More Than a Mascot.

School systems cope with emotional debate over removal of long-held Indian names and logos

Football season opened at New Jersey's Parsippany High School last fall in typical, rousing style. The team dashed onto the field, one player wielding a long stick festooned with feathers. After a quick huddle at the 50-yard line, the team ran to the sidelines, where the chosen player drove the stick--a replica of a Native American eagle feather staff--into the ground. A cheerleader in a headdress exhorted the fans to cheer for their Redskins.

This fall will be different. The decorated staff and other Redskin memorabilia will be stored in a display case inside the school. Outside, fans will be asked to root for the Parsippany Red Hawks, a new mascot honoring the red-tailed hawk native to their state.

After a series of sometimes painful, time-consuming deliberations similar to those that have taken place at dozens of other schools across the country in the past few years, the Parsippany-Troy Hills School District forced its Redskins team name, mascot and logo into retirement last spring. With it went 45 years of school tradition and nearly a decade of ambivalence about the name.

The day after Superintendent Eugene Vasile announced the change, 50 of the school's 875 students walked out in protest. The next school board meeting drew 100 parents, students and alumni, most of them furious about the change. The reaction was so strong that after more than an hour of fiery debate, the school board felt moved to hold a vote of confidence for Vasile. It passed 8-1.

A Divisive Issue

Vasile and his school board got off comparatively lightly. In other school districts the debate over Native American mascots has torn communities and school boards apart, diverting time, money and energy away from issues related to student achievement. Administrators spend months fending off angry alumni, calming students and dealing with the news media. After it's all over, the district often must spend additional time and energy healing the wounds and community ruptures the debate has left in its wake.

The issue has simmered in many districts for a decade or more, heating up from time to time when a group or an individual complains. But it is such an emotional matter, with such a huge potential downside for a principal, a superintendent or a school board, that few willingly jump into the fray.

"It puts the administrator in a very, very, very awkward position," says Peggy Ekedahl, superintendent in Milton, Wis.

"You could lose your job," says J.R. Hartley, former superintendent in Huntley, Ill. "If you're in weak position, you have to be careful about the timing of when this comes up.

School boards in districts as large as Dallas and Los Angeles have banned the use of Native American mascots. But it is often in smaller, rural districts, where traditions run deep, that the issue is most difficult.

In the Onteora schools in New York's Catskills, a board decision in January 2000 to retire the Indians nickname deepened a split between old-line, rural alumni and more liberal residents in Woodstock. Superintendent Hal Rowe survived a petition calling for his firing, but two board members were forced out five months after the decision in a divisive election dominated by the mascot issue. The Indians nickname was reinstated by the new board.

In Huntley, 45 miles northwest of Chicago, the school board, fueled by furious community resentment, beat back attempts last year to retire its Redskins team name despite the threat of a lawsuit from the Illinois Native American Bar Association. Hartley, who retired in June, spent months trying to resolve the matter while struggling to hold the school community together. "I've been scolded at church. I've been scolded in the community," he says. "It's been traumatic."

In Milton, Wis., a 2,800-student district 45 miles southeast of Madison, angry residents forced a special election two years ago to recall three board members who had voted to drop the high school's Redmen nickname and logo. The recall failed, but the special election cost the district nearly $7,000, and the wounds in the community are still healing.

"We often mentioned throughout the process that we wished that kind of attention could be focused on instructional issues," Ekedahl says.

Executive Decisions

The debate came to the fore in many school districts in April after the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights issued a statement urging schools to drop Native American team names. The statement condemned such names, logos and mascots as "false portrayals [that] encourage biases and prejudices that have a negative effect on contemporary Indian people."

That same month, New York State Education Commissioner Richard Mills issued his own statement, calling on schools statewide to re-evaluate the use of Native American names and symbols, which he said "can become a barrier to building a safe and nurturing school community and improving academic achievement for all students."

Neither statement has the force of law, although Mills said he would evaluate districts' progress on the issue next year. But the public calls have added to the chorus of condemnations by groups such as the National Education Association, Amnesty International and the American Civil Liberties Union, and they carry at least the implicit threat of eventual legal action.

