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

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

Students at these schools can gain a special opportunity to learn about their affiliated tribes. Although several tribes formally oppose the University of North Dakota's team name, the Spirit Lake Tribal Council passed a resolution last December saying that "if the University is going to be representing the 'Fighting Sioux,' the students should be made aware of the unique culture they will be representing." That's a good idea, and it's exactly what happens at Arapahoe High School in Littleton, Colo., where students cheer for the Warriors on the football field and learn about the real Arapahoe in the classroom. The school gym is named after Anthony Sitting Eagle, an Arapahoe leader, and every year the students celebrate "Arapahoe Day." Tribal members travel from their reservation to teach about their customs and history. A similar exchange occurs between students at Arcadia High School near Los Angeles and an Apache tribe in Arizona. Last fall, the school band performed at an Apache reservation, and Apache leaders spoke and danced at Arcadia. None of this would have happened but for the school's team name. An added twist is that many of Arcadia's students come from Chinese-immigrant families.

There are plenty of cases in which the objections to Indian names are reasonable. The descendants of the Lakota Sioux leader Crazy Horse have sued the brewer of Original Crazy Horse Malt Liquor. But even if they had not, naming a brand of beer after an Indian leader or tribe is in egregiously poor taste, given the sordid history of "firewater" and the chronic problem of alcoholism on reservations.

The sports world, too, could stand some improvement. A few years ago, the Alcorn State Scalping Braves appropriately lost their adjective. There are a handful of high schools that call their teams the Savages, and use cartoonish Indian mascots. Traditions often are worth defending simply because they're traditions, but some teams may want to ask themselves whether their name or logo is one that, say, an expansion club might proudly adopt today. By this standard, the Washington Redskins should reconsider their name. The team's Indian-head logo is perfectly respectable, and it was even designed by an Indian artist. The real problem, however, is a distasteful name that is the equivalent of other teams calling themselves the Palefaces or the Yellow Horde. The teams' owners and fans may mean no disrespect, but the name is functionally a slur. Indian activists have targeted the Redskins on this basis, and they've experienced some success. In 1998, they sued under an old copyright law that forbids disparaging trademarks-the team currently earns millions annually from the sale of T-shirts, hats, and other merchandise. The Indian activists won the first round, but the case remains in court. There would be some measure of justice in the Redskins' owners losing the lawsuit.

But there would be no justice in vanquishing every last Indian reference found in the wide world of sports. Imagine that no teams had ever chosen to name themselves after a tribe: There would still be bunch of clubs called the Cowboys, a few dubbed the Bison or the Wranglers-but not a single one derived from the indigenous people of North America. It's tempting to think that the same activists who now complain that the presence of Indian team names is an insult would then say that the absence of Indian team names is proof of racism. And in that latter claim, there would be substantially more justice.