Chapter One
The Controversy
At school board meetings, at universities, in professional sports, and on the editorialpages of widely read newspapers, objections are being raised to teamsnamed the Warriors, Braves, Chiefs, Indians, and Redskins. Teams named afterspecific tribes such as the Apaches and Mohawks have also been criticized. Sixteams—the Florida State Seminoles, the Fighting Illini at the University of Illinois,the Atlanta Braves, the Washington Redskins, the Kansas City Chiefs, andthe Cleveland Indians—have been targeted by an organization of Native Americanactivists, the National Coalition Against Racism in Sports and the Media. Ofall minority groups, only American Indians, they point out, are still depicted instereotypes and caricatures.
In the 1970s, in response to student protests, the Dartmouth Indians becamethe Big Green, the Stanford Indians became the Cardinal (singular), SyracuseUniversity retired its Saltine Warrior, also known as Big Chief Bill Orange,and Oklahoma State retired its "Little Red" mascot. Since then, dozens of universitieshave replaced mascots based on American Indians. The Miami UniversityRedskins in Oxford, Ohio, are now the RedHawks, in response to a requestfrom the Miami tribe of Oklahoma; the St. John's Redmen are the Red Storm; andthe University of Tennessee at Chattanooga has retired Chief Moccanooga. MarquetteUniversity's sports teams, which had Indian themes, have become theGolden Eagles. Eastern Michigan students and fans are no longer the Hurons.Hundreds of high schools have changed their team names and symbols. And atleast two minor league baseball teams have transformed themselves: the Chiefsof Syracuse became the Skychiefs and the Akron Indians are now the AkronAeros. Of all these teams, only Syracuse University seems to have struggled tofind a new identity. The Saltine Warrior, an Indian chief invented in a hoax inthe student newspaper in 1931, was replaced with a parade of unpopular mascotwannabes. The school finally settled on Otto the Orange in the 1990s.
Newspapers including the Oregonian of Portland, Oregon, the Star Tribunein Minneapolis, the Akron Beacon Journal, the Seattle Times, and the Salt Lake Tribunehave established an editorial policy of not printing Indian-inspired teamnames. They refer to the Braves, for example, as the Atlanta baseball team. Tworadio stations in Washington, D.C., have followed their lead. The Los AngelesSchool District gave its three public high schools with Indian mascots one yearto come up with replacements. The policy was upheld by a court decision. Dallas,Texas, also mandated a change. State boards of education, civil rights commissions,or state commissions of Indian affairs in Minnesota, Michigan, Nebraska,and Wisconsin have asked schools in their states to rename their teams,retire their mascots, and redesign their logos. The New York State EducationBoard has undertaken a statewide review of the issue.
The owners of professional teams—the Braves, Indians, Chiefs, Blackhawks,and Redskins—insist that their teams are private businesses and refuse tobow to pressure. In Cleveland at the first game of each baseball season, NativeAmericans protest outside the stadium. "We are people, not mascots," their signssay. Twice, demonstrators have been arrested. They were shown on national televisionburning an effigy of Chief Wahoo, whose bucktoothed grin and big nosecan be seen on the Cleveland team's uniforms and on the licensed pennants,hats, and T-shirts sold to fans. The teams also face legal challenges. Legislationhas been proposed in Cleveland, Kansas City, and Washington, D.C., to denypublic funds for stadiums if minority groups will be disparaged within.
Many American Indians refuse to pronounce the name of the Washingtonfootball team. To them it is the Native American "n-word." When the WashingtonRedskins played in the Super Bowl in Minneapolis in 1992, they were greetedby three thousand protesters, although the temperature was seventeen below.Later that year a legal proceeding was filed against them. Seven prominent NativeAmericans petitioned to have the team's trademarks canceled under a clauseof the trademark law that says that disparaging or scandalous terms cannot receivefederal trademark protection. They pointed out that the nation's capitalcity should not use a racial slur to name its team. Seven years after the petitionwas filed, three judges of the Trademark Trial and Appeal Board ruled for the petitionersand revoked the team's trademarks. The team has appealed the ruling.
