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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’ve lived in this country for more than 40 years. I served in the military, raised my kids here, paid my taxes, and, like many of us, tried to do the right thing. I became a U.S. citizen in ’87 and still believe this country is worth fighting for.
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to speak up when things feel off. Not just complaining, but actually doing something. The truth is, many people I know are worried about the future. Some are quiet because they’re afraid. Others are just burned out or think it won’t matter. But here’s the thing: doing nothing guarantees more of the same. And silence—however well-intentioned—has never protected anyone from what happens when democracies break down. 🧭 The Role of the Ordinary, Responsible Citizen I’m not the expert here. But I do think regular people like us have more power than we realize. Especially if we do a few basic things, like:
✊ What You Can Actually Do
🧠 Final Thought I don’t have all the answers. But I know that hoping someone else will fix it never works well. We’re all on the hook—citizens, immigrants, veterans, parents, neighbors. I didn’t serve just to watch democracy erode in silence. Speaking out, engaging, and staying informed are not radical; they are civic responsibility. 📚 Sources & Civic Engagement Here are links to the civic engagement sources I mentioned in the body of the blog. I added several more for good measure:
I’m not trying to be provocative, but I do want to be honest.
I’m a U.S. citizen and Navy veteran, and I’ve lived in the United States for more than 40 years. I’m also a German immigrant. And the comparisons I keep seeing online—between modern ICE enforcement and the Gestapo—have stopped me in my tracks. It’s easy to dismiss these comparisons as hyperbole. But before we do that, we need to understand what the Gestapo actually was. The Geheime Staatspolizei—better known as the Gestapo—was the Nazi regime’s secret police. It emerged from the Prussian state police and became the engine of surveillance, intimidation, and state-sponsored fear in Germany during the Third Reich. Despite the “secret” label, everyone knew of their presence. And that was the point. One of my great-grandmothers hid her disabled cousin during the Nazi euthanasia campaign of the early 1940s that targeted the disabled, and later even the elderly. The terror was real and absolute. You didn’t know who might report you. You didn’t know who to trust. And once the Gestapo came for you, there was no appeal. No due process. No help. The question is: Is ICE becoming something similar? 🛑 Similarities and Differences Here is what’s not the same:
But the tactics? The erosion of trust? That’s where things get uncomfortably close.
⚖️ Legal vs. Just Is ICE legal? Yes. But is it operating justly? That’s murkier. The Gestapo cloaked its horrors in laws too—laws that were designed to criminalize dissent, difference, and disability. Legality isn’t the same as justice. We have due process for a reason. But when ICE agents can operate in plainclothes, arrest people at court, and detain families—including children—without clear justification, it’s time to ask: Are we honoring the spirit of our laws, or finding ways to bypass them? 🚨 Are We Powerless? The Gestapo thrived because people were afraid to resist. But in a democracy, we’re not powerless:
📣 Final Thought Comparing ICE to the Gestapo may feel extreme, but ignoring the warning signs would be worse. Authoritarianism doesn’t arrive all at once. It creeps in when we justify fear, silence dissent, and look the other way. Let’s not. Let’s speak up, stay informed, and make sure we never become the country others have fled. Sources & Citations:
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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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