Early this week, Major League Baseball announced that it would be banning the hazing rituals involving players dressing up as women. The new policy, titled the Anti-Hazing and Anti-Bullying Policy, outlaws the practice, which is common in clubhouses as a rite of passage for rookie players.

The policy, which was obtained by The Associated Press, prohibits “requiring, coercing or encouraging” players from “dressing up as women or wearing costumes that may be offensive to individuals based on their race, sex, nationality, age, sexual orientation, gender identity or other characteristic.” In the past, players have been asked to dress up as Wonder Women, cheerleaders, gymnasts — complete with leotards — and characters from A League of Their Own.

Let’s be clear: This new policy is a very good thing. Sports culture is known for being misogynistic, and this practice is an obvious indication of that. And the reaction from players expressing their disappointment is a testament to the sexism of many athletes. Mets outfielder Brandon Nimmo said he was “sad to see [the costumes] go,” while Mets starting ace Noah Syndergaard said he didn’t understand the ban. Dodgers pitcher Ross Stripling tweeted that we was “proud” to have worn a cheerleading costume, and former player Kevin Youkilis expressed his disdain for the policy in a now-deleted tweet.

Dressing men in women’s clothing as a way of hazing or embarrassing them is unequivocally sexist. It implies that wearing feminine clothing is something one should be embarrassed about (a belief reinforced by comments from within the MLB, like Blue Jays manager John Gibbons saying a new slide rule was so “embarrassing” and such “a joke” that his team might as well play in dresses). The practice is also transphobic, implying that “men in dresses” are laughable, or should be mocked. This kind of attitude contributes to real, lived violence against trans women, as well as dangerous legislation like “bathroom bills” that also contribute to the staggering rates of violence they face. These attitudes dehumanize all women, and allow violence against us to persist by making us less-than-human in the eyes of society.

And for a league that is grappling with how to handle domestic and sexual violence committed by its players, including releasing a new domestic violence policy last season and seeing the high-profile suspensions of Aroldis Chapman and Jose Reyes under it, changing the locker room culture is a significant step. If we want to address the issue of violence against women perpetrated by athletes, we need to start with cultural changes — and this includes sending the message that women should not be mocked and that femininity is not inferior. Moreover, by instituting these changes at the highest levels of the sport, it can hopefully trickle down to men and boys everywhere. When their heroes demonstrate respect for women, it makes it more acceptable for men at-large to do the same.

That said, based on the league’s own anti-bullying policy, it would seem another tradition should go out the window, as well: the Cleveland Indians’ mascot, Chief Wahoo. There has been a lot of pressure on the Cleveland team, as well as Commissioner Rob Manfred, to ban Chief Wahoo. Wahoo is offensive, a caricature of Native people. And the MLB’s new policy says that requiring players to wear costumes that “may be offensive to individuals based on their race” is now prohibited. Wahoo, while a logo and not a full costume, is still just that: offensive.

Native activists have been protesting the logo for years, and objections to the logo have reached a fever pitch in recent years with the #NotYourMascot campaign gaining traction on social media. And, like dressing men up as women to demean them, Native mascots also dehumanize their subjects; research has shown that the effects of Native mascots on Native people are real — and deeply damaging (activists have also rightfully criticized the Atlanta Braves, the NFL’s Washington R*dskins, and school teams with Native mascots). Researchers concluded that “mascots are harmful because they remind American Indians of the limited ways others see them and, in this way, constrain how they can see themselves.”

This is all compounded by the fact that violence against Indigenous people is devastatingly common. In fact, we watched the U.S. government violently attack peaceful water protectors who were trying to stop the Dakota Access Pipeline at Standing Rock Reservation just last month. There were dozens of injuries as a result. Further, Native women face some of the highest rates of domestic and sexual violence in the nation.

It looked as though steps were being taken in the right direction at the beginning of last season, when Cleveland owner Larry Dolan announced that Wahoo was being demoted to “secondary logo” status. Many hoped this was the beginning of a process to phase out Wahoo completely — but Dolan dismissed that, telling the Cleveland Plain Dealer, “[The team has] no plans to get rid of Chief Wahoo. It is part of our history and legacy.” (Apparently, the fact that violence and genocide against Native people is also part of our country’s history and legacy matters less to Dolan). And while an entire team rebrand might be more expensive than banning gendered hazing, a fresh start might be just what the American League champions need — and we all know the league can certainly afford it.

“We are the sport of Jackie Robinson, and we need to lead by example,” Billy Bean, Major League Baseball’s ambassador for inclusion, told the New York Times in regards to the decision to ban the practice of players dressing as women as part of hazing rituals. But in order for that statement to be true, MLB needs to address Chief Wahoo, as well.

