Every spring, on the first afternoon of the Major League Baseball season, members of the Cleveland American Indian Movement gather outside their city’s baseball stadium. Their presence is inevitable: they have demonstrated at Opening Day for 46 straight years. And just as inevitably, fans in team apparel give them some version of the same spiel.

Often, these fans preface their comments with a war whoop. They say the team name and logo the Movement is protesting are meant to be an honour. Sometimes, they tell the members to go back, of all places, to their home country.

“These are sports fanatics. They are the people who are affluent enough to not be working in the middle of the daytime, be inebriated and can afford the tickets,” said Sundance, a Native American activist and the Cleveland Movement’s executive director.

“Their concerns are not typically the concerns of most Native people … It does not surprise me that they see us as their enemies — (that) we’re trying to steal or somehow take away their Indian, their Chief.”

Mark Duncan / Associated Press

That name and emblem symbolize the fight Sundance’s organization has waged for decades, with sporadic attention from the sports world at large. They say the team — the Cleveland Indians — degrades and demeans them, appropriating and twisting their identity with its aquiline-nosed, broad-toothed, red-faced logo, Chief Wahoo. They have urged the team to change, and have been spurned at every turn.

Cleveland is not the only franchise that brands itself with a Native American caricature: the Washington Redskins are generally considered most egregious. And the Atlanta Braves and Kansas City Chiefs ensure Cleveland and Washington are not alone in their sports. But two human rights complaints filed in Canada last month thrust Cleveland to the middle of the fray.

Douglas Cardinal, a renowned architect and an indigenous activist, has claimed the team’s use of its name and logo in Toronto discriminates against him on racial, ancestral and ethnic grounds. He wrote to the Human Rights Tribunal of Ontario and the Canadian Human Rights Commission that he couldn’t watch Blue Jays-Cleveland playoff games “without suffering the discriminatory effects of exposure to these racist symbols.”

Hearing dates for Cardinal’s complaints have yet to be set. And even if a tribunal rules in his favour, it can’t force Cleveland to take action. Still, his claim has raised a puzzling question, beyond the usual dispute of whether, in this day and age, a professional team with a Native American name should feel compelled to change.

What would it actually take for one of those teams to change?

The answer is varied. It could take a court ruling, a creative marketer or an order from the league. It could start with public outcry, if some critical mass of people makes its opposition heard. In the end, it will almost certainly come down to the teams themselves.

In that case, it would take a medley of courage and conscience — in Cardinal’s words, “some deep sense of morality.”

“You can’t change people,” Cardinal said in an interview. “The only thing you can do is change yourself and be responsible for your own actions. I felt I was responsible for my actions, and it’s up to them if they want to change.”

Tony Dejak / Associated Press

At first, Cardinal sought something stronger than a morality play. He asked the Ontario Superior Court on Oct. 14 to ban Cleveland’s baseball team, MLB and Rogers Communications — the owner of the Blue Jays and of the network showing the game in Canada — from broadcasting the name “Indians” and the Chief Wahoo logo until his human rights complaints could be heard.

Justice Thomas McEwen denied his injunction request in an Oct. 17 hearing, three hours before Game 3 of the American League Championship Series at the Rogers Centre.

Cardinal’s complaints, meantime, ask the HRTO and the CHRC to urge Cleveland’s team, MLB and Rogers to stop broadcasting the name and logo, on the notion that he receives inferior, discriminatory service when he watches Toronto-Cleveland games.

“The less good service is, ‘I can’t enjoy the baseball because I’m thinking about the name of that damn team instead,’” said Denise Réaume, a University of Toronto professor who specializes in discrimination law.

Unlike the courts, tribunals aren’t bound by the “strict doctrine of precedent,” Réaume said, meaning a discrimination ruling against a team in one jurisdiction, like Cleveland in Ontario, would not oblige another board to follow that decision. Still, a case like Cardinal’s could generate momentum for similar claims.

“Word gets out that maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Réaume said, “and more teams start thinking, ‘Well, OK, the tide has turned. People just don’t like this any more — we should just get with the program.’”

The only thing you can do is change yourself and be responsible for your own actions. I felt I was responsible for my actions, and it’s up to them if they want to change

That hasn’t happened to date. Daniel Snyder, who has owned the Washington Redskins since 1999, has vowed to keep the term as long as he’s in charge. “We’ll never change the name,” he told USA Today in 2013. “It’s that simple. NEVER — you can use caps.” (The team didn’t respond to interview requests for this story.)

Cleveland, meanwhile, introduced a new “primary” logo — a red, block letter C — in 2014. But Chief Wahoo still adorns the team’s home-game hats and the sleeves of its jerseys.

“We are very cognizant and sensitive to both sides of the conversation — our fans’ deep, long-lasting attachment to the memories associated with Chief Wahoo and those who are opposed to its use,” the team said in an email statement. “We continue to research our fan base to better understand their perception and stance on the logo, but at present time have no plans of making a change.”

While Cardinal’s discrimination claim weaves its way through the Canadian system, two sets of U.S. plaintiffs have mounted a different kind of legal challenge.

