SECDEF Hegseth orders Navy to rename ship named after gay rights activist: Report
A new report claims that Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth has ordered the U.S. Navy to change the name of an oiler ship named after Harvey Milk, who was a gay rights activist.
Military.com was the first outlet to report the anticipated name change for the U.S. Navy's ship after reviewing a memorandum from the Office of the Secretary of the Navy. An anonymous defense official told Military.com that the Navy was preparing to change the name of the USNS Harvey Milk and confirmed Navy Secretary John Phelan had received an order from Hegseth to change the ship's name. The defense official added that the timing of the name change was intentional during Pride month, which is celebrated each year in June.
According to the memorandum obtained by Military.com, the USNS Harvey Milk's name change is part of the 'alignment with president and SECDEF objectives and SECNAV priorities of reestablishing the warrior culture.' The outlet noted that the memorandum indicated that the announcement of the Navy's plan to change the name of the USNS Harvey Milk was expected to become public on June 13.
According to CBS News, the USNS Harvey Milk was named after the gay rights activist in August of 2016 at a ceremony in San Francisco under former President Barack Obama's administration. The outlet noted that Milk was the first openly gay official to be elected to office in California prior to his assassination in 1978.
READ MORE: Video/Pic: SECDEF Hegseth restores 'Fort Liberty' to 'Fort Bragg'
The Harvey Milk Foundation's website describes Milk as a 'visionary civil and human rights leader who became one of the first openly gay elected officials in the United States.' The website notes that Milk enlisted in the Navy in 1951 and resigned in 1955 after he was 'officially questioned about his sexual orientation.'
In a statement to Fox News, Assistant to the Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs Sean Parnell did not directly address the report regarding the renaming of the USNS Harvey Milk; however, he suggested that the Pentagon could implement additional name changes in the future.
Parnell told Fox News, 'Secretary Hegseth is committed to ensuring that the names attached to all DOD installations and assets are reflective of the Commander-in-Chief's priorities, our nation's history, and the warrior ethos.' He added that 'any potential renaming(s) will be announced after internal reviews are complete.'
According to documents obtained by CBS News, the Navy has a 'recommended list' of other ship name changes, including the USNS Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the USNS Thurgood Marshall, the USNS Lucy Stone, the USNS Harriet Tubman, the USNS Medgar Evers, the USNS Dolores Huerta, and the USNS Cesar Chavez.
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Washington Post
42 minutes ago
- Washington Post
WorldPride parade to hit the streets of D.C. Saturday
A 1,000-foot rainbow flag, more than 300 crooners and a team of cheerleaders will float, sing and dance their way down 14th Street NW this Saturday to celebrate Pride. The parade will kick off at 2 p.m. at the intersection of 14th and T streets with a ceremony led by Indigenous residents in the D.C. area. Actresses Laverne Cox and Reneé Rapp will act as grand marshals, along with Deacon Maccubbin — an activist who organized D.C.'s first Pride celebration 50 years ago. They will shepherd about 300 groups of floats, vehicles and walkers along the route, said Tiffany Lyn Royster, director of community engagement with Capital Pride Alliance and WorldPride. They'll head south along 14th Street until turning left onto Pennsylvania Avenue and right onto Ninth Street. The parade will go on until around 8 p.m. and will be followed by a concert headlined by the actress Cynthia Erivo at Third Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. 'We may have some special guests in store for folks,' Royster said. 