Manfred has said that the league will discuss the issue in the off-season. Here’s hoping they come to the right conclusion.

I put an ice pack inside my pants. I decide I must have developed a latex allergy.

1.

“Is that a cold sore?”

He’s pointing at an angry red scab on the corner of my mouth.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s a cut.”

It’s cracked and it stings each time I open my mouth. I’ve never had a cold sore before. It’s definitely a cut.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes. I promise.”

To prove it, I unbuckle his pants and take his cock into my mouth. I pull up and it glistens, wet with my spit.

I smile at up at him. “See?”

2.

I take the elongated blue pill out of the case I keep in my purse.

I pop it into my mouth and chase it down with cheap white wine. I’m sitting at my favorite bar.

“Is that Valtrex?” I look over at my friend Briggs, who is sitting on the bar stool next to me.

“Yeah,” I say, realizing he must have seen what the pill said when I opened my box. “I take it for cold sores.”

I flush hot with shame, but act unaffected. I take another swig of my wine.

My friend Lorenzo pipes up from across the way. “Carlos gets cold sores, you know.”

I’ve been sleeping with Carlos for three years now.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

I flush hot with shame, but act unaffected. I take another swig of my wine.
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3.

“Use a condom,” I tell him.

We met on OkCupid. It’s 3 AM and he’s just showed up to my house.

He’s a tattoo artist, covered as much with body hair as he is tattoos. I’m desperately attracted to him.

We’ve been on one date.

He rolls the condom down and enters me. My hands grab the thick hair on his upper back and I gasp.

4.

I’m in more pain than I can ever remember being in in my life.

I text him. “What kind of condom did you use? I think I’m having a reaction to it.”

His response is curt, short. “I don’t know. A Trojan or something?”

My vulva is swollen. Everything between my legs feels like it’s on fire. I can’t sit, I can’t walk.

I put an ice pack inside my pants. I decide I must have developed a latex allergy.

I never hear from him again.

My vulva is swollen. Everything between my legs feels like it’s on fire. I can’t sit, I can’t walk.
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5.

“I have the weirdest symptoms,” I tell my roommate.

“My butt is achy. Like, you know when you have the flu and your skin aches? My butt feels like that.”

I Google “herpes.” I see pictures of lesions. I shut the laptop, shaking my head no.

“Sometimes the muscles in my thighs are so sore that my legs give out, even though I haven’t done any strenuous physical activity,” I tell her.

“Go to the doctor,” she says.

“And say what? The skin on my butt feels like I have the flu?”

6.

I lay on the exam table in the Planned Parenthood clinic, looking up at the fluorescent light flickering overhead. A thin white paper is draped over my legs, my feet in stirrups.

“I keep getting what feels like an ingrown hair, but it’s always in the same exact place,” I tell the doctor.

Her head is between my legs, occupying the spot usually reserved for lovers. The non-latex gloves I’ve requested feel cold against my skin.

I direct her to the spot. “In between my inner and outer labia, just to the left of my clitoris.”

She peers up at me, over the paper blanket. “It’s scabbed over, so I can’t swab it. Sorry.”

“Can you do a blood test?”

7.

The first time the phlebotomist tries to take my blood, she misses my vein.

That happens a lot. “You really should use a butterfly needle,” I tell her, for the third time.

This time, she listens. I watch the tube fill red with blood.

A few minutes later, a nurse comes to speak with me.

“The blood test came back positive for HSV-II. That means that you have genital herpes.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I Google 'herpes.' I see pictures of lesions. I shut the laptop, shaking my head no.
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8.

“Do you hate me?” I ask.

I haven’t cried yet. I mostly feel numb, though I’m a little bit relieved, a little bit unsurprised, and mostly resigned to my fate.

“Of course not,” he says. “Come here.” He pulls me in and gives me a hug.

He kisses the top of my head. “I love you.”

9.

“Hey!” the message says. “I saw your blog post about having herpes.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever written about herpes on the Internet.

A scene from long ago plays in my mind. My stomach drops.

I write back. “So, you remember that time you asked if I had a cold sore? And I told you it was a cut? Well, it was a cold sore.”

I feel sick as I wait for his response. I’m getting ready to justify it, to type, “I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t know it at the time,” when he writes back.

“Yeah, I figured. It’s cool. Oh, and I think what you’re doing is really brave.”

In a study released last week — the “first ever global assessment of the prevalence of the herpes virus that causes cold sores” — the World Health Organization has found that two in three people under the age of 50 are infected with herpes.