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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
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I work in the digital healthcare business — helping healthcare organizations build systems that talk to each other, share data, and ideally reduce friction for both patients and care teams. I’ve also spent time working on digital front doors—the slick, app-like experiences many hospitals and other providers now use to engage patients. These solutions are effective, but they’re not too cheap, both in licensing costs and the services required to put them together.
Recently, I’ve been thinking about what happens to all of this infrastructure—the APIs, middleware, and patient portals—when the funding starts to disappear. The signals are there: pressure on Medicaid, Medicare, VA services, and public health agencies is rising. In previous posts, I’ve explored the downstream risks (The Big Beautiful Bill, Can We Automate Our Way Out, The Cost of Early Death). But it’s clear that interoperability itself may also be in the crosshairs. What Interoperability Meant—And Why It Might Be Changing Interoperability has been around for a while, but was supercharged about 15 years ago with the HITECH Act (Health Information Technology for Economic and Clinical Health). The Office of the National Coordinator for Health Information Technology (ONC) define interoperability across four levels:
These definitions assume continued growth and investment—backed by Meaningful Use, Cures Act mandates, and adoption of EHRs. However, if federal reimbursement begin to shrink, this framework may no longer hold up. Digital Front Doors—What Happens When the Budget Gets Tight? Digital front doors, including mobile apps, chatbots, appointment engines, and patient access APIs, are not free. In fact, a 2023 Chilmark Research report noted that digital front door initiatives often exceed $500K in upfront investment for midsize systems—not including maintenance and integration costs (Chilmark Research, 2023). If funding goes away, some possible outcomes may be:
This is not theoretical--state-level Medicaid agencies have already pulled back on HIE access in some cases (KFF, 2024). Have We Engineered Ourselves Into a Privacy Trap? Modern interoperability assumes real-time, cross-entity data sharing. The Trusted Exchange Framework and Common Agreement (TEFCA) is supposed to enable this while protecting consent and governance (ONC TEFCA Overview, 2024). But things have gotten messier.
Interoperability doesn’t inherently weaken privacy, poor implementation and deregulation can. What Happens When the Money Dries Up? If proposed federal cuts materialize, the interoperability ecosystem will feel it in three key ways:
We should expect increased demand for cloud-native integration platforms, Pay-as-you-go API solutions, and simplified FHIR middleware that minimizes custom development. How We As Consultants, Product Teams, and Strategists Can Respond For Consultants & Integrators:
Where the Market Is Shifting This took some research on my part, but it looks like a number companies are well-positioned for what’s next:
Final Thought: Strategy Over Nostalgia Interoperability isn’t collapsing—but it looks like it is evolving. Consultants, technologists, and product leaders will need to adjust expectations, revise architectures, and help clients prioritize privacy and value over perfection. This new era we are in is marked by constrained budgets, decentralization, and (not always strategic) tradeoffs. We are going to have to build things differently. Sources & Citations
“The Big Beautiful Bill”: What’s Really in It, What’s Likely to Pass, and What It Tells Us5/26/2025 We don’t talk much about TV or sports at my house. Our dinner table is usually a mash-up of topics like: my eldest son's running commentary on AI and the moral arc of video games, my youngest son’s digital dispatches from his post-college trek across Japan (equal parts neon and existential), and my wife and I debating backsplash options for our long-overdue kitchen remodel.
Lately, however there’s been a new contender for conversational dominance: the Big Beautiful Bill. And since I’m the resident Political Scientist in my home, it’s apparently my job to explain what it is, what it does, and whether we should actually be worried. So here it is—a plainspoken breakdown of what this bill proposes, what might realistically get passed, and what kind of government it seems designed to shape. Spoiler: it’s not all that beautiful. A Fiscal Grab Bag Disguised as Reform At its core, the bill is a budget reconciliation measure laced with permanent policy changes. It includes:
Some of the provisions—like the denial of Medicaid for undocumented immigrants—are not new. They already exist in federal policy and administrative practice. So why include them again? The answer appears to be less about legislative necessity and more about symbolic politics. These reassertions serve as red meat for the administration’s supporters, offering visible victories in areas already shaped by precedent. It’s less about changing the law and more about broadcasting allegiance to a specific worldview. It is, as one pundit described, a “smorgasbord of ideological victories” dressed in fiscal packaging. Will It Pass? The Senate is the firewall—at least that is how things were envisioned by our founding fathers, who masterminded the "Great American Experiment" between 1760s and 1787. Under the more recent (1985) Byrd Rule, provisions related strictly to federal revenue and spending can pass through the budget reconciliation process with a simple majority (51 votes, including the Vice President as tiebreaker). That’s how the Trump Administration hopes to push through the financial and tax sections of the bill (CRS, 2024). However, the more radical judicial and social policy tomfoolery—like limits on court contempt powers or structural changes to loan forgiveness—are not budgetary in nature. These typically require 60 votes to overcome a filibuster and proceed to a vote. This distinction is crucial, because it means the bill, as written, almost certainly cannot pass. Unless those policy provisions are stripped out or diluted significantly, the bill would face strong opposition in the Senate. Moderate Republicans and Democrats alike have signaled resistance, particularly to cuts in disaster relief, SNAP, and veterans’ programs—many of which remain popular with constituents across all party lines. What’s At Stake Healthcare, in particular, is already on the chopping block. As I discussed in an earlier post (How Sick Will America Get?), the bill could roll back many protections under Medicaid expansion, erode HHS oversight authority, and prioritize short-term cost savings over long-term population health outcomes. These aren’t just policy tweaks—they’re foundational shifts that would limit access and reduce public accountability. On top of that, proposed cuts to FEMA disaster preparedness and VA care would have direct consequences. In an age of climate-driven emergencies and an aging veteran population, these cuts are not only deeply unpopular—they’re dangerous. Does The Administration Care? That’s the cynical but unavoidable question. The bill reflects a time-tested pattern: legislate in a way that shifts wealth and influence toward those that already have it, while weakening safeguards that protect the rest of us. The court reforms, in particular, are not about reducing bureaucracy—they’re about reducing oversight. Enriching loyalists through tax codes, deregulation, and public-private mechanisms appears to be the through-line. Whether through expanded tax shelters or privatized education and health services, the bill rewards aligned actors while dismantling public-facing institutions. Conclusion: What’s Real, What’s Rhetoric It’s unlikely this bill passes in its current form. The Senate will almost certainly strip out or stall the most controversial items, particularly those unrelated to the federal budget. Yet the danger lies in what can still get through via reconciliation—and what it signals about governance should a second Trump term come to pass. It’s not just about what’s in the bill. It’s about what kind of country this bill envisions—and who it leaves behind. Sources & Citations |
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
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