In a petition filed in February, the Native American advocacy group People Not Mascots asked the U.S. Trademark Trial and Appeal Board to cancel Cleveland’s trademark on Chief Wahoo — a request largely based on the Blackhorse case, in which a group of Native Americans convinced the Board to annul Washington’s six trademarks on the name “Redskins” in 2014.

Washington’s team unsuccessfully appealed the cancellation to a district court, then brought its case to a federal court of appeal. That appeal is pending, as is the trademark board’s decision on Chief Wahoo.

Both cases draw on a provision that bans “disparaging” trademarks under U.S. law, said University of New Hampshire professor Alexandra Roberts. And their outcomes will be shaped by a third, unrelated case the U.S. Supreme Court will hear sometime before next June, in which an Asian-American music group from Oregon — the Slants — is trying to affirm its right to label itself with an ethnic slur.

“The Slants make a sympathetic plaintiff. They make a good case. You say, ‘Oh, this seems clever and creative and whimsical, and they clearly know what they’re doing. They’re trying to make a statement,” Roberts said. “And then we see the Redskins and we’re like, ‘You’re despicable, your marks should be cancelled — they’re incredibly offensive.’

“It seems really unlikely that the Supreme Court can thread the needle,” she added. The court could quash the ban on “disparaging” marks for violating free speech, which would neuter any trademark challenges on team names. Or it could uphold the ban, giving those challenges new life.

“You’d see people start to go after these other team names and these other team logos that are problematic. That could (encourage) teams to change their names voluntarily,” Roberts said.

“But it’s hard for me to predict, because I would have thought that Dan Snyder might have buckled under the pressure at some point. Clearly, he hasn’t.”

Jim Mone / Associated Press

Teams don’t need federal trademark registration to use a name or logo, so even if Washington and Cleveland eventually lose that protection, they won’t be forced to move on.

From a business standpoint, though, clinging to those symbols may be foolhardy. In a 2013 study, two Emory University marketing professors found the value of branding a team with a Native mascot appears to be dwindling over time — at a rate of $1.6 million per year in the NFL, by their estimates, and by $2.6 million per year in MLB.

Those figures pale beside the overall worth of a major pro franchise: $2.95 billion in the Redskins’ case and $800 million for the Indians, according to 2016 valuations from Forbes. But to Michael Lewis, one of the Emory professors, the true loss is a missed opportunity.

Unlike football and baseball’s historically successful franchises — the Green Bay Packers, for instance, or the New York Yankees — the names “Redskins” and “Indians” don’t conjure deep feelings of allegiance from fans, Lewis said.

“Is anyone going (to games) because it’s the Indians? Is anyone going because it’s the Redskins? I think that’s a really tough argument to make,” he said. “But on the other hand, I guarantee there are people who don’t want to wear an Indians T-shirt or a Redskins T-shirt because of the imagery.”

Picking a new name isn’t free of charge; a pro team would have to spend several million dollars to design and fully implement a new logo, according to industry observer Chris Creamer. But they could quickly recoup most of that cost in new merchandise sales, Creamer added, as supporters rally around a new identity.

“They’ve got the freedom to reinvent themselves,” Lewis said. “And while some people might be upset with them for doing it, there’s also an enormous amount of people that would view it as a positive.”

Individual leagues, in theory, could also exert some influence. Roger Goodell has defended Washington’s name throughout his time as NFL commissioner. But his baseball counterpart, Rob Manfred, has said he plans to meet with Cleveland chairman Paul Dolan to discuss the team’s continued use of Chief Wahoo.

“That particular logo is offensive to some people,” Manfred said during the World Series in late October, “and all of us at Major League Baseball understand why.”

From 2005 onward, an NCAA edict forced a number of U.S. colleges to abandon their Native name or logo. The association cited 18 schools — from the Arkansas State Indians to the Chowan Braves and the Southeastern Oklahoma State Savages — for their use of “hostile or abusive mascots, nicknames or imagery,” banning them from hosting any NCAA championship event.

One of the culprits was the University of North Dakota, which dropped the name “Fighting Sioux” in 2012 — after suing the NCAA. The school settled for the right to lobby the state’s Sioux tribes for their support, which the Standing Rock tribe denied. (Florida State University, like a handful of schools, has the blessing of a local tribe to use their name, the Seminoles.)

The North Dakota state Senate then passed a later-repealed bill forcing the school to keep its name, before 68 per cent of voters called for a name change in a statewide referendum.

Now, UND is the Fighting Hawks, which the school unveiled on apparel and facilities this summer. Redrawing a program’s identity is expensive, said athletic director Brian Faison, and doesn’t erase a lingering attachment to history.

“You’re asking people to give up something that was very precious to them for many, many, many, many years,” Faison said. “Every time you get to the end of the national anthem (at home games), when it’s ‘the home of the brave,’ it’s ‘the home of the Sioux,’ and (fans) yell it out.

“It is what it is,” he said. “The reality is we need to move on.”

Barring a court or commissioner’s order, moving on in the professional ranks would take initiative from the teams themselves. So far, said Andy Triest, they haven’t shown it.