'Definitely keep a look out.' The parade and other festivities will kick off the final two days of WorldPride in D.C., a three-week festival celebrating the LGBTQ community. The festivities also commemorate the city's 50th anniversary of Pride celebrations. Organizers acknowledge that WorldPride this year has not been the massive celebration they originally hoped for — one that was expected to attract up to 3 million people, fill hotels to capacity, and bring revenue to the District and its businesses. The Trump administration's targeting of transgender rights and diversity, equity and inclusion efforts has led to heightened concerns from many in the LGBQT community over their safety. A Shakira concert scheduled for WorldPride's opening festivities last Saturday was canceled because of production issues. And on Friday, many D.C. community members were outraged over a National Park Service order to fence off Dupont Circle Park for Pride weekend. The park, in the heart of D.C.'s historic LGBQT neighborhood, has long been a gathering place for Pride celebrations. Royster said that she thinks Pride takes on more importance this year because of this charged political climate. The parade is still expected to attract up to 700,000 attendees, almost double the number than in a typical year, according to Royster. The parade usually attracts around 300,000 to 400,000 people. 'I think that people are just going to be louder and prouder,' Royster said. 'We have folks who are from all over the world at this point participating in our parade on Saturday, and they came to help us fight and they came to help us be proud.' At the parade, a coalition of singers hailing from Colorado to Maine will serenade spectators as they carry an enormous rainbow flag down the route, said Thea Kano, artistic director for the Gay Men's Chorus of Washington DC. The playlist will include 'Freedom' by Beyoncé and a couple of social justice tunes. For Kano, singing in the parade is all about spreading positivity and sharing it with the broader community. 'When we sing, joy is the number one thing. We come in joy,' Kano said. 'It's resistance. It's resilience. In a sense, it feels that people are trying to take our joy away and, you know, good luck with that.' Parade-goers will also hear the blaring horns and beating drums of D.C.'s Different Drummers Marching Band, an LGBTQ ensemble. One musician, Kirsten Zeiter, will play the trumpet with her rainbow-colored prosthetic left arm. Zeiter said she is looking forward to taking part in the event, 'especially being part of a group like D.C.'s Different Drummers that is all about inclusion, acceptance, pride and representation,' she said. 'Any performance with them I just feel joy.' In addition to the parade, organizers are hosting a block party on 17th Street from noon to 10 p.m. The location in Dupont, the city's original 'Gayborhood,' was chosen because of its connection to historical uprisings among D.C.'s LGBTQ+ community, Royster said. Other events Saturday include a street festival showcasing artisans and multicultural performances, music and dancing at small stages across the grounds and a musical festival headlined by Troye Sivan and featuring Kim Petras, Purple Disco Machine and Raye. The celebration goes on through Sunday with a continuation of the street festival, DJs, drag and drumming at the small stages and a closing concert from Doechii. This weekend, residents should expect much of downtown, Dupont and Logan circles, and the U Street area to be closed to cars at least part of the time. Metro will close at 2 a.m. Friday and Saturday and open at 6 a.m. Saturday and Sunday to accommodate Pride celebrations.
Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
As World Pride celebrates steps from the White House, LGBTQ pioneers call for a return to the movement's roots in protest
At 83, Paul Kuntzler, a pioneering LGBTQ rights activist, vividly recalls joining a picket line outside the White House that would change the course of American history. 'I was just 20 and was the only minor in a tiny gay rights movement consisting of about 150 people in five American cities,' Kuntzler recalled to CNN. At the time, five decades ago, publicly declaring oneself to be gay could cost someone their job, their family, and even their home. But Kuntzler said he felt proud of who he was. 'I've always had a very positive idea about being gay, so I try to radiate that attitude towards other people,' he said. He overcame his fear and joined the picket line. In doing so, he would become one the first Americans to bring the fight for gay rights to the steps of the White House. 'Of those 10 people who participated that day, I'm the only person who's still living,' Kuntzler said. Decades later – and mere steps from the White House – Washington, DC, is set to mark the 50th anniversary of Pride celebrations in the nation's capital this weekend by hosting World Pride 2025. The global celebration honors the LGBTQ community and their ongoing fight for equality in the United States and around the world. But the parades and parties that have come to define Pride will take place in the shadow of a presidential administration that has been openly hostile to the civil rights of LGBTQ Americans. From the administration's staunch anti-diversity stance and the military's push to oust transgender servicemembers, to a looming