Death of Washington's Chief Zee Offers Chance for NFL to Correct Long-Held Wrong

The first time I met the African-American man who played the part of a racist Native American character, he called me a fool. I called him an embarrassment. It went downhill from there. 

The encounter between myself and a man named Zema Williams was brief, lasting literally seconds. He was known as Chief Zee, the man who proudly sported one of the most disgraceful mascot uniforms ever. After a game in Washington, if I remember correctly, he quietly approached me.

"You the guy always criticizing the Redskins name?" he asked.

"I am," came the response.

"You're a fool; it's meant to honor Indians," he said.

"You're an embarrassment," I said. It was the best comeback I could do on short notice.

He walked away, calling me a fool again.

OK then. Good talk.

I thought about that scene after reading the news that Williams died this week. To many, the man Washington fans knew as Chief Zee was a glorious symbol. He represented generations of Washington fans—including many in my own family—particularly in the 1980s and early 1990s as Washington dominated the NFL with four Super Bowl appearances. He was a point of pride, and later, as opposition to the nickname grew, he became a stubborn point of pride.

There has been an outpouring of support for him after his death. No doubt some of those people will be incensed by this writing. But they will overlook how many others truly despised what Williams represented.

To a significant number of Native American people and activists, Williams was a disgrace who for decades did damage to Native Americans by perpetuating ugly stereotypes. More important, and I've heard Native Americans say this, Williams should have understood the pain stereotypes can cause because he was an African-American man. That latter point is something that has been a topic in the Native American media and blogosphere.

Some will say I'm assailing the character of a dead man. I'm not. Or that I'm playing the race card. Nope. Don't play cards. More of a gamer.

Williams' death is a chance for everyone to take a step back, particularly the Washington team, and maybe start to try to get this thing right. Use this moment to finally eradicate the worst nickname in all of sports. Or, at the very least, start a civilized conversation about it.

"My job is to entertain the people," Williams told the Washington Post's Mike Wise in 2013. "A lot of them tell me, they say, 'You know, my wife won't even cook me dinner till she see you on TV and says, 'There's my Injun.' The older people been watching me so long, they don't even say 'Indian.' They say, 'Injun. There's my Injun.' And it's on."

Injun…like it's 1816, not 2016.

When it comes to obliterating the nickname, I'm writing about hope, not reality. The truth is there's little chance owner Dan Snyder will change. He's going to keep the mascot not because he believes in the nickname, but because he's a stubborn man. And he will keep that moniker as long as possible because so many people tell him to dump it.

I grew up a fan of the team like he did. Followed all of its Super Bowls as a kid like he did. Wore the gear like he did. Grew up in the D.C. area like he did (born in D.C., actually).

If the name was changed, it really wouldn't matter. If you changed the team name to the Washington Red Tails, in honor of the Tuskegee Airmen, no fan would stop going to games or cease watching them on television. They'd still be fans.

Some of my family are the most hardcore Washington fans alive, and they wouldn't give two s--ts if the nickname changed. So much of the consternation from the nickname backers is an imagined issue, like people planning for an alien invasion.

As I've reported before (and confirmed again this week), league executives and others believe Snyder would change the name if the NFL brings a Super Bowl to Washington or he gets some other type of financial incentive.

There's a chance, I suppose, that Snyder is doing this as a matter of principle. But he didn't grow up a bigger fan than anyone I know. Those fans only care about things like Kirk Cousins getting a long-term deal or that Washington beats Dallas.

There's nothing special about the nickname that ties it to Washington. There's nothing honorary about it. There's everything bigoted about it. Now is the perfect time to make that change.

Of course, there will be many whose responses will run to the contrary for the wrong reasons:

Native Americans have bigger things to worry about. Doesn't mean they can't worry about multiple things at once. They have brains.

The nickname honors them. No one really believes that.

The latest polling shows Native Americans like the nickname. There are some concerns about the methodology of that polling.

There was also this statement given to the Washington Post about the poll from Native American activists Jackie Pata and Ray Halbritter:

The results of this poll confirm a reality that is encouraging but hardly surprising: Native Americans are resilient and have not allowed the NFL's decadeslong denigration of us to define our own self-image. However, that proud resilience does not give the NFL a license to continue marketing, promoting, and profiting off of a dictionary-defined racial slur -- one that tells people outside of our community to view us as mascots.

Social science research and first-hand experience has told us that this kind of denigration has both visible and unseen consequences for Native Americans in this country. This is especially the case for children, who were not polled and who are in a particularly vulnerable position to be bullied by the NFL. It is the 21st century -- it is long overdue for Native Americans to be treated not as mascots or targets of slurs, but instead as equals.

I'm not sure how Williams knew I hated the mascot. I always assumed someone pointed me out and he felt the need to confront me. He didn't say what he did in a nasty way. I think Williams became so identified with that character, he started to believe that any attack on the nickname was an attack on him personally.

In Williams' later years, his health declined, and he was broke. What was clear, in his words to me and his decadeslong trek as the team's unofficial mascot, was that Williams was a fervent believer.

He just believed in the wrong damn thing. Like a lot of people.

Maybe it's time to finally change that.

Mike Freeman covers the NFL for Bleacher Report. Follow him on Twitter @mikefreemanNFL.