Let’s take a moment to talk about a guy who was way ahead of his time—and paid the ultimate price for it. On November 27, 1978, Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in California, was assassinated in San Francisco. That’s right: assassinated. He wasn’t caught up in a spy scandal or a coup d’état. He was taken out because he had the audacity to be himself—and to make it safe for others to do the same.
Who Was Harvey Milk?
Let’s rewind. Harvey Milk wasn’t born a political revolutionary. He was just a guy from New York with a talent for charming people and a love of theater. He worked as a teacher, a Navy officer, a Wall Street analyst—you know, the typical resume for someone who eventually changes the world. But something clicked when he moved to San Francisco in the early ’70s, where the Castro District was buzzing with LGBTQ+ life. Harvey wasn’t content to just be part of the scene. He wanted to protect it.
Now, back then, coming out wasn’t just a personal decision—it was career suicide, social ostracism, and occasionally actual violence. But Harvey Milk came out swinging. Literally. He opened a camera shop in the Castro and used it as a base for grassroots organizing. Before long, he was the unofficial mayor of the neighborhood—a title he earned by being the guy who showed up for every protest, every injustice, and every police raid on gay bars.
Political Trailblazer, Take Three
Milk ran for office three times before finally winning a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in 1977. You’d think the people of San Francisco would have figured it out sooner: “Oh, this guy cares about workers, seniors, small businesses, and also believes gay people should have rights? That sounds reasonable.” But no, it took three tries. Progress, as always, moves slower than rush hour traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge.
When he took office, Harvey Milk didn’t hide in a corner. He walked in, rainbow flag flying, and got to work. He co-wrote a gay rights ordinance that banned discrimination based on sexual orientation—a revolutionary idea at the time, because apparently “don’t fire people for who they love” was a tough sell in 1978.
The Assassination
And then came Dan White. White was another supervisor, the kind of guy who said things like, “I’m here to represent family values,” which is code for “I don’t like you, Harvey.” White had resigned his seat, then decided he wanted it back, and when Mayor George Moscone didn’t play ball, White went full supervillain. On November 27, he snuck into City Hall through a basement window—because apparently security wasn’t a thing back then—and shot Moscone and Milk in cold blood.
And here’s where the story goes from tragic to rage-inducing: Dan White’s defense team didn’t argue he was a killer because of homophobia or political rivalry. Nope. They blamed junk food. Yes, the infamous “Twinkie defense,” where they claimed his consumption of sugary snacks was a sign of depression that diminished his capacity. And it worked! White was convicted of voluntary manslaughter, not murder, and served just over five years. Five. Years. For assassinating two public officials. It’s like justice got lost on the way to the courthouse and decided to take a nap instead.
The Aftermath: Hope from Tragedy
Harvey Milk’s death was a seismic shock, not just for San Francisco but for the entire country. That night, tens of thousands of people gathered for a candlelight vigil, marching through the streets in silence. It was a moment of profound grief, but it was also a turning point. Milk’s assassination became a rallying cry for LGBTQ+ rights, galvanizing a movement that refused to go back into the shadows.
And here’s the thing about Harvey Milk: he saw this coming. He knew the risks of being an openly gay politician at a time when violence against the LGBTQ+ community was common. He even recorded a message, saying, “If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door.” And he was right. His death didn’t end the fight—it amplified it.
Why It Still Matters
Now, let’s fast-forward to November 2024. Harvey Milk’s legacy is everywhere: in Pride parades, in marriage equality, in anti-discrimination laws. But before we start congratulating ourselves, let’s take a look at where we are right now.
We’ve got MAGA Republicans back in power, riding a wave of book bans, anti-trans legislation, and the same old “protect the children” rhetoric that’s less about protection and more about erasure. It’s like they looked at the progress of the last 50 years and said, “You know what? Let’s try turning the clock back—what’s the worst that could happen?”
This isn’t just politics as usual. This is a targeted attack on the LGBTQ+ community, fueled by the same kind of fear and hatred that took Harvey Milk’s life. It’s book bans disguised as “parental rights.” It’s drag queens being vilified as threats. It’s trans kids being told they don’t exist. The parallels are not subtle, people.
The Bulletproof Legacy
Harvey Milk’s life was proof that visibility matters. Courage matters. Hope matters. He wasn’t just fighting for LGBTQ+ rights—he was fighting for the idea that democracy works best when everyone gets a seat at the table. And if Milk could do what he did in the 1970s, when the odds were so much worse, what excuse do we have now?
So let’s remember what Harvey Milk stood for. Not just on November 27, but every day. Let’s take his message—“You’ve gotta give them hope”—and do more than post it on Instagram. Let’s live it. Because the fight isn’t over, and hope, as Milk showed us, isn’t passive. It’s action. It’s showing up. It’s refusing to let hate win.
Harvey Milk didn’t just break down closet doors—he built a path for all of us to walk through. The least we can do is keep walking.
