Sean Penn plays Harvey Milk.
This is one of those fascinating, only-in-the-'70s, historical narratives to which I am always drawn. I first became interested in Harvey Milk's story back in Virginia when I was called in to audition at the Source Theatre for a musical about Milk's life and death. In preparation for the audition I did a lot of research about the man, and then later saw a documentary about Milk. The story is compelling: Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in the country, elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in 1977, just as the gay liberation movement is unfurling across the country. And even then he probably would not have been elected if San Francisco hadn't reorganized their election process. Previously all supervisors had been elected on city-wide ballots but the procedures were changed so that supervisors were now chosen by their district instead of running at-large. So basically, the gay district elected him--he called himself "The Mayor of Castro Street."
But progress like this rarely goes unchallenged and across the country there were a lot of public figures who, from either principle or a political strategy, opposed gays being allowed any kind of public role. This was the era of Anita Bryant's successful campaign to overturn an ordinance in Florida that prohibited anti-gay discrimination (which earned her a pie in the face).
This was also the era of the Briggs Initiave, a bill pushed by California gubernatorial hopeful John Briggs who saw in Bryant's victory an exploitable power base (namely, evangelical Christians) and drafted a bill prohibiting homosexuals from teaching positions throughtout the state--a bill which failed with the help of then-Governor Ronald Reagan (which--whoah--there's an interesting topic for a future post). But as Briggs assured journalist Randy Shilts, he didn't really hate gays deep down--"it's politics. Just politics."
Back in San Francisco, Dan White had also been elected to the Board--a former cop and much more conservative, meat-and-potatoes, "traditional values" kind of guy. George Moscone was the mayor, and he and Milk were much closer politically. White and Milk used to tangle on issues--in fact, after Milk reconsidered his support on an issue and ended up voting against White on a particular bill, White opposed Milk on every single vote. Eventually White finally got fed up and quit, claiming the position of Supervisor didn't pay enough to support his family. His support base convinced him to ask to be reappointed; he tried and originally Moscone was going to, but Milk and two other progressive supervisors convince Moscone otherwise. A couple of days later White shows up at City Hall with a gun, climbs through the window to avoid the metal detectors, goes upstairs and murders Moscone, reloads, goes downstairs and murders Milk. He shot them both in the head; according to the medical examiner, they both probably would've survived the body wounds had they been treated promptly. But the head wounds were instantly fatal..
The murders gave a huge impetus to Dianne Feinstein's political career--as President of the Board of supervisors, she now became Acting Mayor and announced to the press what had happened.
White got a slap on the wrist--a 7-year sentence (which ended up being 5 years) for murdering two people. His lawyer claimed White was less culpable due to "diminished capacity," arguing that his increased consumption of junk food was key to his state of depression. (The media turned this into the Twinkie defense--most people misunderstood the argument, thinking that the junk food binge caused him to snap and murder. What the lawyer was arguing was that the junk food binge was an indicator of diminished capacity, because White was normally a fitness freak.) Unbelievably, in light of the indisputed evidence that White had planned out the murders quite thoroughly, the jury bought this theory and found him guilty only of voluntary manslaughter. The gay community was outraged and responded with what became known as the White Night Riots.
*and in fact later confessed not only to premeditation, but had also intended to kill the two other progressives who'd lobbied with Milk against his reinstatement.
What makes the whole story even sadder and more fatalistic, was that news of the Jonestown tragedy had just broken. The People's Temple was very much connected to San Francisco--the city had been their base before relocating to Guyana and in fact Jones had close ties to both Milk and Moscone. Just the week before Moscone had attended a memorial service for Leo Ryan, the US Congressman who was murdered by Jones's guard right before the order for the mass suicide was given. In an even weirder coincidence, the practice runs that Jones would order for the massacre to test his adherents' loyalty, where his guards would command the cult members to drink liquids they were told were poison--were known as White Nights.
I have a theory (unprovable admittedly) that, as Ecclesiastes tells us, there are times for things. That sometimes events all come together not from coincidence but because they're all acting on each other in unperceived ways, influencing each other somehow--that there's a mystical element to the events that affect us most strongly. When I try to imagine San Francisco at that time, that one singular month, November of 1978, I imagine a cloud, dark and thick, hanging over the city, obscuring the light. What can possibly make sense of such a black hole of sadness and death, why two such terrible tragedies happened so close together? Maybe it was just time.
(This material originally appeared, in edited form, in my personal blog.)
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