San Francisco Frontiers - Lisbon's Toponymic Disconnect: Urban Names Lose Historical Context

The relationship between Lisbon’s citizens and its urban toponymy has become increasingly superficial, characterized by the mechanical use of names whose historical origins and meanings are unknown to the majority. This observation underscores a significant gap in historical accountability, where residents navigate the city using designations that have lost their contextual significance.

This disconnect was highlighted by Argentine writer Alberto Manguel, who recently moved to Lisbon and became a central figure in the city’s cultural transfers. In an analysis published in the newspaper Expresso, Manguel examined the plaque on the square opposite his office window: Doutor António de Sousa Macedo. While this figure is currently unknown to the general public, he was an illustrious personality in the 17th century. Among his achievements was the publication of the poem 'Ulissipo', which was received with indifference by critics at the time.

For those who lived for years in the former Santa Catarina neighborhood, where this convergence of streets formed a square, Manguel’s reflection raised two obvious questions. The first concerns the constant need for an external gaze to value the rich local toponymic heritage. The second interrogates how it is possible to collectively ignore the figures and histories behind the names or dates that appear on all identification documents, house deeds, health center files, and tax portals. These names are invoked daily in various situations without residents knowing what they truly signify.

Modern toponymy tends to facilitate life for residents. When main avenues are named after concepts like Liberdade (Freedom), formerly Passeio Público, or República (Republic), formerly Ressano Garcia, and main squares include Rossio, also known as D. Pedro IV, or Marquês Pombal, formerly Rotunda, the exercise seems easy. However, complexity arises when considering other arteries such as Fontes Pereira de Melo, a statesman and one of the great figures of constitutional monarchy, or Almirante Reis, a member of the Carbonária and tragic hero of the republican revolution.

In the current context, marked by the vertiginous rise in house prices, street names tend to become more banal. Yet this does not make them less important. For those residing in Alvalade since 2010, personal experience illustrates this disconnect. Previous residences included Rua Guilherme de Faria, named after a poet from Viana do Castelo with a short life and near homonym of his stepfather, and Rua Acácio de Paiva, honoring a Leiria native who graduated in Pharmacy in Porto and made a living as a poet, writer, journalist, and critic.

More recently, after leaving these two perpendicular streets in the neighborhood named after poets, the address became Avenida da Igreja. Previously, since the beginning of the millennium, residents lived on Rua Conde de Nova Goa in Campolide, a discreet street glorifying the 19th-century politician and lawyer D. Luís Caetano de Castro e Almeida Pimentel de Sequeira e Abreu. Others inhabited a small street in Campo de Ourique celebrating Joaquim José Caetano Pereira e Sousa, a notable jurist born the year after the earthquake.

From a feminist perspective, it is relevant to highlight the Alvalade street named Marquesa de Alorna, dedicated to Leonor de Almeida Portugal de Lorena e Lencastre, a poetess, painter, and pedagogue born in Arroios in the mid-18th century and a direct descendant of the disgraced Távora family. Also notable is the street in Anjos honoring Angelina Vidal, a singular 19th-century republican from Viseu, journalist, and chronicler of Lisbon, or the tiny Jardim Maria de Lourdes Pintassilgo, adjacent to Hospital dos Capuchos, which exalts the country’s only female prime minister.

The phrase 'You know the name they gave you, but not the name you have,' by José Saramago, resonates strongly in this context. Reformulating the epigraph of his novel 'Todos os Nomes', it raises the reflection: do we repeat ad nauseam the names and anniversaries engraved in the places where we live, while knowing their history and why they are celebrated there? It also prompts the question of whether to exalt more names of women from collective history, given that only 5% of Lisbon’s streets have female names.

The author of this reflection was born in the parish of Arroios four months before April 25. A graduate in Economics from ISEG, he has been a show producer, journalist, and communication consultant for over twenty years. He lived outside Portugal in Stockholm and Ljubljana but feels at home in Lisbon, having resided in Avenidas Novas, Santa Catarina, Almirante Reis, Santo António, Campo de Ourique, and since 2010, in Alvalade.

K.Hernandez--SFF