US Supreme Court ruling that could upend health care for millions of LGBTQ Americans, the second Trump administration has ushered in a period of uncertainty and fear. But pioneers in the fight for gay rights tell CNN the success of the gay rights movement in the United States is built on the shoulders of average men and women who had little power to fight back against the might of the US government, but who somehow found the courage – and the pride – to do so anyway. When Candy Holmes first met then-President Barack Obama in 2009, she wanted more than just a photo op. As a lesbian and a longtime federal employee, Holmes had been invited to the White House, she recalled, to witness the president issue a directive for federal agencies to extend benefits to same-sex couples. The move was a step toward expanding rights for LGBTQ Americans. But as Holmes shook the president's hand, she was determined not to waste the moment. 'We need more than just benefits,' she told Obama, noting his directive only applied to federal employees. 'There's a whole community that needs benefits – we need full citizenship.' The president considered her comment, she recalled, then issued a challenge. 'OK, I hear that,' she remembers him saying. 'Take this message back to the LGBTQ community – tell them to make me do it.' Holmes vowed to do just that. As Black, gay women, Holmes and her wife, Darlene Garner, said they live each day with the knowledge of all their ancestors endured – and how hard they had to fight – to secure their civil rights. Progress in this country is not linear, Garner said. So instead of being paralyzed by that knowledge, Garner encouraged others to channel it into action. 'This is not the time to be passive, or silent, or hide away,' she said. 'Change will not happen unless people demand justice for all.' The couple were among the first to get married in the nation's capital when DC legalized same-sex marriage in 2010. It was a fitting, full-circle moment for Garner, who co-founded the National Coalition of Black Lesbians and Gays in 1971 to force the burgeoning movement to fight for the equality of all LGBTQ people, including people of color. 'When you're in your 20s, you have a lot of energy, a lot of passion, a lot of vision of how the world should be,' Garner said of the organization's founding. 'We knew disappointment, but we did not know failure.' Garner went on to become a global leader in the Metropolitan Community Church, where she served as a reverend and an elder for decades. Holmes also took on a leadership position in the church, in addition to her job in the government, but they both never forgot their roots and passion for activism. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. famously said, 'The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.' But King knew, Holmes and Garner both agreed, that the arc 'doesn't bend on its own.' 'We have to continue to apply pressure to help it bend,' Holmes said. 'There are many paths to justice,' Garner added. 'It doesn't really matter what path you're walking on, but you gotta get on the road.' Not too long ago, Cleve Jones said he was grabbing drinks with friends at a gay bar in San Francisco when the conversation turned toward a tragic part of their shared history: the HIV/AIDS pandemic. They tried to estimate the number of friends, neighbors and loved ones they'd lost – in San Francisco alone – as the virus tore through the gay community during the decade before treatment became available. 'We were talking about the horror days,' Jones said, 'and we came up with a figure of somewhere around (20,000) to 25,000 people.' They weren't far off the mark. One study estimates nearly half of the gay men in the city had been diagnosed with AIDS by 1995. At the bar that night, a younger man who was seated nearby overheard the conversation and cut in. 'He said, 'You know, I know you old folks had a rough time of it, but really, you don't need to exaggerate,'' Jones recalled. The remark left him stunned – and angry. Jones, who himself is HIV-positive and is the founder of the AIDS Memorial Quilt, a community art project, has dedicated his life to memorializing those who died from AIDS during a pandemic that the government seemed all too eager to ignore, he said. In 1987, during the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights, Jones displayed the memorial quilt on the National Mall for the first time, with each panel dedicated to someone who died from the disease. In the decade before HIV treatment became widely available, the quilt returned to the mall nearly every year, forcing the country to reckon with the sheer number of lives lost to AIDS. 