all types undergo change. While it may not have made the evening news when it happened, the Gypsy moth lost its historic epithet in 2021. Since then, it’s been known as the Spongy moth. Cultural sensitivity drove the Entomological Society of America to change the name, used since 1832, as “Gypsy” is an ethnic slur for people of Romani heritage. Until the day we die, you and I may call them Gypsy moths out of reflex. Future generations will learn the new name the first time they encounter the species and carry it forward. 

During the 1800s, when many species of birds had yet to be named out West, here in the East birds underwent name changes based on numerous factors. For instance, birds with numerous “morphs,” or color patterns, were known to be separate species. Today, we recognize that Red-tailed Hawks have, generally, two morphs, light and dark, with various subspecies names attached to them: Harlan’s, Krider’s, etc. In 1839, when the state of Massachusetts published its first annotated bird list, the morphs were treated as individual species: Red-tailed Hawk, Black Warrior, etc. Today’s Merlin was known as two species, the Pigeon Hawk and the Little Corporal. Eventually, scientific research cleared up many of the disparities and brought the state list into a sharper focus. 

Often, name changes have to do with taxonomic discoveries. The advent and proliferation of DNA research has led to seemingly endless annual taxonomic order changes announced by the American Ornithological Union each June. We have found, for instance, that falcons are less closely related to hawks and eagles than they are to woodpeckers. Whether a species is a warbler or a sparrow or a finch is becoming easier to know through that research, and sometimes name changes follow. 

A new precedent was set for birds, though, in 2000, when the American Ornithologists’ Union voted to change the name of a sea duck we see off our coast in winter, the Oldsquaw, to Long-tailed Duck. At the time, the Union believed that the name was triply offensive, simultaneously ageist, racist and sexist. While, they suggested, political correctness alone was not reason enough to change the name, the fact was that the rest of the world knew it by the latter name, and the change would bring North America into step with everybody else. Today, political correctness, or just plain old human sensitivity, is the singular driving force behind a pending massive wave of bird name changes. 

In 2022, the American Ornithological Society (which itself underwent a name change in 2016 after a merger with the Cooper Ornithological Society) formed an Ad Hoc English Bird Names Committee for the purpose of developing “a process that will allow the [AOS] to change harmful and exclusionary English bird names in a thoughtful and proactive way for species within AOS’s purview.” The movement coincides with the internal uprising at the National Audubon Society that led to the dropping of pioneering naturalist John James Audubon’s name from the society’s name. Despite his contributions to the field, real or concocted by him as he tried to craft a marketable image for himself in order to sell his books, Audubon owned slaves, a practice hardly worth celebrating in any way. 

The AOS Ad Hoc English Bird Names Committee met in 2022 and 2023 and came to three targeted recommendations. Change all English names of birds named after people (and three additional troublesome names: Flesh-footed Shearwater, Inca Dove, and Eskimo Curlew); establish a separate naming committee; and involve the public in the naming process. In all, the committee identified 152 species on the North American list and 111 on the South American checklists in need of change. 

Changing from eponymous names to descriptive will, theoretically, make future birding easier. A Long-tailed Duck is easier to guess at that an Oldsquaw, just like a White-rumped Sandpiper is easier to find than a Schinz’s Sandpiper. We can expect more Red-winged Blackbird-type names in the near future. 

While a broad reform like this one seems simple, it brings moral questions to the forefront. While some names elicit obvious conflicts – like anything named for Audubon, for example – others were chosen for individuals as honorifics. While those individuals may not have done anything morally wrong, they will be swept away in the process. The decision to change all names removes the need for case-by-case moral judgements on the part of the final naming committee.  

The planned process means an interesting bit of local history will be lost. Isaac Sprague, a talented nature artist from Hingham, who once worked in Hull at an old carriage stop at the base of Nantasket Beach, accompanied John James Audubon on an exploration up the Missouri River in 1843 in search of new wildlife species. Audubon was so taken with his work that he named a bird that Sprague shot in order to draw it – Sprague’s Pipit – after him. Meek little Isaac returned home, got married, drew fantastic scenes of the White Mountains and beautifully detailed illustrations of New England wildflowers, then quietly passed away. Sprague’s Pipit will be named differently in the future. 

On a grander scale, Hull residents can expect to see a modest amount of change to the names of birds that grace the peninsula and surrounding waters throughout the year. Perhaps the most ubiquitous species will be the Cooper’s Hawk, once colloquially known as the Chicken Hawk. That species gained its name in 1828 when French naturalist Charles Bonaparte named it for his friend William C. Cooper, a fellow ornithologist (but not for whom the Cooper Ornithological Society was named; that was for his son, James C. Cooper). In the case of the Cooper’s Hawk, it comes with the added encumbrance of a Linnaean name change. The current scientific name, “Accipiter cooperii,” also pays homage to William C. Cooper. The AOU process will be forced to stand the test of many layers: common names, subspecies names, Linnaean names. 

Ironically, the second most commonly seen species in Hull due to have a name change is the Bonaparte’s Gull, named for the aforementioned Charles Bonaparte. Since 2020, the names on the list of species that will undergo changes that have appeared in Plymouth County become rarer and rarer in Hull: Swainson’s Thrush (William Swainson also had a warbler and a hawk named after him), Wilson’s Warbler (and Storm-petrel, Snipe and Plover), Lincoln’s Sparrow, Barrow’s Goldeneye, Townsend’s Warbler, Forster’s Tern, Baird’s Sandpiper, Nelson’s Sparrow, Bicknell’s Thrush, Ross’s Goose, Bullock’s Oriole, and MacGillivray’s Warbler. 

Historically, Plymouth County has had about a dozen more eponymously named species appear since the 1970s, including Harris’s Sparrow (named for Edmund Harris, who accompanied Audubon and Sprague up the Missouri), Allen’s Hummingbird, and Franklin’s Gull. 

The next time they arrive in Hull, they will probably have new names, whether they know it or not. We will struggle with the new names, as change is hard, but someday somewhere in Hull, someone will not say that they saw a Wilson’s Warbler grabbing a Gypsy moth, they’ll say that, perhaps, they saw a Black-capped Warbler snatch a Spongy moth. 

And the world will go on.