What’s wrong with stereotypes? Good question; glad you asked. I’ve been thinking about that lately—lately being the last coupla few decades—and I have a coupla few thoughts on the subject that I’d love to tie in after I trot out my Alpha Man of the Hour.
Here he is: The Geico Caveman. I love those commercials! Remember the old Folger’s coffee ongoing romance commercials? Misunderstood Caveman is way better. “So simple, even a caveman can do it.” Currently our sensitive, tortured, hirsute hero is in therapy. “How would you like it if they said ‘So simple even a therapist could do it?’” Well, that just wouldn’t make sense. Love it, love it, love it. If we have to stereotype somebody—some human body—it might as well be the caveman, right? Is this not the ultimate alpha male? Or, at the very least, a great piece of satire.
And our society does enjoy the easy caricature—the stereotype. Stereotyping is lazy writing and lazy visual art, but it’s a powerful political and social tool. It’s powerful because it seems so innocuous. It’s just a little joke. A fable, a fairytale. A story to entertain the children. Or teach the slanted lesson about history, tradition, identity or social values. Or a way to underscore one group’s claim to being “in” or chosen or elite or somehow superior to another. And that other group is so simple, so easily boiled down to a few “characteristic” traits that they become a cipher. A stereotype.
So far we’re probably mostly in agreement. But what about the stereotypes that creep into our little corner of the world? I’m talking genre fiction. I’m talking Romance. We don’t see as many of the noble savage/white captive covers as we once did, but when I got started in this business—back when Geicoman was knee high to an eohippus—we’d pay a visit to the
paperback book rack in the grocery store, and my kids would zero right in on the 101 “Savage” titles and pipe right up with “Why is this Indian dude dragging the white lady onto his horse?” Their dad’s a damn good rider, so I can’t imagine why he’s never tried to pull that trick. (Okay, he didn’t have to. Two days after we met he got his horse to rear up Roy Rogers-style, and I said “My Hero!”) Ah, how time doth add romance to the past. But what’s wrong with the “noble savage”? It’s a stereotype, sure, but it’s a good one, isn’t it? It’s conceived in love. Well, isn’t it? What can it hurt?
And what about those team mascots? My husband’s alma mater, the University of North Dakota, steadfastly refuses to retire their “fighting Sioux” mascot. They can’t afford to. A gazillionaire alum single-handedly built them a new hockey arena only after the U agreed not to give in to NCAA pressure. So now they’re in court. Makes you wonder why the guy cares that much. He’s not “Sioux.” Not American Indian at all as far as I know. Does he have an ax to grind, or simple control issues? I grew up in 
a fantasy of the white man’s making.) You can go to their web site and watch a video of his final dance, which is like no dancing I’ve ever seen at any powwow. The video is moving, really. You’ve got your school spirit, your nostalgia and all that. But a mascot is a pet. It’s a good luck charm.
And it’s represented by a caricature—a cartoonish logo, a person dressed in a silly costume (the one to the left is for sale online intended for use as a mascot), sometimes a hapless animal, although PETA and the ASPCA have cut down of the number of bears and wildcats getting trotted out on the playing field these days. Why American Indians? Why not Chinese or Africans or Scots? Is it really fair to create a cartoon image of a living, breathing people and trivialize their culture this way?
Mind you, I don't presume to speak for American Indians. Only for myself. And I’m just asking.
