A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO, I wandered around a hipster-cool, overpriced thrift store in my hometown of San Diego. Flipping through the racks of vintage tees, I stopped cold as I landed on a tan baseball shirt featuring an image of none other but the long-retired Stanford Indian.
He's never far away. He pops up when I least expect him, appearing on memorabilia, on webpages, and on my News Feed on Facebook, with his wild eyes and oversized nose, two long cardinal-colored feathers shooting from the back of his head, an expression between confusion and anger on his face.
I, too, am a Stanford Indian. I'm a citizen of the Cherokee Nation and a proud Stanford alumna. But nothing about the caricature on that shirt represents me, my family, my community, or the hundreds of other Native students and alumni of the university.
Whenever the Stanford Indian resurfaces, I'm reminded that the Native members of the Stanford community still aren't viewed as equals. At my fifth reunion, I was stunned to see the Indian not only on vintage memorabilia but also on new T-shirts and sweatshirts, worn by current undergraduates. Every time I encountered the image, I briefly felt unwelcome on my own campus.
I didn't come to Stanford an activist on issues of representation, but I learned quickly that as a Native student leader, I often had to educate others on why these misrepresentations are hurtful and harmful. Many of my classmates didn't seem to know anything about contemporary Indigenous peoples or issues—the prevailing images that surround us are Hollywood stereotypes that paint us as savages, stoic warriors, mystical creatures, or even extinct.
To me, the Stanford Indian is not an issue of political correctness or oversensitivity; it is about respect. I understand the pride and nostalgia of the alumni who attended Stanford during the "Indian" era, and I know that many believe this type of mascot honors Native peoples. As a Native person, I would feel honored by recognition of my humanity and by the recognition of my modern contributions to the campus community. An outdated stereotype does not honor me.
It was activism from Native students on campus that drove the removal of the mascot. Formed in 1970, the Stanford American Indian Organization led the way, educating and fighting for the rights of Native peoples. Since then, the Native presence on campus has grown into one of the strongest campus Native communities in the country. Stanford began the movement for the removal of other college Indian mascots. More than 2,000 schools have dropped theirs; we still have around 900 to go.
I've always appreciated the administration's response to the mascot issue, making sure to include language in the alumni handbooks prohibiting the use of the Indian image for official reunion events, covering images of the Indian in display cases and supporting the Native students on campus whenever the issue arises—but we can do more. Stanford was a leader on this issue from the start, and we need to put the image to rest and remind the rest of the nation why we made the decision 44 years ago.
I bought the overpriced T-shirt that day in San Diego. I couldn't bear the thought of someone buying it and wearing it in public. When the world thinks of a Stanford Indian, I don't want them to think of that image. I want them to think of the hundreds of my Native classmates and friends who are representing their Native nations in all sectors of society—as tribal leaders, doctors, lawyers, engineers, artists, teachers, writers, activists, scholars and more.
Adrienne Keene, '07, is a postdoctoral fellow in Native American studies at Brown University. She writes about Native representations on her blog, Native Appropriations.
