Harvey Milk's radical vision of equality - Lillian Faderman
By 1973,
Harvey Milk had already been many things:
naval officer, high school teacher,
bit-part actor, and wandering hippie.
But as he embarked on yet another life
running a camera shop in San Francisco,
he already found himself distracted.
From the Watergate hearings
on national news,
to the teacher who had to rent a projector
when her school couldn’t afford one,
Harvey saw a desperate need
for political reform.
Milk strongly believed that tight knit
neighborhoods
were essential to the fabric of the city,
and that government should solve those
community’s most practical problems.
From fixing potholes and putting
up stop signs,
to promoting a friendly culture
of cooperation,
Milk envisioned a more personal
approach to local government.
This philosophy led him to run
for the city’s Board of Supervisors
as the representative
for his own district,
which included the heart of
American gay culture,
the Castro.
At this time, police brutality,
discrimination and media stereotyping
plagued the LGBT community,
labeling Harvey and his supporters as
political outsiders.
But Milk refused to
downplay his sexuality.
He was sure that gay rights could never
be won from the closet,
and he saw the Castro
as one of many minorities without
representation in city politics.
Milk was determined to bring these
basic government services
to all of San Francisco’s disenfranchised
groups,
regardless of race, age, or sexuality.
But despite his flair for public speaking
and open-hearted approach,
voters couldn’t see Milk’s radical vision.
In 1973, he lost his first bid for
the Board of Supervisors.
In 1975, he lost again.
A year later, he ran for the California
Assembly– and lost.
Yet he tirelessly continued
to support his district,
befriending bartenders, construction
unions, and local Chinese grocers.
This earned him the affectionate title,
the "mayor of Castro Street.”
And when he ran his third campaign for
the Board of Supervisors in 1977,
Harvey finally won the seat–
becoming one of the first openly gay
public officials in US history.
Elated, Milk arrived in office determined
to make lasting change.
He immediately introduced a bill outlawing
discrimination on the grounds of sexuality
and launched a major clean-up of the city.
But not everyone was happy
with this direction.
Anti-gay sentiment was gaining national
momentum,
especially in the form of
California’s Proposition 6.
The proposition, which sought
to make it illegal
for homosexuals to work
in Californian schools,
would prove to be the biggest battle
of Milk’s career.
Supporters of Prop 6 attacked
the LGBT community,
calling them unfit to work with students.
But Milk urged them not to hide in fear:
“Come out to your relatives.
Come out to your friends,
if indeed they are your friends.
Come out to your neighbors,
to your fellow workers…
break down the myths.
Destroy the lies and distortions.
For your sake. For their sake.”
Alongside other activists,
he ran an incandescent campaign
against hate.
On November 7, 1978,
Prop 6 was defeated in a landslide.
It was proof that Milk’s message was
gaining traction.
But just twenty days after this
inspiring victory,
he was assassinated at City Hall–
killed alongside San Francisco
Mayor George Moscone.
Both men had been murdered by Dan White,
a former fellow supervisor,
who had positioned himself against those
he called "radicals, social deviates
and incorrigibles.”
He had frequently clashed with Harvey
at Board meetings,
and resented the spirit of change
which Milk personified for many.
The night of Milk's murder,
thousands marched by candlelight
through the city.
In the wake of this tragedy,
yet another injustice arose.
In a highly controversial verdict,
White received a sentence of only seven
years and eight months–
a decision that sparked uproar
throughout the city
in what became known as
the White Night Riots.
But even after his death,
Milk continued to preach
his hopeful cause.
He left his friends and followers a total
of three different tapes
to be played in the event
of his assassination.
They leave us with a call to action,
and a reminder that everyone is welcome
in the fight against injustice:
"I ask for the movement to continue…
and if a bullet should enter my brain,
let that bullet destroy
every closet door…”
