|
As a Navy veteran who has served on multiple warships, I can tell you that names matter. The name of a ship carries history, honor, and identity. It lives in the heavily embellished sea stories we tell each other at reunions, the patches we wear, and the pride we feel when we hear it over the radio or see it painted across our hull. That’s why the recent push to rename some Navy ships—particularly those honoring civil rights leaders and social justice pioneers—feels like more than just a shift in policy. It feels personal.
Traditionally, ship naming followed a fairly consistent logic: aircraft carriers named after presidents and statesmen, battleships (and now ballistic missile subs) after states, cruisers after battles, destroyers after naval heroes, and support ships often named for individuals of significance. The Secretary of the Navy has formal authority over naming, but the process has long drawn from established conventions and public symbolism (History.Navy.mil). That tradition began to evolve in recent years. The USNS Harvey Milk (T-AO-206), named after the slain gay rights leader and Navy veteran, was seen by many as a gesture toward inclusivity and recognition of LGBTQ+ service members. Other Military Sealift Command ships (run by civilians in support of Navy missions) followed suit, honoring figures like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Cesar Chavez, and Harriet Tubman—Americans who, though not military, shaped our moral and civic landscape (Houston Chronicle). But under a recent directive by Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, this trend is reversing. As part of what some have called a DEI purge, the Pentagon is actively considering stripping these names from existing ships. The rationale? Restoring a “warrior ethos” to military culture (Politico). The announcement conveniently coincided with Pride Month, leading many to question the intent behind the timing and the policy (AP News). Let’s be clear: The argument isn’t about whether the Navy should be rooted in strength and readiness. Of course it should. But naming a ship after Harvey Milk doesn’t weaken our military. In fact, it reminds us that courage comes in many forms—and that the Navy has space for all who serve with honor. My first ship was named after a minor New England river; I am nevertheless still very proud of having served aboard her. The proposed renaming sends another message: that stories of resistance, equity, and sacrifice outside of battlefield heroism are somehow unworthy of remembrance. As someone who spent years aboard a fleet oiler and a guided-missile destroyer, I find that disheartening. Our force is stronger when we draw from the full story of America, not just the parts that fit one ideology. We’ve also seen shifts in naming traditions to reflect progress. The upcoming Ford-class carrier, CVN-81, will bear the name of Doris Miller, a Black enlisted sailor and hero of Pearl Harbor who served on the USS West Virginia (BB-48). It’s a historic and powerful gesture—one that aligns perfectly with the Navy’s values (NPR). If we now backpedal on that kind of progress, what are we saying to the next generation of sailors? Renaming a ship isn’t just a logistical hassle (though it is that—changing hull markings, documentation, and ceremonial artifacts is no small feat). In the past, it was seen by many sailors as bad luck, and was thought to bring misfortune to those who sailed on the renamed ship (Discover Boating). More than that, it erodes the morale of those who felt seen by those choices. When we honor leaders like Milk or Tubman, we aren’t making a political statement—we’re recognizing different ways Americans have served and sacrificed. Tradition matters. So does inclusion. They are not mutually exclusive. What is dangerous is turning a thoughtful naming process into a tool of partisan erasure. I believe in the strength of our Navy. I also believe that strength includes the courage to acknowledge all who have moved this country forward—on deck, on land, in protest, or in court. Sources
0 Comments
What Happened to the Social Contract? Why Our Democracy Feels Broken—and How We Might Fix It5/29/2025 In 2025, many Americans sense that something fundamental is off. Trust in institutions is in free fall. Political fights aren’t just noisy—they’re existential. And somewhere along the way, we stopped believing the people in charge are actually working for us.
That feeling? That unease? It might be because the Social Contract—the invisible handshake between citizens and government—has been torn up. Or worse, forgotten. 🧐 What Is the Social Contract? (Plain English, Promise) The Social Contract is basically this: We give up a little freedom and agree to live by shared rules. In return, the government protects our rights and works for the common good. That’s it. It’s the foundation of everything from stoplights to civil rights. It’s not written in stone, but it’s supposed to guide how power is used, how laws are made, and how justice works. 📚 The Originals: Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau Here’s why this isn’t just some political theory class. These guys came up with the ideas behind the Social Contract in the middle of disaster:
These weren’t ivory-tower ideas. They were blueprints for fixing broken systems. 🇺🇸 America’s Founding and the Contract When Jefferson, Franklin, Madison, and company sat down to write our founding documents, they were basically remixing Locke and Rousseau. The Declaration of Independence? Pure Locke: "Governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed." The Constitution? A practical attempt to make the Social Contract real. Checks and balances. Representation. Rule of law. These weren’t buzzwords—they were the structure of mutual accountability. ⚠️ When the Social Contract Breaks History doesn’t mess around when this deal falls apart:
When people stop believing the system serves them, they either check out or burn it down. Sometimes both. 🚨 Right Now, It’s Breaking Sound familiar?
We’re not in a revolution—but we’re skating the edges of the contract. 🛠️ Can We Still Fix This? (A Real Talk on Restoration) Here’s the thing: the guys who came up with Social Contract Theory weren’t just tossing around abstract ideas. They were writing from pain, fear, and upheaval. They were trying to make sense of the broken systems they lived in, and offer ideas for something better. And maybe that’s where we are right now—pain, fear, and upheaval. The good news? History shows that when people get fed up enough, they can push things back onto the rails. But it starts with understanding that we’re not helpless. The Social Contract only works when people believe in it—and are willing to speak up when it’s being shredded. So what can we do?
Jefferson once warned us: "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." That quote is intense, but it is a stern reminder that democracy isn't self-sustaining. When things stop working for the people, people start looking for ways to fix it. Hopefully peacefully. But history says: not always. We start by pushing back against the forces that want to reduce our role to consumers or bystanders. We're citizens, nothing less. 🤍 Final Thought I don’t think the Social Contract is some dusty, academic idea I picked up in my political theory class 35 years ago. I think it’s exactly what we’re missing—and why things feel so off. It’s the invisible glue that keeps governments legit and makes progress possible. Ignore it, and we’re going to lose more than civility—we’ll lose the very thing that holds the American experiment together. But if we remember and revive it—it might just save us. 🔗 Sources |
AuthorAxel Newe is a strategic partnerships and GTM leader with a background in healthcare, SaaS, and digital transformation. He’s also a Navy veteran, cyclist, and lifelong problem solver. Lately, he’s been writing not just from the field and the road—but from the gut—on democracy, civic engagement, and current events (minus the rage memes). This blog is where clarity meets commentary, one honest post at a time. ArchivesCategories
All
|
RSS Feed