The official statements have come as a welcome relief in some school settings. Most of the time, school leaders find themselves stuck in the middle, caught between a vocal individual or group demanding change and a majority of students and residents who cherish their traditions. In Afton, a district near Binghamton, N.Y., the school board voted to do away with its Indians team name a week after Mills' proclamation.

"When the word comes down from somebody else that you can't use the Indian mascot, it kind of becomes easier. We're doing away with it because we were told to," Superintendent Vernice Church says. "As long as it's an outside force that's doing it to us, the board feels safe."

In Parsippany, N.J., Richard Konet, the high school principal, says while his superintendent argued the issue in terms of sensitivity to minority groups, "I took the lower road. I just told people that when the [Office for Civil Rights] speaks, the next thing you're going to see is some kind of legal action."

Others have been less pleased with the outside intervention. Timothy Kremer, executive director of the New York State School Boards Association, says Mills is entitled to his opinion but should not intrude in local control of school matters.

Walter Doherty, superintendent of the Central Square School District near Syracuse, N.Y., which boasts a large "Home of the Redmen" banner on the high school's front lawn, says that despite Mills' statement, the mascot matter is "not an issue" in his district. Students held an exit poll during the district's budget vote in May in which 76 percent favored maintaining the team name. Because of that poll and the lack of any complaints, Doherty says, the district has no plans to retire the Redmen.

Legal Pressure

But opponents of Native American mascots say this is a civil rights issue, not a political correctness contest to be decided by majority opinion. The U.S. Justice Department's Civil Rights Division already has entered the debate, initiating an investigation three years ago of the Buncombe County, N.C., district's use of Warriors and Squaws for its boys' and girls' teams. The investigation ended in the spring of 1999 when the district agreed to drop the Squaws name, which is particularly offensive to Native American groups because of its sexist, derogatory meaning.

In Wisconsin, the Appellate Court in 1998 upheld a decision by the Department of Public Instruction that an Indian team name and logo did not violate a statute prohibiting discrimination against students based on race, ancestry or national origin.

Nonetheless, Matthew Beaudet, president of the Illinois Native American Bar Association, a group of 30 Native American attorneys, says he believes civil rights cases, such as the one his group is threatening in Huntley, can be successful. The plaintiffs would have to prove that the use of the team name or mascot creates a discriminatory or racially hostile environment in schools. He points to the Office for Civil Rights statement, which says the use of stereotypical images "has the potential" to create such a climate.

"It's like having a black-face show at work," Beaudet says. "You'd probably be sued by some African-Americans. This is a red-face show."

Some school traditions can unknowingly step on religious and cultural beliefs. The eagle feather staff used in Parsippany was a replica of an object that in Native American culture can only be handled by those chosen by a tribal elder, explains Vasile, the district superintendent. "What we had was youngsters using an eagle feather staff as a prop."

Misguided Honor

Beaudet says he believes the mascot issue is getting attention now because the national civil rights movement is finally getting around to Native American issues, and because growing numbers of Native American professionals and lawyers are speaking up. His group maintains the mascots can have a direct, negative impact on Native American students, a group already suffering from low self-esteem and high suicide rates.

"Their pride is being mocked," he says. "It is in fact very harmful. ... It's teaching kids to look at a group in a certain way, and they carry it into adulthood."

The argument made by many supporters that the mascots are intended to honor Native Americans simply doesn't wash, Beaudet says. "We just say we're not honored by it. That should carry some weight. The Native community is saying we know you're trying to flatter us, but we're not flattered, so stop."

In a few instances, however, Native Americans have embraced the mascots as an honor. The Seneca Nation of Indians has supported the Warriors nickname used in the Salamanca school district in western New York. But Salamanca is unique because most of the city lies on Indian land and the city has a close, ongoing relationship with the Senecas.

In Littleton, Colo., Arapahoe High School received a blessing from the Arapaho Nation based in Wyoming to continue using its Warriors team name and logo. (See related story, page 30.) The high school offers educational programs to increase understanding of Native American culture. (The school and Indian nation spell the name differently.)

Beaudet says he recognizes the tight spot many superintendents are finding themselves in over the issue. "It's a real bad hot potato politically, but they're in a tough job, and part of the job is making unpopular decisions."

