Trump, the NFL, and the Politics of White Nostalgia

When Donald Trump calls for the return of the Washington NFL team’s former name, the “Redskins”, he is not speaking to Native Americans. He’s not even talking about football. He’s waging yet another front in the culture war, one rooted in white nostalgia, racial grievance, and the defense of private capital against democratic change.

George Cassidy Payne

This isn’t about preserving tradition. It’s about preserving power.

Trump’s demand to reinstate the slur isn’t an isolated outburst. It’s a calculated move from his well-worn playbook: toss a piece of red meat to the base, rile up outrage, dominate the news cycle, and distract from far more consequential issues. He does not need to care about this mascot, and likely doesn’t, because it serves its real function: sucking oxygen out of the room while reinforcing his role as the avenger of white identity politics.

More than that, Trump operates with a zero-sum view of the world. If “liberals” win a symbolic battle, like forcing a billion-dollar NFL franchise to change a racist name, then he and his movement see it as a total loss. Every such shift must be contested, or even refought. Progress, in this worldview, is not cumulative; it’s reversible, and must be reversed. The Commanders name is viewed not as progress, but as capitulation to so-called “woke mobs.” That cannot stand.

But let’s be clear: the fight to retire racist mascots is not about political correctness. It’s about power, cultural, economic, and historical. The “Redskins” name is a relic of settler colonialism. It reduces sovereign Indigenous nations, with rich languages, spiritual systems, and political autonomy, to a dehumanizing brand. A caricature. A product to be sold, cheered, and worn on game day.

The American Psychological Association has made clear that such mascots are not only offensive, they’re harmful. They damage the self-esteem and identity formation of Native youth, reinforce racist stereotypes among the general public, and contribute to hostile learning environments. This isn’t about feelings being hurt. It’s about structural harm.

And yet, a segment of Washington fans clings to the old name. Some cite tradition or nostalgia. Others reject what they call “cancel culture.” But their attachment reveals something deeper: a resistance to any challenge that might disrupt white comfort or confront the uglier parts of American history.

That said, not all fans agree. In fact, many, especially younger supporters, have accepted the change or even welcomed it. They recognize that a football team doesn't need to rely on racial caricature to have an identity. Some have moved on. Others are ready to.

Still, Trump and his cultural allies frame this shift as an existential threat, because for them, every cultural concession is part of a broader proxy war over race, gender, class, and authority. They claim to be defending tradition, but what they’re really defending is the right of powerful institutions, like the NFL, to commodify marginalized identities for profit, while facing no consequences.

Native leaders have been unequivocal. John Warren, Chairman of the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi, put it bluntly: “I do not understand why some athletes, especially the ones of color, should be very, very offended when they hear that word. It’s the same thing we’re talking about here... Any minority group who has had a history of oppression, they should know that it is wrong.”

Phillip Yenyo of the American Indian Movement of Ohio adds: “All we hear is that this is the team’s tradition... Their reason we have it is because we always have. That’s not good enough.”

They are right. Defending the “Redskins” name is no different from defending Confederate flags and Jim Crow statues under the guise of “heritage.” Whose heritage? And at whose expense?

The Washington franchise isn’t fighting to honor Indigenous culture. It’s fighting to preserve a billion-dollar brand. One rooted in colonial mythology, corporate greed, and systemic erasure. It’s capitalism doing what it does best, turning people into products, and protest into marketing strategy.

And while this mascot debate might drop from Trump’s radar in a matter of days, as most of his stunts do, that doesn’t mean it’s trivial. It’s part of a pattern. We’ve seen this before: seemingly symbolic battles create the groundwork for authoritarian overreach. Left unchecked, Trump is quick to use executive power to steamroll civil liberties, upend norms, and gut rights. Ignoring these signals gives him room to operate. Dismissing his provocations as empty showmanship is dangerous. The only thing that has ever stopped Trump is sustained, vocal, organized resistance.

And one more thing: don’t underestimate the symbolism of the Commanders name itself. Though it may seem petty, Trump likely finds the plural form of Commanders offensive to his personal brand of strongman politics. He does not share power. He does not believe in multiple leaders or institutional command. In his mind, there is only one throne, and only one man fit to sit on it. A team name that celebrates distributed leadership or collective authority is not just uninteresting to him, it’s an affront.

So no, this isn’t just about football. It’s about whether we allow reactionary forces to hijack culture, rewrite history, and sell us the past as if it were progress.

Retiring racist mascots isn’t symbolic, it’s strategic. It’s one front in the larger struggle to dismantle the logic of conquest that still undergirds American life. And in that struggle, silence isn’t neutrality. It’s complicity.

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George Cassidy Payne is a writer, educator, and social justice advocate based in upstate New York. His work explores the intersections of power, history, and moral imagination, with a focus on Indigenous rights, economic inequality, and American empire. His commentary has appeared in Common Dreams, CounterPunch, The Minority Reporter, and other progressive outlets.