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…”