Over the past half century, hundreds of high-school and college athletic programs, facing opposition from students or simply coming to their senses, have jettisoned their Native American nicknames and mascots. They’ve been left with some odd stuff: generically combative animals, vague and hard-to-animate color names, and, in the case of Stanford’s unofficial mascot, one seriously strange-looking tree. Yet, though these new mascots and nicknames lack pedigree, they at least can be worn with pride, as they represent an overdue recognition that the appropriation of a minority people’s culture is inappropriate, and that a celebration of retrograde and false stereotypes, like savagery and warrior-like ferocity, is embarrassing. Since 1971, nearly two-thirds of professional and amateur athletic teams bearing Native American iconography have made a change. But there are some holdouts. In fact, there are still dozens of high schools that assemble at pep rallies and football games under the banner of “Redskins.”

That last fact comes courtesy of the public-relations department of the Washington Redskins football team, which this year, as in years past, has been compelled to defend the name from mounting public dissatisfaction. (The word “redskin” has a contested etymology, but a plain history as a slur. And the team’s stoic logo is the thing of anachronistic, if possibly well-meaning, caricature.) Online petitions demanding that the team change its name have been circulated. Protesters have asked nicely for years. Mayor Vincent Gray, of Washington, has been known to avoid using the name in public. Some local journalists try to get around it, too. Last week, a D.C. council member named David Grosso said that he would try to get approved a nonbinding resolution calling for the team to change its name. It wouldn’t have any real power, but the gesture caught people’s attention. He even suggested a replacement: the Washington Redtails, in honor of the Tuskegee Airmen, who painted the tails of their planes red when flying in the Second World War. The team wouldn’t have to fix much: it could keep its fight song and its feathers.