The oldest and largest American Indian organization, the National Congressof American Indians, which represents about 250 tribes, has passed a resolutioncondemning Indian mascots. So have many other tribes and intertribalorganizations. In support, the NAACP has issued its own resolution. SenatorDaniel Inouye, the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Indian Affairs,has asked that we not carry these names and stereotypes into the twenty-firstcentury.
However, longtime fans and alumni resent being asked to give up an identitythey're attached to. Fans (a nickname derived from the word "fanatic") assertthat naming teams after Indians is a positive way to honor them. They saythey admire Indian leaders and Indian ways. Many see the anti-mascot movementas proof that political correctness has gone too far.
Native Americans respond that the stereotypes endanger their children'sself-esteem. Organizations of psychologists and educators agree. They point outthe extremely high dropout and suicide rates among Indian youth. They alsocite a 1999 Department of Justice study that found that Indians were more likelyto be victims of a violent crime than any other racial group; in fact, the rate ofcrimes against Indians is two and a half times the national average; 60 percentof their attackers were white. Prejudice toward Indians has traditionally justifiedthis violence and is still significant. Ideally, we would like other Americans to understandsovereignty, water rights, repatriation, and other complex issues thataffect our community, prominent Indian leaders say. But as a first step, we wouldlike them to acknowledge that we are human.
But not all American Indians are bothered by the mascots. The chief of theSeminole tribe of Florida, James Billie, enjoys a positive relationship with FloridaState University, where the tomahawk chop began. He supports the use of histribe's name by the school's teams. A student dressed as Osceola, a Seminole warleader, who lived from 1804 to 1838, rides out on an Appaloosa horse namedRenegade and opens every game for the `Noles by throwing a flaming lance.There are American Indians protesting outside every Florida State game, includingsome Seminole people. They say the mascot looks like a Lakota who got lostin an Apache dressing room riding a Nez Perce horse. But a spokesperson for theSeminole tribe of Florida maintains that the issue simply doesn't apply to histribe. Florida State's Indian imagery, he responds, is nothing like Chief Noc-A-Homa,"the smiling dumb Cleveland Indian," or the Washington Redskins.
The Atlanta Braves have finally retired Chief Noc-A-Homa, who sat in asmoking teepee in their stadium, running out when the Braves hit a home runto circle the tepee in a wild dance. They maintain that this sensitivity to how NativeAmericans are depicted entitles them to keep the name, tomahawk logo, andorchestrated "Indian" chanting. In Illinois, fans and alumni who support ChiefIlliniwek feel that there is a difference between a demeaning caricature and apositive, although fictional, depiction. Like the Seminoles, they insist he is nota mere mascot, but an honored symbol. And while they concede that somestereotypes and team names demean Indians, Chief Illiniwek, they maintain, becausehe keeps a dignified distance from fans and follows a carefully choreographedscript, honors the first inhabitants of the state.
At Illinois, Florida State, and the University of North Dakota, where thecontroversy is over the Fighting Sioux nickname, Indian mascots are part of alarger mythology about collegiate sports. "Honor" is a word that comes up frequentlyin discussions on these campuses. Although college basketball and footballprograms are essentially entertainment corporations attached to educationalinstitutions, they are rarely discussed in those terms. Amateur athletics istreated with a deference that is rare in American life. Activists call on theseschools to retire mascots for the sake of doing the right thing and to live up totheir mission statements, which guarantee equal treatment for all students.