'I don't think the younger generation in my community really quite understands their history,' Jones said. 'They've never watched someone die of AIDS … They don't have that visceral, deep understanding that comes when you witness it.' If they did, Jones said, they would be just as outraged as he is by recent moves from the Trump administration to slash funding for HIV/AIDS research and services both at home and abroad – and moved to action. Jones, who remains a lifelong activist and advocate for gay rights, said 'misinformation and mythic legends' have been built up around leaders and locations that became central to LGBTQ history in the US. But distilling their lives down to bullet points does them a disservice, Jones said, because it obscures the fact that gay rights pioneers like Harvey Milk were also just regular people who were bold enough to take a stand. 'Harvey was this kind of odd guy, you know, this skinny, gay, Jewish guy from New York,' Jones recalled of the man who became his mentor and friend. 'I would go with him on campaign stops and he could talk to anybody. I would watch the way he changed his tone and his vocabulary and focused on finding common ground.' Milk, Jones said, forced people to discover their shared humanity, and in doing so, he was able to make change. Milk was assassinated in 1978. Jones said he's tried to infuse Milk's values into his lifelong career of activism. But lately, he said, his work has been guided by the mantra, 'If you take it for granted, they will take it away.' 'If you're going to change the world, it starts with the hearts and minds of individuals,' he said. But, he added, people don't need permission or a permit to challenge prejudice. 'You've got a permit. It's called the Constitution.' Kuntzler joined a group called Mattachine Society at the height of the 'Lavender Scare' – a period of intense, government-led, anti-gay discrimination that grew out of the witch hunt for 'communists' during the McCarthy era. In 1953, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed an executive order that banned homosexuals from working for the federal government and the military. Those who were outed would not only lose their jobs, but their names were often published in newspapers, which could cost them their families and their livelihoods. 'It was not unusual to come home from work and find two members of Naval Intelligence on your doorstep asking you to come down to the Navy Yard for questioning,' Kuntzler recalled. His longtime partner, Stephen Brent Miller, was once interrogated for information about one of their friends, he said. The Mattachine Society was initially founded in secret in 1950 to fight for the rights of 'homophiles,' but it would go on to become one of the earliest and more consequential gay rights groups in the nation. By the time Kuntzler joined its Washington, DC, chapter in 1962, the organization was gearing up to take a more visible stand against the government's treatment of gays. Frank Kameny, the society's co-founder, organized the first picket line for gay rights in front of the White House. 'When I got there, I looked across the street to see that there were like 30 news photographers waiting for the light to change,' Kuntzler recalled. 'I was so unnerved by that, I kept hiding my face behind my picket.' Inspired by the fight for civil rights, Kuntzler said the group continued to protest throughout the year in front of the Pentagon and Independence Hall in Philadelphia. They later filed several lawsuits challenging the government's blatant discrimination against homosexual federal employees. Kuntzler would go on to play a quiet but critical role in key moments of the gay rights movement for decades to come. Kameny, who was fired from his job in the US Army because he was gay, campaigned to become the first openly gay member of Congress. Kuntzler was his campaign manager. Kuntzler also co-founded what became the Gay and Lesbian Activists Alliance and was the founding member of the Human Rights Campaign. But by far his greatest achievement, Kuntzler said, was loving his partner, Stephen, openly for more than 40 years before he died. Despite the looming threats from the Trump administration, Kuntzler said he remains optimistic. 'I've seen all this,' he said of the attacks by the government. 'We couldn't conceive back in the '60s that we'd make so much progress – that we'd be able to work in government, there would be elected officials who were openly gay, and we couldn't conceive of the idea of marriage equality.' They couldn't imagine it, he said, but they fought for it anyway.
USA Today
an hour ago
- USA Today
I'm a gay man. Pride has always been special, but this year it's so much more.
