
Father Richard Mickley, founder of MCC Manila and a pioneering figure in LGBTQ+ Christian ministry and Pride activism in the Philippines. Photo courtesy of the LGBTQ Religious Archives Network.
In the summer of 1999, I conducted anthropological fieldwork in Metropolitan Manila for my Master’s thesis at Northern Illinois University. My research focused on how Filipino understandings of homosexuality and gender identity were interacting with emerging Western LGBTQ+ political identities during the era of globalization (Walter, 1999). Looking back more than two decades later, I now realize that I was witnessing a foundational transitional period in Philippine LGBTQ+ history.
My thesis, The Gender Behaviors of Filipino Male Homosexuals in Metropolitan Manila Within the Era of Cultural Globalization, examined the relationship between bakla identity, masculine homosexual identity, class, and globalization within Metro Manila (Walter, 1999). During this period, post-Stonewall LGBTQ+ political discourse from the United States was increasingly circulating through media, activism, universities, and transnational social networks. However, these ideas were not simply imported intact into the Philippines. They were reshaped through Filipino cultural understandings of gender, sexuality, religion, family, and class.
During my fieldwork, I stayed in a house in Santa Mesa associated with the Filipino LGBTQ+ newspaper Manila Out. The editor-in-chief of the paper was Father Richard Mickley, an American minister affiliated with the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC). At the time, I understood him primarily as an older American clergyman deeply involved in local LGBTQ+ ministry and activism. Only later did I fully appreciate his historical importance within Philippine queer history.
Richard Mickley was one of the pioneering figures of openly LGBTQ+-affirming Christian ministry in the Philippines. After relocating to the country in 1991, he founded MCC Manila and became involved with LGBTQ+ advocacy and community organizing (Mickley, n.d.). He later worked alongside organizations such as Pro-Gay Philippines and activists including Oscar Atadero in helping organize the 1994 Pride March in Manila, now recognized as the first Pride march in both the Philippines and Asia (UNDP & USAID, 2014).
One of the most striking aspects of LGBTQ+ activism in Manila during 1999 was how interconnected the movement remained. Activists, students, clergy, journalists, researchers, and organizers frequently occupied the same social and physical spaces. Political organizing occurred not only through formal institutions, but also through apartments, cafés, churches, universities, newspapers, and shared community houses.
Through organizations such as Pro-Gay, Babaylan at the University of the Philippines, Manila MCC, and Manila Out, I conducted participant observation and interviews among Filipino gay men in Metro Manila. During this period, I also marched in the 1999 Manila Pride Parade, experiencing firsthand the growing visibility and political energy of the Philippine LGBTQ+ movement at the turn of the millennium. At the time, the Pride movement in Manila was still relatively small compared to large Western Pride celebrations, but it carried an intense sense of community, activism, and historical importance.
These experiences led me to conceptualize what I described in my thesis as “The Filipinoization of the Legacy of Stonewall” (Walter, 1999). By this, I meant that Filipino LGBTQ+ communities were adapting global queer political frameworks into distinctly Filipino cultural contexts rather than simply reproducing Western identity categories.
This distinction is anthropologically important. Western LGBTQ+ political discourse has often emphasized sexuality through identity categories such as “gay,” “lesbian,” or “bisexual.” In contrast, Filipino concepts such as bakla historically encompassed more fluid intersections of gender expression, sexuality, social role, performance, and class (Garcia, 2008). The globalization of queer politics in the Philippines therefore produced hybrid identities shaped simultaneously by local traditions and transnational political discourse.
Religion also played a major role in these tensions. I attended Catholic Mass with Richard Mickley during my stay in Manila, and although he retained appreciation for Catholic ritual and spirituality, he was sharply critical of institutional Catholic teachings regarding sexuality and LGBTQ+ exclusion. His later writings reflected strong opposition to what he described as “sex-negative theology,” particularly regarding LGBTQ+ marginalization and the Catholic Church’s role during the AIDS crisis (Mickley, n.d.).
Looking back now, I recognize that I was present during a major historical transition in Southeast Asian LGBTQ+ history:
- the expansion of organized Pride activism,
- the growth of LGBTQ+ political organizations,
- the emergence of queer Filipino media,
- and the globalization of queer political identity at the end of the twentieth century.
