The Mascot That Won’t Go: Identity, Tradition, and Protest in Massapequa
Travel through the heart of Massapequa, Long Island, and you’re greeted by images that are as much a part of the town’s fabric as its tree-lined streets: signs emblazoned with the “Chiefs” mascot, public statues of a headdress-wearing Native American, and even murals at the local police and fire departments. For generations of students and residents, these symbols have been more than just logos—they’ve been touchstones of local pride and identity. Yet beneath the surface, a decades-long battle simmers—one that’s erupted anew as Massapequa refuses to comply with a New York State mandate to retire its Indigenous mascot and iconography.
Supporters argue that the Chiefs name honors history and unites the community, pointing to alumni who swell with pride at sporting events and, notably, to visible opposition among current students to any change. “When you think of Massapequa, you think of the Chiefs,” says one local. But for others, this sense of unity belies a more uncomfortable truth. Adam Drexler, a former hockey player and member of the Chickasaw Nation, once wore the jersey with pride; over time, that pride turned to concern, as he recognized the ways such imagery can perpetuate stereotypes and disrespect real Indigenous heritage.
As the nation debates the meaning of tradition versus progress, New York State—citing decades of advocacy from Native groups—renewed its push in 2022 to finally enforce a ban originally conceived in the 1990s. According to state officials, the Chiefs and similar mascots are not authentic tributes but relics of a past that too often erases, rather than honors, Native identities. Thirteen school districts on Long Island faced the mandate; by 2023, nine had complied—but Massapequa, along with three others, dug in its heels. This resolute defiance has now drawn the attention—and backing—of one of America’s most polarizing figures: Donald Trump.
When Culture Wars Collide with Policy: Trump’s Federal Intervention
Trump’s meteoric entrance into the battle over Massapequa’s mascot elevates the local dispute into the realm of national politics, culture wars, and legal showdowns. At a rally and in online statements, Trump proclaimed his support for the Chiefs and their right to choose their identity, framing New York’s enforcement of the ban as an “affront to our great Indian population.” Taking things further, his administration initiated a federal investigation into whether the state’s move violates the rights of Massapequa’s students or constitutes discriminatory treatment via threatened funding cuts.
Spotlighting the legal angle, the school board—one of four Long Island districts challenging the state ban in federal court—claims that its selection of mascots falls under First Amendment protection. Their lawsuit has become a lightning rod for those across the U.S. who worry that “cancel culture” is erasing cherished traditions without adequate consideration for community voices. “I don’t see the Kansas City Chiefs changing their name,” Trump quipped, referencing a larger pattern of resistance to evolving social norms regarding Indigenous imagery in American sports.
But whose voices count most in this debate? Harry Wallace, chief of the Unkechaug Indian Nation, points out the profound irony: the same town that benefitted from the dispossession—and, indeed, the erasure—of local Native people now claims an Indigenous-themed tradition as a core part of its identity. “It is ironic that a town that has a history of killing the local Indigenous population should now claim as a tradition a fake image of those very same people,” Wallace said. His words reflect the pain that these conflicts reignite for real Native communities, even as many non-Native residents insist that the mascot is a harmless symbol.
“It is ironic that a town that has a history of killing the local Indigenous population should now claim as a tradition a fake image of those very same people.” — Harry Wallace, chief of the Unkechaug Indian Nation
Beyond that, the legal battle in Massapequa has broader implications. According to a recent Pew Research Center study, a majority of Native Americans surveyed say that mascots like the Chiefs reinforce negative stereotypes and contribute to ongoing marginalization of Indigenous people. Yet, for
those mobilizing against “political correctness” in Republican-led culture wars, mascot policies and similar debates often serve as powerful rallying points to energize their bases and shape narratives about state overreach and free speech.
Progress, Pushback, and the Future for Indigenous Representation
How did it come to this? The fight over Native American symbols in schools is neither new nor isolated. Decisions to remove them—from the Cleveland Indians’ logo to countless schools nationwide—have frequently followed years of activism, research, and, crucially, listening to Indigenous voices. Harvard sociologist Philip Deloria notes the powerful role of such debates in re-examining what we honor and why: “If we want to teach respect and accurate history, we can’t begin with caricature.”
States like New York that have called time on old mascots are not erasing heritage but seeking greater inclusion and respect for real Indigenous stories. Policy directives, like the 2022 enforcement deadlines, reflect more than bureaucratic will; they are, at their heart, an acknowledgement of historical harm and a step toward justice. The truth is, symbols matter. As psychologist Stephanie Fryberg—herself a member of the Tulalip Tribes—demonstrates in her research, Native children repeatedly exposed to stereotypical mascots suffer real harm to their self-esteem and community identity.
Of course, no transition is easy. Change can spark pain, nostalgia, and even backlash, particularly where tradition is tightly woven into local life. But resisting progress by retreating into old symbols risks enshrining harmful legacies—making it that much harder to build the diverse, truthful, and just society that progressive ideals demand. For those championing equality and solidarity, the central issue isn’t whether a mascot was ever meant to harm—but whether, with new understanding, we will choose a path of true respect and inclusion.
Massapequa’s inflexible stand might seem like just another flashpoint in America’s culture wars, but the stakes are far larger. Will the town cling to a past defined by mythmaking and resistance to change? Or will it hear the voices urging a future built on honest acknowledgment of history, equity, and the dignity of those too long caricatured? The world is watching—and this moment will speak volumes about who we are, and who we wish to become.
