We need to leave our problematic mascot behind and embrace local legends
By Jess Carey
Mascots are a staple of American college culture. Easily reproducible and widely circulated, mascots are a quick and easy way to publicize and create connections. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the images we choose to represent ourselves should be intentional reflections of our values. A mascot change would steer us away from celebrating colonialist narratives. Sasquatch, or Bigfoot, is a beloved local legend whose image would better represent the values of the campus and community at large.
The redwood logging industry and its lumberjacks built Humboldt County as we know it. From the 1800’s onwards, settlers poured into the North Coast seeking fortune from the new red gold. The redwoods with their unparalleled height and size presented an irresistible opportunity for exploitation. A dark undertone of violence and exploitation took root simultaneously with the influx of settlers to the region, and left brutal scars on this land and in the memories of its people.
The Native American Health Commission has a list of over 100 documented violent incidents in the greater Humboldt region alone between 1850 and 1870, with an estimated death toll of 2,278-3,816 documented individuals. The few survivors of the Tuluwat Island massacre in particular were forcibly relocated to Klamath and other reservations, while their land was desecrated and its resources were squeezed out like water from a sponge. Alongside blatant genocide, the forests were decimated, with only 5% of the original old-growth redwood trees remaining standing today. The same individuals who perpetrated a genocide and destroyed old-growth forests are those whose legacy we have chosen to represent our campus.
Lucky the Lumberjack has deep roots in campus history, and this paper itself. Humboldt State Teachers College was renamed Humboldt State College in 1935. The lumberjack mascot was adopted the next year. Our paper has been dubbed The Lumberjack since 1929. Lucky continues to be one of the first images that comes to mind when people think about the campus. T-shirts and plastic stickers of muscly, hairy, white men wearing red flannel are mailed out all over the country to prospective students. A cardboard cutout outside the campus store is clad in suspendered denim with one leathered boot on a redwood log and an axe in hand. An animated foam and plastic caricature dances at competitions and events, the grotesquely cartoonish image of a colonizer and usurper fabricated into a costume, prancing on land that was stolen and soaked in blood.
Consider Sasquatch as an alternative. The word Sasquatch arises from the term sasq-ets, which means wild-man or hairy man in the Salish languages of Native peoples from the Pacific Northwest. The image of Sasquatch celebrates the folklore of Northern California. The common term “Bigfoot” originated locally in a 1958 article in the Humboldt Times describing intriguing large footprints found along the Trinity River. The infamous 1967 Patterson-Gimlin film was recorded just north of Humboldt County at Bluff Creek, a tributary of the Klamath River. The nearby town of Willow Creek is the self-proclaimed “Bigfoot Capital of the World.” The image of an aloof hairy giant with outspread arms, mid-stride and confident, turning to face the camera over its shoulder remains an iconic part of local culture.
While several other major American colleges have lumberjack mascots, no one has Sasquatch. Our campus is uniquely located in the heart of Bigfoot’s territory, and Sasquatch’s story and legend inspire whimsy and a connection with nature. This novel move would set Cal Poly Humboldt apart and better reflect our values of sustainability, connection with nature, and accountability. Making the shift to Sasquatch as our mascot would foster a more relatable campus culture while celebrating our land and its stories, solidifying our identity, and unifying our community.
Jess Carey is a senior at Cal Poly Humboldt, majoring in biology and double minoring in botany and journalism, and the science editor for The Lumberjack. They are passionate about telling stories that are relevant to the community, branching their interests in science, music, and the arts.