Phil Thompson: Can you compromise on Blackhawks nickname? I went through a similar crisis of conscience with Washington's NFL team.

CHICAGO — If you grew up in Virginia in the 1980s and early ’90s, the Washington Redskins seemed omnipresent.

You might not have cared about the Washington Bullets-turned-Wizards, and the Baltimore Ravens and Carolina Panthers didn’t arrive until the mid-’90s. But you best believe the Washington NFL franchise’s burgundy and gold blanketed the mid-Atlantic from Maryland to South Carolina, and the region reveled in three Super Bowl victories between 1982 and 1991.

My favorite moment remains Doug Williams making history as the first African American quarterback to play in a Super Bowl and leading the team to an upset win over the Denver Broncos after the 1987 season.

But the present can be a harsh lens through which to view your childhood.

In the light of adulthood, appalling symbols and images are ingrained in my memory: the cartoonish Native American-themed fight song “Hail to the Redskins,” the lyrics of which were composed by the wife of original owner and white supremacist George Preston Marshall; the Plains Indian-style get-up of the late superfan Zema Williams, whose fake headdress and red jacket transformed him into unofficial mascot Chief Zee; and the taunts traded between Washington and archrival Dallas Cowboys fans.

“We’re going to scalp the Cowboys,” many a Washington fan has said.

“We’re going to skin the Redskins,” a Cowboys fan might reply.

“The word ‘Redskins,’ it’s graphic terminology on how we were hunted for bounty,” said Juaquin Hamilton, an Oklahoma resident and member of the Sac and Fox Nation. “There was a certain amount of money that was paid (by government officials) to these people that would hunt us down: (a price) for a male, a certain amount paid for a female, there was also a certain amount paid for children, if (bounty hunters) brought their scalps back.”

Over the years, I felt increasingly uneasy about rooting for the team as I learned more about the nickname and its ugly history, to the point I wouldn’t say its name, wear the Indian-head logo or publicly root for the team. But in hindsight, it was not early enough for my own conscience.

I know firsthand that only a few years ago, some die-hard fans would have viewed you as a turncoat for suggesting a name change. It amounted to sacrilege.

Finally, team ownership announced Monday it is “retiring” the name and logo. To be clear, there hardly is a symbol as repugnant as “Redskins” — except perhaps the now-banned Chief Wahoo logo of the Cleveland Indians, who also are considering a name change.

Having lived and worked in Chicago for more than two decades, I wonder whether young Blackhawks fans, 20 or 30 years from now, will view their devotion to the nickname with the same regret.

Full disclaimer: In covering the Hawks for the Tribune, I see and have talked with the staff and players and doubt any of them would want to be associated with a name or logo that’s a symbol of racism or white supremacy.

After all, the team noted in a statement last week that the name is meant to pay tribute to Sac and Fox war leader Chief Black Hawk and “we recognize there is a fine line between respect and disrespect.”

But speaking from experience, it’s easy to rationalize your “benign” feelings for a nickname and be blind to its true history. Yes, some fans have crossed the line into mocking parody of Native American culture, but I believe most aren’t consciously trying to disrespect Indigenous people.

“We celebrate Black Hawk’s legacy by offering ongoing reverent examples of Native American culture, traditions and contributions, providing a platform for genuine dialogue with local and national Native American groups,” the team said in its statement.

The problem is, fans’ intentions — or the team’s — might not matter in this case. As Native American advocates have said, the imagery and names, odes to past conquests of Indians, do the disrespecting for you.

Original Hawks owner Frederic McLaughlin named his team after the 86th Infantry “Black Hawk” division, of which he commanded the 333rd machine gun battalion during World War I. The division has a black bird with the initials “BH” inside a red shield as its insignia.

As reader Brad Gallant pointed out, the U.S. Army’s Center of Military History notes: “The personnel of the division was originally drawn from the states of Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota, formerly the territory inhabited by Chief Black Hawk and his tribe. The insignia is a tribute to the pioneers of this sector, and in recognition of their prowess in battles with the Indians.”

It’s a symbol of conquest, of the Sauk Tribe’s defeat, not victory. Ironically, American Indians and Alaska natives “serve in the Armed Forces at five times the national average,” according to a 2018 White House proclamation.