But professional teams like the Washington Redskins, the Cleveland Indians,the Kansas City Chiefs, the Atlanta Braves, and the Chicago Blackhawkshave never promised to educate anyone. Their business is strictly entertainmentand the goal of their management is to make a profit. Pro teams also promulgatemyths about sports and about their special relationships to the cities in whichthey are located, myths that sports journalists often disseminate without question.This partly explains why sports mascots based on Indians have endured solong without a serious national debate about their appropriateness. Mascotsdon't live in the real world, but in the rarified imaginary space created by theoverlapping bubbles of two of our most cherished American myths—sports andIndians. This double layer of mythology protects them; well-polished, transparent,it is completely invisible to most American eyes.
It's hard for outsiders to understand the obsession, but living in Champaign-Urbanameans being pro-chief or anti-chief. The controversy that is breaking outin high schools all over the country and in Washington and Cleveland has beenan accepted part of the cultural landscape in this midwestern college town forthe past ten years. The current political movement to retire Indian mascots wasstarted here by Charlene Teters in 1989.
Making up new names for the team is a parlor game at faculty dinner parties.The Byting Illini? Urbana is the birthplace of Hal, the independent-mindedcomputer in 2001: A Space Odyssey, so why not mascot Hals running around thefield? The Illini Lightning. The Corn Borers. The Tornadoes? (Urbana was struckby one in 1996.) When a community group, Women Against Racism, sponsoreda contest to come up with a new name and mascot and offered a thousand dollarsprize money, there were eighty entries. The winner was Prairie Fire, a name thegroup is urging the university to adopt. Using bumper stickers (We're FOR ChiefIlliniwek) and T-shirts (Racist Stereotypes Dehumanize), semantics (he's a symbol—no,he's a mascot), artwork, a film, letters to the editor, talks by visiting Nativeactivists, street theater, and demonstrations, the students, staff, faculty, andalumni have kept up a ten-year debate about the halftime star and sports logo.
But the university administration and trustees have remained aloof fromthe debate. After voting to keep the Indian-theme performance in 1990, theboard of trustees maintained for ten years that there was nothing further to discuss.They have received hundreds of letters on the subject (one trustee told methat mail runs forty to one for the chief). During trustees' meetings, there is atime period set aside for public comment, and opponents of the mascot oftenspeak. Native Americans, both national activists and university students, haveasked for roundtable discussions. But the trustees never respond to what is saidin public comment sessions; they did not reply to the requests to sit down fortalks; nor to a faculty vote recommending they retire the mascot. In January2000, three national academic organizations, the American Association of Anthropologists,the Society for the Study of Indigenous Languages, and the LinguisticSociety of America, passed resolutions censuring the university and resolvednot to return to Illinois for meetings until the mascot was retired. Still,the trustees had no comment. They seemed convinced that if ignored, the tempestwould eventually blow over.
In February 2000, when the university's academic accreditation came upfor a ten-year review, the evaluation team was deluged with letters about themascot and complaints about the trustees' handling of the issue. The accreditationorganization, the North Central Association of Colleges and Schools,granted accreditation to the university for another ten years, citing its overall excellence.However, there were several conditions, all relating to the chief. Aschool's mascot is not usually an accreditation issue, but the evaluation team feltthat, in this case, the symbol had educational consequences. In fact, eight pagesof a 35-page report were devoted to the mascot question.
Forced to finally take the issue seriously, the trustees called for an open,respectful dialogue on the symbol. They declared that every single interestedperson would have a chance to voice an opinion about the chief. "Too little,too late," responded student activists. "Been there, done that. Where wereyou?" The university has made it clear that the board itself remains pro-chief.The trustees refuse to concede that the mascot is an educational issue, a stancethat leaves many faculty members fuming. "A sham," some labeled the dialogue.Although the university maintains that the chief is not an educationalissue, he certainly pops up in a large number of classrooms. The student whograduates from Illinois without having written one paper on the chief or takenpart in a classroom discussion must be an exception. In fact, the debate is sucha staple topic for papers that the librarians in the university archives keep awell-thumbed folder of information handy for the students who come to doresearch. Extracurricular clubs face the issue, too—if only to decide whether toput the logo on their posters.
