From McCarthy to MAGA: How Today’s Right-Wing Crusade Is Repeating History

Drawing parallels between mid-century America and today's political climate

Protest in New York City in the late 1950s. Frank Kameny is holding the "Gay Is Good" sign. Photo: Kay Tobin/New York Public Library

Sam Schwindt

Published: June 18, 2025 | Last Updated: June 18, 2025

The so-called "unmentionables" always return, courtesy of a sinister conservative movement.

Three-quarters of a century after the Red Scare and the coinciding Lavender Scare, the Trump administration orchestrates its own troops to suffocate political discourse and, specifically, LGBTQ+ rights in government and beyond. Is history already repeating? Look no further than the current re-vamp of morality power in Washington, from Trump’s numerous executive orders aimed squarely at LGBTQ+ community members (today's "unmentionables") to moves like U.S. Director of Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard firing 100 intel officers for LGBTQ+ chat groups at the NSA and Michigan Republicans urging the Supreme Court to ban gay marriage. LGBTQ+ federal workers are speaking out — but remain fearful of repercussions if they share their names.

The Red Scare was a concerted effort to expunge Communists and political dissenters from government (and society) in the ‘50s through the ‘70s. The Lavender Scare coincided, targeting LGB people under the guise of political fear. Officials feared — or claimed to fear — miscreant minds might sabotage U.S. strength. The movement quickly grew into a systemic expulsion of gay and lesbian people from government ranks.

A Michigan congressman used the word “unmentionables” in spring 1950 when a fascination with “sexual perverts” surged in government offices. According to author David K. Johnson’s 2004 book “The Lavender Scare,” a fellow congressman followed with, “Oh, you mean the people that Dr. Miller has talked about so much on the [House of Representatives] floor?” These slithery constrictions reify a sentiment of controlling, managing and excommunicating supposed moral threats. Some, though, dissented. A critical reporter at the time called it “one of the maddest spectacles in the history of representative government.” In “Secret City: The Hidden History of Gay Washington,” James Kirchick writes that while the Red Scare bred fear of thy neighbor, “the homosexual remained a terrifying mystery.” The Senate Appropriations Committee wrote in grotesque concern to Gen. George C. Marshall, “[There is] extensive employment in highly classified positions of admitted homosexuals, who are historically known to be security risks.”

That was the view on homosexuals at the time, it seems: They were a mystery, Others, people whose characters were morally corrupt, illegal and, at the end of the day, threats to national security. Those in charge set about naming and removing homosexuals from the federal workforce — and then, unnaming and expunging career workers dedicated to their jobs.

Photo of two women in the 1950s. Photo: PBS, "The Lavender Scare" documentary

Johnson references astronomer Frank Kameny, who sought to support the U.S. Space Race but was shed from the Army and questioned about his “most recent sexual encounter.” He had, apparently, lied on a federal application and was accused of falsifying it. “It was no accident the first federal employee fired for homosexuality was a scientist,” Johnson wrote. In fighting to be reinstated, he founded the D.C. chapter of the Mattachine Society, a pre-Stonewall gay rights group with localized, individualized organizing.

The Midwest, including Michigan, weren’t spared the Lavender Scare. Michigan U.S. senator Homer Ferguson (1943–1955) and U.S. Congresswoman Clare B. Hoffman (1935–1966) led morality investigations in the State Department and beyond, aligned with U.S. senator Joseph McCarthy (1947–1957).

In Michigan Public Library archives, Mount Pleasant’s Daily Times News reflected on an article by Robert C. Ruark on March 24, 1950, detailing a voyage to Africa. Ruark had described meeting State Department officials, including “a drunk, a homosexual and a flagrant fool,” questioning their fitness to represent the U.S. abroad. LGB individuals, he implied, couldn’t be trusted in government. These were early signs.

Even local, supposedly “safe” stomping grounds felt the suction of the Lavender Scare. Michigan State University’s Tim Retzloff, a professor in the Department of History and the Center for Gender in Global Context, wrote in an email that even Mattachine members in Detroit “were so fearful of being found out and losing their jobs, they used pseudonyms.” Their numbers never grew beyond a dozen, and gatherings remained small.

Now, to today.

In March, the AP reported researchers in California were told to omit data on sexual orientation from a scientific paper already accepted for publication. Rather than comply, they withdrew the research from Public Health Reports — focused on smoking among young adults — and plan to publish elsewhere to avoid political interference. Scientists are speaking out, and so are LGBTQ+ federal employees — but often under conditions of anonymity. The Independent interviewed a nonbinary U.S. Postal Service worker who only allowed use of their first name, fearing retaliation.

Trafficking in further dramatics, Trump as a candidate promised to end “transgender insanity,” and The New York Times reported a list of banned government words: “bias,” “LGBTQ,” “nonbinary,” to name a few. Mother Jones focused not only on trans individuals’ fears of expulsion but on Trump’s broader push to erase LGBTQ+ workplace protections. Notably, all eight federal employees interviewed for that story remained unnamed in an effort to protect themselves and their coworkers from retaliation.

While the fear is palpable and inflamed moral exaggerations are rising, it’s essential to recognize that many view these efforts as a circus. Recall the “maddest spectacle” quote. There’s a conservative obsession with identifying those in government, exposing them and then removing them from record. It’s that named-but-nameless paradox, the radical sleight of Republican politics that creates the showbiz of erasure.

Protest at the White House during the Lavender Scare. Photo: PBS, "The Lavender Scare" documentary

This fuzziness runs through Lavender Scare research — and queer history more broadly.

In a follow-up Zoom and email exchange, Retzloff and I discussed the difficulty of accessing identifying info and the risks of public queer research. Workplace exposure then (and re-emerging again) often meant the loss of livelihood, abandonment and threats of imprisonment or psychiatric commitment. The paradox of being unmentionable yet a looming threat is the touchstone: named to be excommunicated, then erased.

But, as Retzloff noted, “Times also changed and people's wish to remain ‘closeted’ eased as visibility and the importance of sharing the reality of our lives… became strong values in LGBTQ+ movements and communities.”

Self-protection, yes — but naming the issue, staying grounded in queer undercurrents of unity, is key. Remaining nameless can sometimes be our greatest strength.