Native American advocates say “mascoting” does damage in overt and subtle ways, and what’s more, it’s not the mainstream’s culture to use.

Yes, some Native Americans say they are offended by these symbols, but many say they aren’t.

We shouldn’t ignore their dissent because some feel strongly about their good intentions and what’s in their heart. It’s like a person who insists he or she is in a happy marriage as the spouse walks out the door with a suitcase in each hand.

Too often, despite “intentions,” Indian-themed nicknames can be weaponized. In 2016, an Ohio high school’s cheerleaders held up a sign telling the rival Indians: “Welcome to the Trail of Tears,” which in essence is “mocking a historical event where an estimated 4,000 Cherokee natives died, being marched across country, being made to eat grass and being made to leave family members behind (to die) when they fell,” said Stephanie Fryberg, a University of Washington professor of psychology and a member of the Tulalip Tribe.

“It opens the door for people to be insensitive and to create pain I think teams just don’t think about,” she said.

The Hawks committed to keeping the name but added in their statement they “will do so with a commitment to evolve.”

“It sounds like they are kind of giving themselves a back door to make a change if adequate pressure is applied,” said Bryan Pollard, associate director and former president at the Native American Journalists Association. “So we’ll see. But the pressure is coming.

“Honestly, what’s happening with the (Washington) NFL team is really causing momentum to build. This is an issue that has been percolating.”

Incidentally, I made a humble attempt at a compromise solution, which didn’t go over as well as hoped with Pollard and Indigenous rights advocate Suzan Shown Harjo.

The idea: Keep the name “Blackhawks” but change the imagery to a large “black sparrow hawk,” in the spirit of Chief Black Hawk’s Sauk name, Ma-ka-tai-me-she-kia-kiak.

Make the imagery about the bird and still pay tribute to the man. Perhaps the team could put up a statue of Black Hawk outside the United Center, like “The Eternal Indian” statue in Oregon, Ill., that depicts him.

I also suggested removing the sweaters’ Indian head on the chest and crossed tomahawks on the shoulders and replacing them with bird logos designed in authentic Sauk style in collaboration with Sac and Fox Nation artists.

The Seattle Seahawks bird emblem evokes authentic Native American artistry without mocking it.

“It was done in cooperation with a lot of the Northwest coast (tribal) artists,” Harjo said. “Is it still cultural appropriation? Yes. But it was done with a request and permission and ‘Please, let’s do this together.’ And it was a collaborative effort.”

Still, both Harjo and Pollard said any compromise that keeps “Blackhawks” as a name would be problematic.

“If it were a school, there would be dignity in naming the school (after) Black Hawk: ‘Chief Black Hawk School,’ “ Harjo said. But Chicago’s NHL team should be “named something entirely different — maybe the Hawks … maybe the Sparrow Hawks, but something completely not human. And get rid of Tommy Hawk. I mean, please. And the simpleton (Indian-head) drawing.”

“It’s still a reductionist act,” Pollard said. “You’re still taking someone who had significant stature in Indigenous communities and history and reducing that person to a mascot.

“Any kind of Native American person or community or tribe, whether it’s literal or figurative, can’t be used as a mascot. … That is turning the significant history or culture of those people into a caricature, and it can’t be used.

“A much more reasonable way to go, if the team is genuine in honoring that (legacy) — which I have to say I’m extremely suspect whether that’s true — then, yes, by all means erect a statue in that person’s honor. Put it in front of the arena. Talk about the significance of that person and the fact that at one time the team’s name was attached to this person — but that changed, and this is why it changed.

“Acknowledge the harm and the reasons that changed and what the path forward is and how the path forward is going to be a genuine path of mutual respect and collaboration with this tribe in order to honor this person.”

It’s familiar territory. My intentions were well-meaning but likely fell short.

I don’t envy the decision makers within the Hawks front office, who I believe may be equally well-meaning but are caught in a social movement’s crosshairs.

Whatever Chicago’s NHL franchise decides — keep the nickname, find a new one or arrive at a compromise with tribal groups — ultimately history will judge whether it was the right call.

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