Reports that the Navy may reconsider the name of a future aircraft carrier have renewed attention on the wartime service of Doris “Dorie” Miller, a Black sailor whose actions at Pearl Harbor made him one of the most celebrated figures in Navy history.
by Kevin Seraaj, J.D., M.Div. OrlandoAdvocate.com
The future USS Doris Miller, designated CVN-81, was announced in 2020 and was expected to become the first U.S. aircraft carrier named for a Black sailor. Multiple news reports now say Navy officials are considering whether to change the name, potentially to honor President Donald Trump. While no final decision has been publicly announced, the fact that it has been placed on the table is enough to bring us once again to the discussion of America’s treatment of blacks in the nation’s history.
This goes far beyond the ordinary politics of presidential commemoration. It concerns men and women whose service the nation chooses to remember—and those it chooses to erase. Will this man who displayed extraordinary courage while serving in a segregated military retain a place of honor in the Navy’s future fleet, or will he be replaced by someone whose complexion– not actions– make his remembrance more important to the nation?
Miller was born in Waco, Texas, in 1919 and enlisted in the Navy in 1939. Like many Black sailors of the era, he entered a service that restricted Black personnel largely to jobs such as mess attendants, laundry workers and stewards. Those assignments reflected the racial discrimination built into military policy at the time, not the ability or willingness of Black Americans to serve in combat roles.
On Dec. 7, 1941, Miller was serving aboard the battleship USS West Virginia during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The ship was struck by torpedoes and bombs, and much of its command structure was immediately disrupted.
Miller helped move wounded sailors to safety, including the ship’s mortally wounded captain, according to Navy accounts. Though he had not been trained as a gunner, Miller was then directed to operate a .50-caliber anti-aircraft machine gun. He fired at attacking Japanese aircraft until he ran out of ammunition.
For his actions, Miller received the Navy Cross in 1942. He became the first Black sailor awarded the decoration, which is the Navy’s second-highest award for valor. His recognition was especially significant because it came at a time when the military was still segregated and Black service members routinely faced limited assignments, unequal opportunities and institutional barriers to advancement. In a word, he likely would never have even been considered for such an honor had his contribution not been so clearly worthy.
Miller later returned to duty and was killed in 1943 when the escort carrier USS Liscome Bay was torpedoed in the Pacific. He was 24.
The Navy’s decision in 2020 to name CVN-81 for Miller represented more than a naming choice. It was a recognition that the historical record of American military service includes people whose courage was not always honored equally in their own time.
Aircraft carriers are among the most visible symbols of U.S. military power. Their names are intended to preserve national memory as well as identify warships. Many carriers have been named for presidents, including George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush and Gerald R. Ford. Others have honored influential military leaders, lawmakers and naval figures.
Naming CVN-81 for Miller placed a sailor who began his career in a racially restricted service role alongside those figures. It recognized not only his individual heroism, but also the contradiction of a country that relied on Black Americans in war while denying them equal treatment in uniform and civilian life.
That historical context is central to the current debate.
The issue is not whether presidents should be honored by the Navy. The Navy has a long history of naming carriers for presidents, and the decision to do so is not unusual. Nor is the question limited to whether Donald Trump should be commemorated in some future way.
The question is whether the Navy should remove the name of a sailor whose service has come to represent both battlefield courage and the eventual, incomplete expansion of recognition for Black military service.
A change would carry meaning beyond the ship’s hull number. It would signal that an honor once presented as a major step in acknowledging a neglected chapter of Navy history can be withdrawn before the ship enters service.
Supporters of retaining the name are likely to argue that Miller’s story remains especially relevant because it illustrates the gap between opportunity and service. He was not permitted to enter the kinds of combat roles available to many white sailors, yet he performed under fire when the moment demanded it.
Those who favor a change may contend that the secretary of the Navy and the Defense Department have broad discretion over ship names and that aircraft carriers have traditionally honored presidents. But a decision, even if preliminary, had already been made, and now there is the possibiity of a change being made. The logical question is “Why?”
Any final decision should be accompanied by a clear public explanation of the standard being applied and why the Navy believes a change is warranted. The Navy should make clear what it believes military commemoration is meant to accomplish.
Miller’s legacy does not depend entirely on one ship. Navy installations, buildings and programs already bear his name, and his actions at Pearl Harbor remain part of the service’s history.
CVN-81 would be an unusually prominent recognition. The ship’s name would be carried across the world for decades, connecting a new generation of sailors to the story of a young man who was asked to serve in a system that did not treat him equally—and who nevertheless acted with uncommon courage.
In choosing names for its most visible vessels, the service is deciding not only what history it will preserve, but which examples of service, sacrifice and citizenship it wants future sailors and the public to remember.
- Kevin Seraaj
- Kevin Seraaj
- Kevin Seraaj
- Kevin Seraaj
