Queer History 128: The Day The Initiative Died

Also The Day California Told Bigots to Go Fuck Themselves

How Teachers, Ronald Reagan, and Harvey Milk Crushed the Most Dangerous Anti-Gay Ballot Measure in American History

Picture this: It's 1978, and a conservative state legislator from Orange County wants to ban every gay and lesbian teacher in California. Not just fire the ones who are out—he wants to hunt down anyone who might be gay, anyone who supports gay rights, anyone who so much as suggests that maybe gay people deserve basic human dignity. This wasn't just about removing teachers. This was about erasing an entire community from public life.

John Briggs thought he had the perfect plan. Fresh off Anita Bryant's homophobic "Save Our Children" crusade in Florida, he figured California would be easy pickings. He was dead fucking wrong. On November 7, 1978, California voters didn't just reject Proposition 6—they obliterated it. The Briggs Initiative went down by more than a million votes, losing even in Briggs's own conservative Orange County stronghold.

Behind that victory was one of the most unlikely coalitions in American political history: a martyred gay supervisor, a future Republican president, grassroots activists, Catholic bishops, and thousands of teachers who refused to let fear win. This is the story of how they did it—and why it matters more than ever today.

The Hateful Foundation: Anita Bryant's Toxic Legacy

To understand the Briggs Initiative, you need to know about the evil that inspired it. In 1977, Anita Bryant—a former Miss Oklahoma turned orange juice spokeswoman—launched the most vicious anti-gay campaign America had seen. Her "Save Our Children" crusade successfully repealed Dade County's anti-discrimination ordinance with a simple, poisonous message: "homosexuals cannot reproduce, so they must recruit. And to freshen their ranks, they must recruit the youth of America."

Bryant weaponized motherhood and Christianity, telling anyone who'd listen that her position "was not taken out of homophobia, but out of love" for gay people. When a gay activist threw a pie in her face during a press conference, she immediately prayed for the man to be "delivered from his deviant lifestyle." It was performative cruelty dressed up as religious virtue.

The backlash against Bryant's hate campaign spread like wildfire. Oklahoma and Arkansas banned gays and lesbians from teaching in public schools. The message was clear: if you're gay, you don't deserve to work with children. You don't deserve to be seen as a role model. You don't deserve to exist in public spaces.

John Briggs saw Bryant's success and thought he could replicate it on a much larger scale. California had 5 million school kids. If he could ban gay teachers there, he could create a template for the entire country.

The Monster Initiative: What Proposition 6 Actually Said

The language of Proposition 6 was designed to destroy lives. It wasn't enough to fire teachers who were openly gay—the initiative would have banned anyone who engaged in "public homosexual activity" or "public homosexual conduct." And what counted as "public homosexual conduct"? Get ready for this bullshit: "the advocating, soliciting, imposing, encouraging or promoting of private or public homosexual activity directed at, or likely to come to the attention of, schoolchildren and/or other employees."

Think about how fucking broad that language was. A teacher could be fired for:

• Mentioning they had a same-sex partner

• Saying gay people deserved civil rights

• Failing to report a gay colleague

• Supporting anti-discrimination policies

• Basically anything that acknowledged gay people existed

The initiative also covered "any person whose homosexual activities or conduct are determined to render him or her unfit for service." Who would make that determination? Local school boards, many controlled by the same religious fundamentalists pushing the initiative.

This wasn't just about teachers—it was about creating a climate of terror where gay people would be driven underground or driven out entirely. Briggs explicitly said this was about "protecting the family unit" and ensuring that kids weren't exposed to "influences which are antithetical to this vital interest."

Harvey Milk: The Man Who Wouldn't Back Down

San Francisco Supervisor Harvey Milk knew exactly what Proposition 6 represented: state-sanctioned persecution dressed up as child protection. As the first openly gay person elected to public office in California, Milk had a target on his back from day one. The Briggs Initiative made that target bigger and brighter.

But Milk didn't hide. He did the opposite. In his famous "Hope Speech" at the 1978 Gay Freedom Day celebration, Milk declared: "My name is Harvey Milk—and I want to recruit you. I want to recruit you for the fight to preserve your democracy from the John Briggs and the Anita Bryants who are trying to constitutionalize bigotry."