In Huntley, Ill., where Beaudet says his group will file legal action unless the district agrees to changes, the issue gnaws at longtime residents who have seen too much change in the past few decades. The outer-ring Chicago suburb is evolving from a slow-moving rural town to a bustling community. Its enrollment, now 4,000, has quadrupled in seven years and is continuing its rapid growth.

"One of the few remnants they have of a pleasant past is their mascot," says Hartley, superintendent from 1994 through this past June. "And now we're trying to take that away from them."

The school board not only has resisted attempts to change the mascot, it has moved in the other direction. Last April it voted 4-3 to extend the Redskins name to the middle school and affirmed that fans should not be restricted from celebrating the name as they see fit. "Every time we try to step forward on this we slip back," Hartley says, adding that most administrators favor changing the mascot.

"We are trying to teach our students to honor and respect diversity," he says. "If you're doing things that offend people, what are you teaching them?"

The superintendent also wants the issue resolved and the wounds healed before the next building referendum comes up in 2002. Besides the political fallout, a legal fight over the issue could cost the district between $5,000 and $25,000.

Phasing Out

So what is a school leader to do when the use of a long-time school mascot is challenged? Many have taken a cautious approach, avoiding a full-blown confrontation but moving gradually to reduce the costs--both economic and emotional--of a potential change.

Even in Central Square, N.Y., where the Redmen reign supreme, the district has been phasing out items bearing the team name or Indian head logo as they need to be replaced. They include uniforms, school ID cards, district checks and other paraphernalia. That way, if the district is ever forced to make a switch, the expense will be reduced. "We're just looking down the road," says Doherty, the superintendent.

Ninety minutes south in Afton, Superintendent Church quietly removed the logo from the district's letterhead when she arrived in 1992, nine years before the team name was retired. When the gym floor was sanded, the Indian head painted at midcourt disappeared. "I just had them paint a big fancy Gothic A," she says.

When the issue does reach the front burner, Hartley advises school leaders to "get into it and get out of it as quickly as you can because it can affect other issues. ... We really can't afford to split our supporters in the community."

Stephen Rosenthal, superintendent of the Shoreline Unified School District in Tomales, Calif., has some advice of his own. He became a lightning rod in his district last year when he agreed to work with two students to resolve a debate about the high school's Braves team name that had been simmering for the previous three years. Despite a student council poll that found most students wanted no change, he worked with the students, who wanted to bring the matter to the school board. Their presentation was so successful that the board voted 4-2 last February to retire the name. The next day, sign-carrying, pro-mascot students walked out of the school.

The reaction from the greater community was "very active and very hot," Rosenthal says. A petition was circulated calling for the high school principal's resignation. The surprised board scheduled a special public meeting in March that brought out 400 people--an enormous crowd for the 800-student district. The board backpedaled, voting 5-2 to keep the Braves name but to retire the Indian head logo, which some had objected to partly because it depicted a Plains Indian, a culture quite different from the local Miwoks.

"What we're trying to do now in essence is talk about the character of a Brave rather than about the people," Rosenthal says.

That somewhat strained compromise calmed things to a degree by the end of the school year, and Rosenthal said the discussion had been beneficial in some ways. "Other than the heatedness of it, it was a very strong discussion that needed to happen in this neck of the woods. The whole notion of tolerance came in, the notion of prejudice. How are we treating people? How are we treating diversity? How do you deal with minority opinions? All this stuff that schools are struggling with."

Voice of Experience

Like other leaders caught up in the mascot issue, Rosenthal had to learn as he went along and now sees things he wished had gone differently. He offered a few tips for school leaders who have yet to confront the issue:

* Just because you don't have a lot of people coming to your board meetings, don't think they don't care. The board's initial vote to retire the mascot in the Shoreline district drew the usual handful of people. The follow-up meeting drew 400.

* Inform and gather the opinions of your support groups early. Rosenthal and other school leaders didn't inform the district's booster club directly about their plans. "Had we talked to them first, brought them into the loop, it might have had a different outcome."

* As superintendent, deal with the media and phone calls yourself as much as possible, even if it takes up most of your time for weeks. Take the heat and let others focus on educating children.