The campus itself centers around the Quad, a rectangular lawn edged withthe university's oldest buildings, a quadrangular heart for the collegiate body.The old brick buildings with columns look so Ivy League that a movie about Harvardwas filmed there a few years ago. On Quad Day, held early in the fall semester,the sidewalks are lined with card tables and banners from organizationsand social clubs. Some freshmen have already "rushed," hoping to be chosen tojoin one of the nation's oldest and largest systems of fraternities and sororities.Many are shopping among the campus ministries; upbeat Christian bannersdominate the event. Still others are signing up to save wild rivers, usher at theatricalevents, sing a capella, or joust with padded lances.
A few card tables away from each other, the anti-chief students are passingout a "disorientation guide" and the "Save the Chief" students, in orange T-shirts,are handing out free Chief Illiniwek buttons and collecting signatures. Beforethey have figured out how to use the online catalog to find books, freshmenencounter the idea of a stereotype and ponder the semantic distinctions betweena mascot and a symbol. As if a giant game of tug-of-war is about to start on theQuad, they are expected to choose sides.
"Remove Chief Illiniwek. He is a racist image" printed on red ribbons ingold block letters is what the anti-chief students are offering along with their information."It's racism pure and simple," they say. "When you single out oneethnic group and make them your mascot, that's a racist practice."
"A mascot is what they have at Wisconsin," a student I'll call Jim explainsto me. He has debated publicly to keep Chief Illiniwek and he writes for a conservative-fundednewspaper where the anti-chief movement is described withphrases like "fringe group," "radical left," and "stinks of political correctness."Jim's voice is firm. Every word is clearly enunciated. "A mascot runs around in acostume and does sideline antics. What we have is nothing like that." Jim and Iagree to meet again to talk and he offers to bring other pro-chief students.
Tod, who joins us, is an Eagle Scout and a member of the Order of theArrow, an auxiliary Scout group whose members study Indian tribes, dress inIndian clothing, and perform Indian dances. "We deal with Indian historyand Indian personalities and Indian costuming in such a way that it's builtinto a larger picture of leadership, values, and tradition. It's something wehold very highly, research a lot, we try to communicate with tribes, try to authenticatethis as much as possible. It's a brotherhood," he explains. Althoughhe's young to have done so, he has already worked his way to the highest levelof the Order of the Arrow.
Tod is also active in College Republicans. Perhaps it's the wool cardigan orhis formal way of phrasing his thoughts or his deep voice—for some reason heseems more like an older uncle than a college student.
"For me," Tod continues, "Chief Illiniwek is a good way to rememberwhat was once a great place for a proud people. It's a bygone era that very fewwhite people ever saw. It internally destroyed itself through several differentmechanisms."
I question Tod about these very few white people. It is my impression thatby the time the Illinois were relocated from the state in the 1830s, Indians andwhites had lived in close contact for about 150 years.
"But the culture was nothing like it had been," he replies.
I ask him what it is about the Illinois Indians he admires.
"To be brave, to have tenacity and will to endure whatever might lie ahead.Not to give in to outside pressure. Not to throw the towel in. They fought hardbut ultimately, they were beaten."
"He's certainly a worthy representation of who was here. He provides a littlenexus between me and our Indian past." This is from the third student in thegroup, Matt. He looks more like the students I'm used to seeing. No straight-arrowBoy Scout shoulders here. He slouches, shrugs, fidgets, and speaks with amore tentative tone of voice.
I ask them if it isn't possible that the students could come up with a newsymbol, something equally exciting.
"I'm not going to say they couldn't," Jim replies, "but I am not aware ofany other campus in America that has anything like Chief Illiniwek. I don'tthink the students of the future will form as strong an attachment to a BuckyBadger-like mascot as they do to an honored symbol."