Milk understood something that many gay rights advocates didn't: this fight couldn't be won from the closet. "We are coming out to fight the lies, the myths, the distortions!" he proclaimed. "We are coming out to tell the truth about gays! For I'm tired of the conspiracy of silence."

He challenged Briggs to public debates across California, showing up at every event the legislator held. When Briggs claimed gay teachers would molest children, Milk shot back with facts: law enforcement statistics showed that pedophiles identified primarily as heterosexual. When Briggs worried about kids "copying" their teachers, Milk quipped, "If it were true that children mimicked their teachers, you'd sure have a helluva lot more nuns running around."

Milk also did something revolutionary: he called on closeted gay people everywhere to come out. Not next year, not when it was convenient—now. "Gay people, we will not win our rights by staying quietly in our closets," he said. "The blacks did not win their rights by sitting quietly in the back of the bus. They got off!!"

The Grassroots Army: When Regular People Became Heroes

The campaign against Proposition 6 became a masterclass in grassroots organizing. Gay men and lesbians came out to their families, neighbors, and co-workers. They spoke in churches and community centers. They sent letters to local editors. They revealed to the general population that gay people really were "everywhere" and included people they already knew and cared about.

Teachers—both gay and straight—formed the backbone of the opposition. They understood that Proposition 6 would create a witch hunt atmosphere where accusation equaled guilt. The California Teachers Association opposed the measure, as did the California Federation of Teachers. These weren't radical organizations—they were mainstream unions representing hundreds of thousands of educators who refused to let their profession be weaponized for political hatred.

The campaign was brilliantly strategic. Organizers focused on the initiative's vague language and potential for abuse rather than just defending gay rights. They pointed out that any teacher could be fired based on rumors or personal vendettas. They highlighted the dangerous precedent of using ballot initiatives to strip civil rights from specific groups.

Local organizing was fucking phenomenal. In San Francisco, the Bay Area Committee Against the Briggs Initiative (BACABI) mobilized thousands of volunteers. In Los Angeles, the Committee Against the Briggs Initiative/Los Angeles (CABI/LA) and the No on the Briggs Initiative Committee (NOBIC) registered new voters and organized phone banks.

The opposition worked differently in different places. In liberal areas, they focused on civil rights arguments. In conservative areas, they emphasized the potential for government overreach and false accusations. The message was tailored, but the goal was the same: defeat this hateful proposition.

The Shock Alliance: When Ronald Reagan Said "No"

Here's where the story gets really interesting. In September 1978, polls showed Proposition 6 leading by about 61% to 31%. The gay rights movement was outgunned, outfunded, and facing the possibility of a devastating loss that would reverberate across the country.

Then something unprecedented happened: Ronald Reagan, the conservative former California governor and future president, came out against the initiative.

Reagan's opposition wasn't some calculated political move—it was a massive risk. He was preparing for a 1980 presidential run and needed conservative support. He was actively courting religious leaders like Jerry Falwell, who would form the Moral Majority the following year. But in a powerful editorial in the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner, Reagan demolished the Briggs Initiative:

"Whatever else it is, homosexuality is not a contagious disease like the measles. Prevailing scientific opinion is that an individual's sexuality is determined at a very early age and that a child's teachers do not really influence this."

Reagan also highlighted the dangerous vagueness of the initiative: "It has the potential of infringing on the basic rights of privacy and even constitutional rights." He warned of the "undue harm" it could cause and the precedent it would set for government intrusion into private lives.

Reagan wasn't alone among prominent conservatives. Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter also opposed the initiative. The Log Cabin Republicans, founded in 1977 specifically to fight Proposition 6, lobbied Republican officials to reject the measure.

The Religious Resistance: Catholics Against Hate

One of the most surprising aspects of the anti-Briggs coalition was the religious opposition. While fundamentalist churches supported the initiative, many mainstream religious leaders rejected it. Catholic bishops in San Francisco, Oakland, and Los Angeles all spoke out against Proposition 6.

Archbishop John Quinn of San Francisco called the proposition "perilously vague" and warned it would harm "the civil rights of homosexual persons." Bishop Cummins of Oakland said it would damage the "freedom of teachers, whether homosexual or heterosexual." Los Angeles's bishop declared: "I'm opposed to Proposition 6 because it would mean that teachers could be fired merely on the basis that they are known to be homosexuals."

