What's in a Name?: The war against Indian symbols - Team

National Review, April 16, 2001 by John J. Miller

Call it a case of March Madness. As the NCAA's basketball tournament prepared to get under way, the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights signaled its intention to condemn the University of Illinois and its top-seeded team, the Fighting Illini. Actually, the commission didn't single out the poor Illini; it blasted all sports teams that use Indian names and images. In a way, that's great news: If the commission has the time and energy to fret over such trivia as the University of North Dakota calling its hockey squad the Fighting Sioux, then perhaps the state of civil rights and race relations is better than we thought. The commission once investigated and exposed examples of authentic discrimination; now it's just playing games.

Then again, this is an issue of great seriousness to some people, and it has been for a while. It's a bit surprising, in fact, that the commission waited so long to tackle the subject. Three decades ago, Stanford University quit using the moniker "Indians" (now its teams go by "The Cardinal," as in the color). Dartmouth soon followed suit, and now every year or two another college or university scraps an Indian nickname. The Marquette Warriors morphed into the Golden Eagles. The St. John's Redmen have become the Red Storm. In Ohio, Miami University switched from the Redskins to the Redhawks. On March 13, Gov. George Ryan of Illinois was hauled into the scrum over the Fighting Illini and their mascot. "I think it's done honorably. I think it's done professionally," he said. "I don't see any degradation to it at all."

The commission couldn't disagree more: It sees degradation everywhere. A draft statement discussed at the panel's March 9 meeting said that Indian team names perpetuate "harmful stereotypes" and foster "a racially hostile environment"; "they also encourage biases and prejudices"; "they are offensive, harmful, [and] dehumanizing"; and so on. In the midst of all this came a whopper: the notion that schools employing these names "may violate" federal civil-rights laws because they discriminate "on the basis of race, color, or national origin" and prevent "'full and equal employment' in places of public accommodation." In other words, the commission thinks the Department of Justice should go on the warpath against at least five dozen colleges and universities, plus hundreds if not thousands of high schools-all because of what they call their sports teams.

That's not likely to happen. Statements adopted by the commission carry only the force of suggestion, and they are easily (and appropriately) ignored. The legal principle involved here is pretty thin, too. But that doesn't mean the commission's statement will have no effect when it's approved, probably on April 13. Harsh rhetoric is sure to generate plenty of media attention, especially in places where a local team is the object of the controversy.

It should matter, however, that Indians themselves don't uniformly believe that "these references . . . are disrespectful and offensive," as the commission's proposed statement asserts. It is true that some Indians feel this way, and their sentiments shouldn't be dismissed. But it is also true that many Indians have a rather different view of the issue. The first point is an obvious one: People don't name teams after things they hate. A team name is designed to project some quality fans and athletes can admire and emulate, whether it's toughness (Georgia Bulldogs), ferocity (Michigan Wolverines), or regional pride (Kansas Jayhawks). The Michigan State Spartans use what is basically an ethnic term, albeit a classical one, to convey a sense of military vigor. (Is there a team anywhere in sports called the Athenians?) This is, at bottom, a sign of respect-and it should come as no surprise that many people believe they honor Indians when they name teams after them.

It makes sense that people would want to do this. Indians, after all, occupy a special niche in the American imagination, in which they are associated with martial courage and a spirituality grounded in the natural world. It is no accident that the environmental movement's most effective symbol was the Indian (portrayed by actor Iron Eyes Cody) who shed tears in the "Keep America Beautiful" anti-litter commercials of the 1970s. Because of these positive associations, tribal names find their way onto all kinds of consumer products, such as the Jeep Cherokee and the Dodge Dakota. For the same reason, Indian images appear on U.S. currency, such as the old Indian-head nickel and the new Sacajawea dollar. The Army even names its helicopters after tribes: the Apache Longbow, the Kiowa Warrior, the Comanche, and the Blackhawk. If we were to follow the commission's principle to its logical conclusion, a number of cities (e.g., Chicago, Miami, and Milwaukee), plus about half the states, would have to be renamed.

Complicating the picture is the fact that Indian tribes aren't the only ethnic groups to have teams named after them. The Fighting Irish of Notre Dame-perhaps the most popular college-football team in the country, thanks to what is essentially a tribal loyalty among Irish- Americans-are probably the best-known example of this. And they're not alone. There are also the Bethany College Swedes, the Edinboro University Fighting Scots, the Iona Gaels, and the Sonoma State University Cossacks. (The Idaho Vandals and the Southern California Trojans arguably belong in the club, too.) Then there are the San Diego State University Aztecs: In a student referendum last fall, 95 percent supported keeping the name and 87 percent supported keeping the "Monty Montezuma" mascot and logo. In professional sports, there are the Minnesota Vikings and the Montreal Canadiens (note the French spelling). The San Diego Padres introduce not just an ethnic Hispanic dimension but a religious Catholic one. Yet few if any people think these team names are slanderous, even after a losing season. The Catholics are so relaxed about team names, in fact, that Pope John Paul II once said Mass at Sun Devil Stadium, where the Arizona State Sun Devils play football. (The school at least had the decency to cover up pictures of the team mascot: "Sparky," a devil complete with horns and pitchfork.)