In a move that many see as a chilling echo of regressive politics, former Fox News host and current U.S. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth has publicly advocated for the removal of Harvey Milk’s name from a U.S. Navy ship, suggesting it is inappropriate for a warship to bear the name of an openly gay civil rights leader. This kind of revisionist erasure is not just an insult to Milk’s legacy – it’s a stark reminder of why LGBTQ+ visibility remains crucial, especially in institutions like the military, where silence and marginalization have long been the norm.
Honoring a Trailblazer, Not Erasing Him
Harvey Milk was not just a gay man – he was a U.S. Navy veteran and one of the first openly gay elected officials in the United States. He served his country with distinction before dedicating his life to fighting for equality and representation. Naming a Navy ship after him was a powerful act of reclamation – one that recognized both his military service and the trail he blazed for LGBTQ+ rights. To strip his name from that ship would not only erase a queer icon, but also send a harmful message that LGBTQ+ contributions to national service are somehow less worthy of recognition.
Milk knew the impact that visibility could have on the mental health, wellbeing, and political trajectory of queer rights in the United States. He was a vocal advocate for LGBTQ+ people, when safe, to come out of the closet; theorizing that the more people that had a parent, child, neighbor, coworker, etc. in their lives that was openly queer, the more they could come to understand and accept us as human. He once stated: “Rights are won only by those who make their voices heard.”
Visibility Impacts Mental Health
Visibility isn't just symbolic – it’s directly linked to mental health outcomes in the LGBTQ+ community. Studies consistently show that representation, affirmation, and inclusive environments significantly reduce rates of depression, anxiety, and suicidality among queer individuals. Conversely, erasure, rejection, and invalidation – especially on a national stage – send a dangerous message: you don’t belong.
When a respected institution like the U.S. Navy is pressured to remove Harvey Milk’s name, it’s not just about a name on a hull – it’s about the psychological message being sent to LGBTQ+ service members, veterans, and civilians. It reinforces the trauma of invisibility. It mirrors the microaggressions queer people face daily in workplaces, schools, religious communities, and even families.
Mental health thrives where dignity is upheld. When LGBTQ+ people are seen and celebrated, they are more likely to access care, build resilience, and cultivate hope. Removing representation isn’t neutral—it’s harmful. And in a country where queer youth are already four times more likely to attempt suicide than their peers, that harm has deadly consequences.
Visibility is not just a matter of politics. It’s a matter of survival. It is not about vanity; it’s about validation, safety, and survival. When LGBTQ+ individuals see people like themselves honored in public spaces, memorialized in history, or represented in positions of leadership, it signals that they belong. Representation becomes a lighthouse in the storm for young queer people, especially those in conservative communities and hostile environments.
Removing Milk’s name does the opposite – it reinforces the message that queer people must remain invisible, that their lives and service don’t matter. It plays directly into the hands of those who want to sanitize history, excluding queer figures from the narratives of heroism, patriotism, and leadership.
The Military’s Queer History
LGBTQ+ people have always served in the military — long before we were ever allowed to do so openly. From the Revolutionary War to modern-day deployments, queer service members have shown up with courage, integrity, and sacrifice, often while hiding fundamental parts of themselves. The history of LGBTQ+ people in the military is one of both proud service and painful silence.
Policies like "Don't Ask, Don't Tell", enacted in 1994, were seen by many at the time as a step forward — a compromise in a deeply hostile political climate. While it barred discrimination based on orientation in theory, in practice it forced queer service members to live in fear, shame, and secrecy. What felt like progress then now reads, in hindsight, as a stark reminder of how low the bar was for inclusion.
But our history didn’t begin or end there. It includes countless stories of LGBTQ+ individuals who were dishonorably discharged, stripped of their benefits, or forced to choose between authenticity and service. It also includes those who persevered, who pushed back, and who fought not only for their country, but for the right to exist within its institutions.
Naming a Navy ship after Harvey Milk — a gay veteran who was forced out of the military because of his identity — is more than symbolic. It’s a reclamation. It says: You were always here. And now, we’re saying it out loud.
Visibility as Resistance
In the current political climate, LGBTQ+ visibility is under attack – from book bans to anti-trans legislation to attempts like this to erase our presence from national symbols. Every visible marker of our existence is a radical act of resistance. Keeping Harvey Milk’s name on that ship is more than symbolic – it’s a refusal to backslide into silence.
We cannot afford to let queer history be redacted. Not now. Not ever.
What You Can Do
Speak out. Share your support for maintaining LGBTQ+ representation in our institutions.
Contact your representatives and ask them to affirm queer visibility in military and civic spaces.
Uplift stories of LGBTQ+ veterans and leaders – past and present.
Support organizations like the Harvey Milk Foundation, Modern Military Association of America, and OutServe-SLDN.
Final Thoughts
To honor Harvey Milk is to honor the truth: that LGBTQ+ people have always been here – serving, leading, and sacrificing. The push to erase him is a push to erase us all, and we must meet it with visibility, pride, and an unrelenting insistence that queer lives and legacies are part of the American story.
And we are not going anywhere.