* Particularly in smaller districts, polish up on meeting procedures and get logistical help from outside before holding what is likely to be a large, emotional meeting. "You better have your Roberts Rules right in order."

* Trust your students. "When the news media came in and interviewed students, or when students met to discuss the mascot issue, the kids carried themselves well, sometimes with more dignity than the adults."

* "When it's over, don't think it's over." Rifts in the community and the school board are likely to linger. Near the end of the school year, Rosenthal's board held a special meeting with a facilitator to try to heal some of the wounds.

Paul Riede is an education writer with The Syracuse Post-Standard in Syracuse, N.Y.

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A Singular Journey: Meaning Behind the Mascot

Nine years ago, the ongoing national discussion of Native American mascots--represented at the time by a debate about the Atlanta Braves and their fans' use of a tomahawk chop--finally got to Ron Booth.

The principal of Arapahoe High School in Littleton, Colo., a 2,000-student school just outside of Denver, decided to find out whom his school's Arapahoe Warriors were meant to honor and how they felt about it.

His novel journey led him to an all-night conference with Arapaho elders at the Wind River Indian Reservation near Riverton, Wyo., seven hours north of Denver. And it eventually took him and what he terms his "pretty Anglo suburban high school" to a level of understanding of Native American issues and culture that few schools in America, whatever their mascot or logo, can match.

Seen another way, the effort turned an issue that for many administrators has become a no-win problem into a rich, ongoing opportunity for his students, parents and teachers.

Among the things Booth learned in Wyoming--beyond the fact that the tribe spells its name without an "e" at the end--was that the school's Warrior logo depicted a Pawnee, not an Arapaho. The nomadic Arapaho had roamed the vast area between the Mississippi and the Rockies before one group reached agreement with the U.S. government to move to Wind River in 1878.

Indian Input

The Wind River Arapahos welcomed Booth and were impressed by his sincerity, according to tribe member Mark Soldier Wolf. "It was a totally honorable thing for him to do," Soldier Wolf says. "We were very grateful."

The tribe pointed out inconsistencies with the school's mascot and asked that if it used the Warriors name the references and symbols be authentic. "As long as there is honor in it and some measure of dignity, we don't have a problem with it," Soldier Wolf says.

An Arapaho artist helped out by painting a new logo of an Arapaho's face, headdress and breastplate. An old painting was removed from the high school's gym floor because "it was an insult to them, to have an Indian where people could walk on it," Booth says. Students were asked not to use what they had called "war paint" at games or to dress in Native American attire. Eventually, the school flew a group of Arapaho elders to Denver--the first time many had been in an airplane, Soldier Wolf says--to visit the school and meet students. The visit blossomed into a decade-long tradition.

Now every two years, usually at the time of the Denver March Powwow, some 100 Arapaho men, women and children spend a day at the high school. They are there, drumming and singing, when students arrive at 6:30 a.m. They lead a flag-raising ceremony and a student assembly. And they visit classes throughout the day, providing lessons on Native American history, music, art and poetry.

"We learn so much from these people," Booth says. "The kids learn the appreciation of diversity. ... It has opened up a real passion on the part of the student body."

Every year, the Arapaho provide a small scholarship to the high school valedictorian. The high school PTO, in turn, raises money for St. Stephen's Indian Mission elementary school at Wind River.

On off years, Booth has taken dozens of students on trips to Wind River to learn firsthand about the people their school was named after.

Sincere Gestures

The link between high school and Indian nation could not have begun without Booth taking the initial step, and he urges other administrators to consider following his lead.

"I think it's important for people ... to ask them, to talk with them, to negotiate, to say 'Here's where we're at. Can we get your endorsement, your favor?"' he says.

A mere phone call or a fax asking the tribe to sign off on the school's logo would not have been enough, Booth says. "You have to do your homework. You have to research it. They had to see me, look at me, look in my eyes."

The relationship has continued to deepen as the years go by. Four years ago, when Arapaho elder Anthony Sitting Eagle died, Booth went to his funeral and was presented Sitting Eagle's buckskin ceremonial shirt. The shirt, along with a large painting of Sitting Eagle and other items from Wind River, are in a display case outside the high school's gym, renamed the Sitting Eagle Gymnasium.

Paul Riede