Matt walked around among the tailgate parties before a football game witha petition to retain the Chief. He was amazed at the response. People came forwardnot by ones and twos, but twenty at a time, demanding to sign. One groupdrives up from Tennessee; members of the group insisted they would stay homeif the chief was retired. "We would be disassociating thousands of people, wewould be destroying a link between the past, the present, and the future. Thesepeople wouldn't know what their university stood for any more."
"But what about Native American students who come to the University ofIllinois and who feel demeaned by Chief Illiniwek?"
"It's not just about honoring a particular group of people," Jim replies."If a Native American student doesn't feel honored, I guess I think that's unfortunate.It is something that deeply concerns me and that I devote a greatdeal of thought to. How can we rectify the situation? But at the same time I'dpoint out that it's about more than just honoring a certain group of people.The Native American students at the university don't have any claim. There isno one today who can claim that they are the descendants of the Illini. Theywere wiped out in conflicts with other tribes. There are no direct descendantsof the Illini remaining."
Rather than debate this, I ask them if they think the character is astereotype.
"If you go to Oklahoma any month of the year," Tod says, "you can find acelebration where people are dressed like that and dance. It's not something thatwe made up. It's real."
"Honestly," says Jim, swinging into his debate mode, "it almost insults theintelligence of your average Illini fan and university graduate to say that theylook at the chief and think it's a perfectly accurate description of what everyNative American looks and acts like. I never felt that way. I never met the personwho said that."
"There are stereotypes everywhere in our world. It's the way we deal withthem that's important," Tod says.
Jim adds, "If we were in an educational vacuum, we might have aproblem."
As I walk to the coffee shop near campus, I turn this conversation over. Thethreads are familiar ones, tangled together with our ideas about Indians in a messof knots. I cast about for a loose end.
Internally destroyed itself by several different mechanisms. Wiped out inconflicts with other tribes. No direct descendants remaining. In other words, althoughsome Native Americans have survived and live in the same contemporaryworld we do and even come to the same campus to study, they are not Illini.They are not legitimate contenders for the identity that is so important to thesestudents. And it was not whites who wiped out the Illini. That was done by othertribes—or the very vague "internal mechanisms." Perhaps this is a euphemismfor epidemics of European-introduced diseases.
When I suggest that early settlers and Illinois Indians knew each other well,I am told that "the culture was nothing like it had been." What is admirable issome pure and noble Indian culture, something that only the very first Europeanswho set foot on the continent encountered with wonder. Ever since, Indianculture has become adulterated, diluted, and despoiled. White culture, Europeanand American culture, is so decadent and dangerous that exposure to itturns these simple noble people into empty shells of humanity, addicted to alcohol,irresponsible, careless about their own future. Everything that is valuableabout Indian culture belongs to the long long ago, before contact induced impuritiesand rot. This logic makes it possible for the student who is a Boy Scoutto dedicate himself to learning traditional dances at the same time that he discountsthe opinions of fellow students who are Native American.
The student also tells me that the character of Chief Illiniwek, the braveand noble Plains Indian chief in feather headdress who dances wildly, is real becausehe can be found at a powwow in Oklahoma. It is certainly true that at apowwow, we could see Indian men who dress up in flashy costumes and dance,not only for spiritual reasons, but for entertainment or to win prizes. They seemto have stepped off a Broadway stage. The steps they perform have been combinedand adapted from various tribes. In comparison, Chief Illiniwek looks likea warrior of yesteryear. But is old-fashioned clothing worn as a costume inherentlymore real than a contemporary costume? And even if we decide it is, doesthat make the dancer who wears it more authentic? What counts for the mostpoints in the authenticity ratings? Is it the clothing, the steps, or the dancer'sgenes? And finally, assuming that the powwow dancers are authentic becausethey are Indian, is it true what the student is saying—that their existence makesChief Illiniwek real? In this case, reality is hard to pin down. Perhaps we shouldsettle for asking whether these other dancers render him appropriate.
