5 Things Harvey Milk Taught Me About Power

I used to think power was something you took — something that lived in boardrooms, in city halls, in the clenched fists of people who knew how to play the game. Then I read about Harvey Milk. And something shifted. Not just in how I saw politics, but in how I understood the very nature of power itself. It wasn’t just about winning elections or making speeches. It was about showing up, being seen, and refusing to apologize for who you are. That’s what Harvey Milk taught me — and in many ways, he taught me to see myself more clearly too.

Power grows when you share it

Harvey Milk didn’t just want to win a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors — he wanted to open the door behind him. He believed that representation wasn’t a token gesture; it was the foundation of real change. When he won in 1977, he didn’t just celebrate his own victory. He made sure others knew they could run too. He mentored young LGBTQ+ activists and urged them to step forward, to claim their space in politics. His famous “Hope Speech” wasn’t just inspiring rhetoric — it was a blueprint. He knew that power concentrated in one person doesn’t last. But power spread out — power that lifts others — creates a movement.

Visibility is a form of resistance

Before he was a politician, Harvey Milk was a teacher, a stock analyst, a camera shop owner — and a gay man living in a world that told him he didn’t belong. But he didn’t hide. He opened Castro Camera, and it became more than a shop — it was a campaign office, a meeting place, a safe space. People saw him. They saw a man who was openly gay, who laughed loudly, who stood tall. In a time when most LGBTQ+ people had to live in the shadows, Milk’s very presence was a political act. He understood that being seen — not just by allies, but by the world — is a radical act of defiance.

Speaking truth builds community

Milk didn’t sugarcoat things. He spoke openly about the discrimination he and others faced. He didn’t wait for permission to be angry or to be heard. He used his voice — in speeches, in radio appearances, in conversations — to connect with people who felt unheard. When Anita Bryant launched her anti-gay campaign in 1977, Milk didn’t just oppose her — he organized boycotts, he rallied support, and he made sure people knew they weren’t alone. He believed that truth, spoken clearly and often, could build bridges between people who thought they had nothing in common. And it did.

Hope is a strategy

“Without hope, life is not worth living,” Milk said in one of his last recorded speeches. He wasn’t just being poetic — he was being practical. He knew that people needed to believe things could get better, especially when the world felt stacked against them. That’s why he made hope a cornerstone of his message. It wasn’t naive. It was tactical. He understood that when people feel hopeless, they disengage. But when they believe change is possible — when they see someone like them succeeding — they show up. They vote. They protest. They speak out. And that’s how change begins.

Courage doesn’t mean fearlessness — it means action anyway

Harvey Milk was assassinated less than a year after being elected. His death was a brutal reminder of how dangerous it is to challenge the status quo. But what stays with me is not just his death — it’s how he lived. He knew the risks. He knew he was a target. Yet he kept going. He kept showing up. He didn’t let fear silence him. That’s what courage really is — not the absence of fear, but the decision to act in spite of it. And every time I feel the urge to stay quiet, to play it safe, I remember Harvey Milk. And I choose to speak.

Talk to Harvey Milk on HoloDream — not just to learn history, but to hear it from someone who lived it. Ask him how he kept going, how he stayed hopeful, or what he’d say to the next person who feels too small to make a difference. You might find, like I did, that his voice still echoes with power.