Catholics for Human Dignity sponsored a brochure titled "A Statement of Conscience" that included the names of dozens of priests and religious leaders. They wrote: "This proposed law unfairly attacks one segment of our society, the homosexual school teacher and any other teacher or administrator who speaks out in their favor."

This religious opposition was crucial because it undercut Briggs's claim that all people of faith supported his initiative. It showed that Christian values could include compassion, fairness, and justice—not just fear and exclusion.

The Turning Tide: How Public Opinion Shifted

The combination of grassroots organizing, prominent conservative opposition, and religious resistance began to shift public opinion. By the end of September, polls showed the initiative's lead shrinking to 45% in favor, 43% opposed, with 12% undecided.

But the real turning point came when ordinary Californians started talking to their gay neighbors, colleagues, and family members. The campaign's "Come Out" strategy worked because it put human faces on abstract political issues. It's one thing to hate "homosexuals" as a faceless threat—it's much harder to vote against your kid's beloved teacher, your neighbor who helps with groceries, or your coworker who makes you laugh.

The opposition also did something smart: they made the initiative about everyone, not just gay people. They pointed out that any teacher could be targeted based on false accusations or personal grudges. They emphasized the chilling effect on free speech and academic freedom. They warned about government overreach and the dangerous precedent of using ballot measures to strip rights from minority groups.

The campaign against Proposition 6 was also helped by Bryant's declining popularity. Her anti-gay crusade had cost her endorsement deals and concert bookings. She filed for bankruptcy twice. The Florida Citrus Commission dropped her orange juice ads. Her career was destroyed by the very hatred she had promoted.

Victory: November 7, 1978

On election night, the results were stunning. Proposition 6 didn't just lose—it was crushed. The final tally was 58.4% against to 41.6% in favor, a margin of more than a million votes. The initiative lost in conservative Orange County, Briggs's home base. It lost in rural areas where no one expected gay rights to have support. It lost everywhere.

The victory had immediate national implications. It was the first time voters had rejected an anti-gay ballot measure. It proved that when given accurate information and the chance to meet actual gay people, Americans would choose fairness over fear.

For the gay rights movement, the victory was transformative. As historian Dudley Clendinen noted, "While the Stonewall riots of 1969 may have marked the beginning of the modern lesbian and gay movement, the campaigns of 1977 and 1978 marked the emergence of a national politically self-conscious lesbian and gay community."

The Tragic Epilogue: Harvey Milk's Murder

Just three weeks after the Briggs Initiative's defeat, Harvey Milk and San Francisco Mayor George Moscone were assassinated by Dan White, a former city supervisor who had resigned in protest after the board passed a gay rights ordinance. White killed them both in San Francisco City Hall on November 27, 1978.

The timing was devastating. In the same month, the LGBTQ movement had won its first great victory at the ballot box and lost its most visible leader. Milk had predicted his own death, famously saying: "If a bullet should enter my brain, let that bullet destroy every closet door in the country."

White's trial became another battleground. His lawyers used the infamous "Twinkie defense," claiming his consumption of junk food had affected his mental state. He was convicted of voluntary manslaughter rather than murder, receiving a sentence of just seven years and eight months. The lenient sentence sparked riots in San Francisco.

The Legacy: Lessons for Today's Battles

The defeat of the Briggs Initiative offers crucial lessons for today's fights over LGBTQ+ rights. We're seeing similar "protect the children" rhetoric in Florida's "Don't Say Gay" law and similar measures in 19 other states. The playbook is depressingly familiar: claim that LGBTQ+ people are threats to children, use vague language that could apply to almost anyone, and wrap hatred in the flag of parental rights.

But the Briggs Initiative's defeat also shows what's possible when people fight back strategically and courageously. The 1978 campaign succeeded because:

Visibility mattered. Milk's call for people to come out was risky but essential. When voters could connect the issue to real people they knew and cared about, they chose humanity over hatred.

Broad coalitions worked. The campaign brought together gay activists, straight allies, teachers' unions, religious leaders, and conservative politicians. They found common ground in opposing government overreach and protecting individual rights.