I'm a gay man. Pride has always been special, but this year it's so much more. | Opinion Pride Month is more than just a time to wave rainbow flags, show off cute outfits and watch a drag show while eating chicken-on-a-stick. At its heart, pride is an event to gather with people who care. Show Caption Hide Caption Listen to Stonewall riot veterans recount the infamous police clash Veterans of the 1969 riot at The Stonewall Inn reflect on the infamous clash with police and why the fight for equality continues over trans rights. A couple of years back, I wrote a guest column in the Detroit Free Press about what can feel like insincere corporate support for pride – how it can be a performative act to maximize profit, that at its worst erodes the authentic queer experience, and at its best gives us a surface level of seen-ness, a mainstream support that often feels as thin as a dollar bill. Since then, things have only gotten more worrisome for queer folks in America and are downright terrifying for our transgender siblings. Rights and respect for LGBTQ+ people had been moving forward for the past few decades, but now those rights are being peeled away. And the moment the political headwinds changed, support for LGBTQ+ Americans started to feel very flimsy. Pride has always had a special place in my heart, but this year I'm feeling it so much more. Opinion: A trans athlete won in California. Her peers cheered – and exposed the truth. I'm worried and exhausted. Can you feel it, too? Growing up, my parents and grandparents taught to me to believe in and to love America – a country, a place, a belief come to life – an idea that in execution is often severely flawed, but ultimately strives toward the unalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all, be they an immigrant, gay, queer, women, men, trans, fat, thin, old, Black, Asian, disabled or able-bodied. But it seems our government, and as such, we the American people, are no longer striving – our country is feeling like a scarier, far less hopeful place. You can feel it, too, can't you? The exhausting weariness of trying to get by in a country where the truth, science and so many people matter far less than they did a few years ago; where the future for anyone who isn't a billionaire – and LBGTQ+ folks especially – grows darker and darker each day. Opinion: Hegseth stripping Harvey Milk's name off Navy ship is weak and insecure There are regular attacks on the middle and working classes through the increasing cost of living, cuts to Veterans Affairs, Medicaid and other health services and medical research. Attacks on trans and queer folks, and the executive orders policing the bodies of (mostly) women, transgender and nonbinary people seem to be the steps to a subjugation of queer people and, at some point in the not-so-distant future, of all women. Queer teen suicide ideation (already twice the rate of their straight-identifying counterparts) is up, along with the feeling that people just don't care about each other. And the odds of anything changing in the near term are down. Being an employed, White, gay, cisgender male with stable housing gives me some privilege, a bit of a shield against what's coming. But watching the erasure of trans folks, queer folks, women, people of color and more, I am very worried – concerned, confused and worn the hell out. I fluctuate between thinking I, or someone I love, will be disappeared or sent to a gulag, and thinking I'm crazy for worrying about being sent to a gulag. (A gulag, an El Salvadoran prison … without due process under the law, we are all at risk.) Share your opinion: Do you celebrate pride? Are you worried about Trump's impacts on it? Tell us. | Opinion Forum It's more important than ever to celebrate pride I don't know what the future holds, but I do know this … from Patroclus and Achilles to me and that dizzyingly dashing bantamweight MMA fighter, queer love has been with us since before recorded time, and it cannot be erased. It's not going anywhere. Alas, queer hate, using the smallest minority as a scapegoat to rally against, has been with us for nearly as long. And that's why we have pride. Pride Month is more than just a time to wave rainbow flags, show off cute outfits and watch a drag show while eating chicken-on-a-stick. At its very heart, pride is an event to gather with people who care, with folks who are sharing the same oftentimes lonesome and frightening experience, a place for all who are marginalized to feel accepted, heard and to be surrounded, supported and seen by people just like you. Just like me. Pride is a home, and you, queer reader, are pride. I don't know what we can do to save or reclaim our country, but maybe it's the same as what we can do to save or reclaim our sense of self: Rally likeminded individuals to support, to vote, to come together, to shout, to celebrate ourselves, our authentic existence, our lives, our liberty, our pursuit of happiness, our very survival and … our pride. Robert M. Nelson lives in Detroit. This column originally appeared in the Detroit Free Press.