As we will see, Indians and whites both participated in Wild West shows;both contributed to the creation of "show Indians" who dress like Sioux anddance professionally. Show Indians live on in the movies. In areas where fewAmerican Indians live, there is a widespread belief that this show Indian cultureis the only real Indian culture. Many non-Indians ignore or discount anythingIndian that does not resemble the show Indians they recognize. In response,wanting to be acknowledged as Indians, many Indian people from other tribeshave adopted aspects of Plains Indian dress so they can at least look the part. Andat intertribal powwows, Plains music and dance dominate.
The question of who is an Indian is a complicated one surrounded by aswirl of uncertainty and insecurity. It often undermines any discussion ofimaginary Indians and Indian mascots. It would be helpful if we could settle itat the outset. But how? Is it a question of blood and genes? A certain percentageof Indian blood, the famous blood quantum that some tribes require tobecome an enrolled member? But what percentage is enough? Or are upbringingand knowledge of customs more significant? Some tribes are federally recognized.Others are not. Having been raised on a reservation is a trump cardthat settles most challenges. So is speaking an indigenous language. LookingIndian helps immensely. Being an enrolled member of a federally recognizedtribe is another trump. Without holding at least two of these cards, many Indiansfind it impossible to speak and be heard. Even Indians themselves arequick to discount any Indian with whom they disagree as "not real" or "raisedaway." And what if you have neither a large proportion of Indian blood nor atraditional upbringing, but want to identify yourself as Indian? For the momentwe will simply have to set this riddle aside, keeping in mind that AmericanIndian is an identity that was imposed on people who thought of themselvesas Navajo or Oneida or Quapaw and that it is an identity that is oftencontested. We can be certain that people who define themselves as AmericanIndian or Native American exist in the contemporary American world. Theirnumbers are increasing every year. American Indians intermarry at a higherrate than any other ethnic group, which means that people who call themselvesIndians because of heredity will eventually be merged into the generalmass of Americans. However, people who have only a small proportion of Indianblood are much more likely to identify themselves by it than those whoare part Irish or Italian or Russian.
Authenticity, I sense, is a thread that will, no matter how closely we examineit, always return to itself, a closed circle with no end. We can untangle thehistory of our own belief in the authentic and come to understand what we havecalled authentic and why. But even after we come to this understanding, we cannotsort Indian culture into two piles, the authentic and the inauthentic. Nomatter how attached we might be to the notion of the authentic, the circle ofthread leads back only to ourselves and our desire for authenticity.
Another stubborn knot is the curious one in which honor and contemptare tangled together. Is it possible to twist two opposing emotions into onegesture?
The tables in the coffee shop are close together, and as I drink my cappuccinoand ponder this, I study the students near me. There is one young couple Ifind particularly appealing. They are sitting side by side looking at photos in asmall album. It is their physical beauty as they bend over the snapshots that attractsme. She has light brown hair and a lovely, open face. He is dark, Asian, andhandsome, with a thoughtful expression. The way he leans toward her, one armover the back of the chair, is graceful and unself-conscious. But as I listen, I realizeit's not a tryst, it's a language lesson.
She describes what she and her friends are doing in each photo and heposes questions. "That one? That's TP-ing," she says, exaggerating the unusualword.
He looks completely blank. I'm curious, too.
"TP stands for toilet paper. You know toilet paper, right?" She sounds so encouraging."Well, you take rolls of toilet paper and you go at night to anotherhouse. Then you throw them up in the air so they catch in the branches of thetrees. See? When the person comes out in the morning, the trees are all coveredwith toilet paper. It looks beautiful. But we had to clean it all up.
"When? It's a good question." She speaks carefully and precisely. "Youdo it to someone when you like them and want to celebrate somethingthey've done."
He nods.
"But ... you can also do it to someone because you think they're really ..."She pauses and looks at him apologetically, "... well, really stupid."
Her student looks completely baffled.
"It's weird but it can mean two completely opposite things."
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