At the time, however, these developments did not feel historic. They felt immediate and deeply human. People were organizing marches, publishing newspapers, building communities, debating identity, and creating spaces where LGBTQ+ Filipinos could exist openly within a rapidly changing society.
Richard Mickley passed away on February 14, 2023. Reflecting on my experiences now, I realize that I had the privilege not only to conduct research during a pivotal moment in Philippine LGBTQ+ history, but also to personally participate in that history while encountering one of the individuals who helped shape it.
Perhaps the most important lesson I took from that fieldwork is that global political movements are never simply exported unchanged into new societies. They become translated, localized, and transformed through existing cultural systems. Stonewall did not simply arrive in the Philippines unchanged. It became Filipino.
References
Garcia, J. N. C. (2008). Philippine gay culture: Binabae to bakla, silahis to MSM. University of the Philippines Press.
Mickley, R. (n.d.). Biography and ministry history. Metropolitan Community Church historical materials.
United Nations Development Programme [UNDP], & United States Agency for International Development [USAID]. (2014). Being LGBT in Asia: The Philippines country report.
Walter, K. (1999). The gender behaviors of Filipino male homosexuals in Metropolitan Manila within the era of cultural globalization (Master’s thesis, Northern Illinois University).


Memorial Day Is Not Veterans Day
By Katherine Walter
On May 25, 2026
In reflection
Rows of headstones marked with American flags stretch across a military cemetery at sunset as a lone service member salutes in remembrance of the fallen men and women who gave their lives in service to the United States. (Image generated by ChatGPT using DALL·E, 2026.)
Every year on Memorial Day, people thank veterans for their service.
I understand why. Most people mean well. They want to show respect to those who wore the uniform, and I appreciate that sentiment. But Memorial Day was never intended to be a celebration of living veterans. That is what Veterans Day is for.
Memorial Day is something different.
It is a day set aside to remember the men and women who never came home.
As a veteran myself, that distinction matters deeply to me. I served in the United States Navy during the era of Operation Desert Storm aboard the USS Minneapolis-Saint Paul. I came home. I was able to continue my life, build a future, struggle, grow, love, fail, succeed, and simply continue existing. The people Memorial Day honors were denied that opportunity.
That is the sacrifice we are meant to remember.
Memorial Day is not about performative patriotism or turning military service into an abstraction. It is not about glorifying war. It is certainly not about reducing remembrance to sales events, social media slogans, or a long holiday weekend without reflection. It is about human beings whose lives ended in service to their country.
Behind every name engraved on a memorial wall was a real person. Someone who had favorite songs, inside jokes, dreams for the future, people they loved, and people who loved them. Some were barely adults. Some left behind spouses and children. Some never had the chance to become who they might have been.
When we lose sight of that humanity, Memorial Day becomes hollow.
I think one reason this misunderstanding happens so often is because American culture tends to merge all military remembrance together into one broad category of “supporting the troops.” But Memorial Day carries a solemn purpose. It is closer in spirit to a funeral than a celebration.
For veterans, especially, this day can carry complicated emotions. Many of us knew people who did not make it home. Others think about how easily circumstances could have been different. Military service creates an understanding of mortality that often stays with a person forever. Memorial Day brings those thoughts closer to the surface.
It should.
We should feel the weight of it.
That does not mean people cannot gather with family or enjoy the day. Life continuing is part of what those who died were protecting. But somewhere amid the cookouts, gatherings, and long weekend traditions, there should also be a moment of silence and honest remembrance.
A moment to think about the cost of war.
A moment to think about the young lives lost across generations.
A moment to remember that freedom is not an abstract phrase. For many families, it came with unbearable personal loss.
I also believe Memorial Day should challenge us to think more carefully about how casually nations sometimes enter conflicts. Honoring the dead should include respecting the gravity of sending human beings into war in the first place. Remembering sacrifice means understanding that these losses were not symbols. They were people.
Today, I am not asking anyone to thank me for my service.
Instead, I ask people to remember those who gave everything and never had the chance to come home.
That is what Memorial Day is for.