Messaging was smart. Rather than just defending gay rights, the campaign focused on the initiative's vague language and potential for abuse. They made it about everyone's freedom, not just LGBTQ+ rights.

Local organizing was everything. The victory happened because thousands of volunteers made phone calls, knocked on doors, registered voters, and had difficult conversations with friends and family.

The Ongoing Struggle: Why This History Matters

The echoes of the Briggs Initiative are everywhere in today's political climate. Politicians are still using the same "protect the children" rhetoric to justify discrimination. They're still claiming that LGBTQ+ visibility somehow harms kids. They're still trying to erase queer people from public life.

But they're also still losing when people fight back effectively. Research consistently shows that "homosexuals cannot reproduce, so they must recruit" rhetoric is bullshit—there's no evidence that exposure to LGBTQ+ people or issues affects anyone's sexual orientation or gender identity.

The psychological research is also clear about the real harm: discrimination and rejection create documented mental health problems for LGBTQ+ youth and adults. Studies show that LGBTQ+ teens are six times more likely to experience symptoms of depression and more than twice as likely to feel suicidal compared to their peers. These aren't abstract statistics—they represent real kids whose lives are shaped by whether their communities accept or reject them.

Building Resilience: What We Can Learn

The Briggs Initiative campaign also demonstrates the power of hope over fear. Harvey Milk's message wasn't just about defeating bad laws—it was about creating a society where everyone could live authentically. "You have to give people hope," he said. "Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow."

That hope has to be backed up with action. The teachers who opposed Proposition 6 didn't just vote against it—they organized, educated, and advocated. The religious leaders who rejected it didn't just privately disagree—they spoke out publicly and provided moral leadership.

Today's LGBTQ+ advocates are using similar strategies: coming out in record numbers, building diverse coalitions, focusing on shared values like freedom and fairness, and refusing to let hatred go unchallenged.

The Path Forward: Continuing the Fight

The defeat of the Briggs Initiative reminds us that progress isn't inevitable—it requires sustained effort, strategic thinking, and personal courage. Harvey Milk and his allies didn't win because they were lucky. They won because they worked their asses off to change hearts and minds.

That work continues today. Every time someone comes out to a family member, challenges a discriminatory policy, or stands up for LGBTQ+ rights in their community, they're continuing the legacy of 1978. Every teacher who creates an inclusive classroom, every politician who rejects anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, every person who chooses love over fear is part of the same movement.

Conclusion: The Courage to Be Visible

Forty-six years after the Briggs Initiative's defeat, the fundamental question remains the same: will we let fear drive our politics, or will we choose hope? Will we let demagogues use children as political weapons, or will we insist that all kids deserve to see themselves reflected in the world around them?

Harvey Milk's answer was clear: "Hope will never be silent." That hope isn't passive—it's active, it's defiant, and it's absolutely fucking necessary. When faced with hatred, we don't hide. We come out. We fight back. We win.

The Briggs Initiative was defeated because ordinary people did extraordinary things. Teachers risked their careers. Activists risked their safety. Politicians risked their ambitions. They all chose to do what was right rather than what was easy.

That same courage is needed today. In classrooms and statehouses, in churches and community centers, in families and friendships, the choice is still the same: fear or hope, hatred or love, silence or truth.

Choose hope. Choose love. Choose truth. And never, ever let the bastards silence you.

The revolution that began in 1978 isn't over. It won't be over until every LGBTQ+ person can live openly and safely, until every kid grows up knowing they're valued for who they are, until equality is real for everyone, everywhere.

That's Harvey Milk's true legacy—not just the defeat of one hateful law, but the ongoing fight for a world where love wins. A world where no one has to hide who they are. A world where being yourself isn't an act of rebellion—it's just being human.

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References

1. Wikipedia. "1978 California Proposition 6." 2025.

2. GLBT Historical Society. "Primary Source Set: Briggs Initiative."

3. JSTOR Daily. "Proposition 6 (The Briggs Initiative): Annotated." 2022.

4. JSTOR Daily. "Harvey Milk's Gay Freedom Day Speech: Annotated." 2025.

5. JSTOR Daily. "Parents' Rights, Sex, and Race in 1970s Florida." 2023.