Every tradition held dear by any person, group or culture morphs or times out. Much as humans want to think of traditions as eternal touchstones, they end. Time and societal maturation prove some traditions wrong. Fighting to keep the familiar, failing to recognize its time has come, can make us small.

Killingly High School students who voted in October to rename their teams' mascot out of concern that it stereotyped Native Americans understood that. Led by the young people, their elders on the Board of Education followed suit and changed the name. It was a big move. It was the right move. And, for a few weeks, the hard-fighting varsity football team and other sports squads were nicknamed the Red Hawks.

The primary stakeholders in the matter of their school's pride and honor are the students — not alumni, whose day has come and gone. Current students made a wise and generous decision that lost Killingly nothing but some people's pride. In doing so they carried out a far better tradition than to cling to a name that was not intended to belittle, but in these woke times, does. Two Native American tribes in the region, the Nipmucs and the Mashantucket Pequots, testified as to how it felt to them that the teams were called "Redmen."

However, the school board wrote another chapter of the saga over the last month when the Republican majority, elected in November, reversed the earlier decision and voted to reinstate the mascot nickname alluding to Native American males. By doing so, the new majority was fulfilling a campaign promise, but it took two tries to complete the move. In December the board had voted to do away with the Red Hawks nickname but tied on whether to return to the original mascot. Last week it reinstated the former nickname.

This battle over a school mascot serves as a microcosm of the political and cultural wars that are so dividing our nation. A student-led move to be more sensitive to the feelings of others found itself attacked for being politically correct nonsense, an effort to force change on folks who didn't want to change. Us versus them. Left versus right. No policy discussion, it seems, can escape the forces that are dividing Americans into their respective camps, not even what nickname to use for a high school.

The irony is that students have borne the brunt of this unspooling clumsiness, including having to play in the Class M state football championship with no mascot.

An additional point of contention has been the high school logo which, like some others in Connecticut, has featured the profile of a Native American man wearing a feathered headdress. The board indicated that it would address any "negative stereotype" by voting to establish a committee to update the logo. But updating the image of the logo is an empty gesture. It can't change the insulting stereotype, no matter how much the board majority might want to fool themselves that it will.

Since most high school students are under 18, it's unlikely that many of them voted in the November town election that put the anti-name change candidates in charge. Given the small turnouts for local elections, probably most of their parents didn't vote either. Having gone through their own democratic vote at the high school, students may have thought the issue was resolved. Instead they have had a lesson in the timeless truth that elections matter.

The Day recognizes the maturity and wisdom of those students at Killingly High School who wanted to rid their school of a nickname that was offensive to some. Our sports staff will honor their reasonable request to get rid of the outdated nickname and logo. In our sports reporting the school's teams will be referred to only as Killingly.

The Day editorial board meets with political, business and community leaders to formulate editorial viewpoints. It is composed of President and Publisher Timothy Dwyer, Executive Editor Izaskun E. Larraneta, Owen Poole, copy editor, and Lisa McGinley, retired deputy managing editor. The board operates independently from The Day newsroom.