Triest is the president of the Alvinston Indians, the youth baseball club in Alvinston, Ont., a town of 2,500 southwest of Toronto. Teams in the town have played under the name “Indians” for 60 years — until last month, when Triest resolved to abolish the practice.

“I think it’s been kind of resting in our bellies, rotating there for a couple years. We were starting to feel a little uncomfortable with the name,” he said.

“‘Indians’ is not even an appropriate word. We don’t call them ‘Indians’ … so why is it OK that we have that as an association name for kids between the ages of three to 19? You start asking yourself the question: Can you really be proud of that?”

Changing the name will not be cheap. Facing a projected bill of $29,000, the Alvinston club appealed to the public, launching a GoFundMe.com page to cover everything from new uniforms to ballpark signage. The campaign hit its goal within a week.

Deliberations on a new name are still underway; the options voiced so far range from Aces, after an old Alvinston men’s team, to Bucks, in homage to the deer that roam through town. But the specific change, Triest said, is less important than the choice to do “the right thing” — and to provide a lesson for teams like Cleveland.

“I think they should be like us. We’re setting the precedent,” he said. ”Maybe we didn’t make a decision sooner because we were waiting for them to change. Now, we’re not going to wait any more.”

Cardinal commended Alvinston’s young players for showing “respect for your fellow man.” He, too, said Cleveland should take note.

“I’m hoping that they have some respect and (are) able to change their name, if there’s something that would be more appropriate, and get rid of the stereotype image of an Indian,” he said.

“You know who’s a stereotype image of an Indian? Me: a successful architect with an international reputation, an officer of the Order of Canada and a world master in contemporary architecture by the International Committee of Architects. That’s the stereotype of an Indian — not somebody who walks around with a tomahawk.”

Allies of Cardinal’s are hopeful his discrimination claim could be a watershed. Sundance, for one, said he is heartened by Cardinal’s enterprise, and by MLB’s apparent willingness to intervene. He planned to ask the league to meet with him after the World Series.

In 2017, Cleveland’s first home game is scheduled for April 11, a Tuesday showdown against the Chicago White Sox. It would be the Cleveland Movement’s 47th straight protest at Opening Day.

But as Cardinal’s case continues, mobilizing at the stadium shouldn’t be the only mode of dissent, Sundance said. He has another idea: lodge a human rights challenge against the team in all 30 major league cities, covering every jurisdiction where Cleveland plays baseball.

“I think that’s the only way they’re going to wake up to see that we are not happy. What they are doing is hurting us, in so many different ways,” he said.

“Do I think that it would be effective if people of conscience in every city where this team plays would try to get their name and image banned, or try to get commitments from their local media not to use the name and image?

“Yes, I do.”

• Email: nfaris@postmedia.com | Twitter: @nickmfaris

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EDMONTON’S CFL TEAM DENOUNCED FOR NAME

A Calgary sportswriter, embittered by a rugby loss to a regional rival, coined the name at the turn of the 20th century. Eskimaux, he called the opposition — the French word for “Eskimos,” and more than likely a shot at Edmonton’s frigid climate. Whatever his intentions were, the name stuck.

In Canada, calls to remove Native American references from pro sports have fixated on the namesake of that early team: the Canadian Football League’s Edmonton Eskimos, winners of 14 Grey Cups, most recently in November 2015.

Edmonton stands apart from teams like the Cleveland Indians and the Washington Redskins in one way: it supplements its name with a neutral logo of two interlocked E’s rather than a parody illustration. But for years — peaking, arguably, in the lead-up to last season’s Grey Cup — the franchise has been dogged by pleas for change.

Natan Obed, the president of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, Canada’s national Inuit organization, called the name “outdated” and “derogatory” in a Globe and Mail opinion piece last November. “The Edmonton team name … was not chosen by Inuit,” he wrote. “And I reject any arguments that the name is benign and has positive intent to align the Edmonton football team culture with Inuit strength or spirit.”

Obed declined to comment for this story through a spokesperson, who said his stance on the name hasn’t changed.

The Ottawa Citizen published its own editorial a day before Obed’s piece, writing that Edmonton’s name contributes to the “bizarre context and tradition” of appropriating Native American culture. “The practice of naming teams after indigenous groups stems from a history of fetishizing indigenous people as noble savages, and of mocking the traditions and symbols of colonized peoples,” the editorial said.

And last month, Toronto mayor and onetime CFL commissioner John Tory said Edmonton should drop its name out of respect for the country’s indigenous people. “The people who have to step up first are the ones that actually own these franchises and say, ‘You know what, we recognize times have changed,’” Tory told the Toronto Sun.

Edmonton, however, has no plans to change the name, team president and CEO Len Rhodes said in an interview.

“We use it with pride, first of all. Because it’s our team name, we use it with the utmost respect, because if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be showing respect to ourselves,” Rhodes said.

“We look at this as really representing the people from the North. It really speaks to values, which really centre around courage, perseverance and determination. We are the most northern team in the Canadian Football League, and we think that’s a point of differentiation that’s actually very positive.”

— Nick Faris