November 09, 2026 | Michail Takach

Steve MIller: living out loud without apologies

Steve Miller has spent much of his life navigating worlds that didn't always know what to make of him.

Growing up Native and biracial in suburban Wisconsin, coming to terms with his identity as a gay man, and experiencing military exclusion after another airman outed him, Steve encountered more than his share of prejudice and rejection. But he also discovered something more powerful: the unconditional acceptance of family, the freedom to live authentically, and an enduring connection to the heritage that would eventually bring him home.

Today, a proud member of the Stockbridge-Munsee Band of Mohican Indians, Steve lives in the Wisconsin Northwoods with his husband, Jim Balistreri. After decades spent traveling the globe and building a life in the outside world, he has returned home to his ancestral community, where he is rediscovering his Indigenous roots and witnessing a new generation of LGBTQ Native youth embrace their identities with pride.

His journey offers a remarkable window into the intersection of Wisconsin's Indigenous and LGBTQ histories, and a reminder that sometimes the most powerful form of pride is simply being seen for who you are.

Steve's story began at St. Mary's Hospital in Milwaukee. Born to a Native father and a mother of German and Irish descent, he grew up in a family whose experiences reflected the complicated realities of race, identity, and belonging in mid-century Wisconsin.

Before marrying, Steve's father lived with his uncles in an apartment near Clarendon and Irving Park in Chicago. They worked factory jobs while establishing new lives away from the reservation. His parents eventually married in Chicago, where they could avoid some of the racial prejudice surrounding interracial relationships in northern Wisconsin.

Their experience was part of a much larger history of discrimination. As recently as 1948, 2/3 of American states had “anti-miscegenation” laws on the books banning interracial marriage. This discrimination was perfectly legal – and was still being enforced in 16 states -- until the Supreme Court overturned them with the Loving v. Virginia ruling in June 1967. For Steve's parents, building a life together required navigating a society that did not always welcome their relationship.

Steve's father was one of 16 children raised on a family farm, where his grandfather bred and raised harness horses. The operation became a multigenerational commitment, with relatives living on and off the reservation working together to preserve the family business. This commitment became especially important after Steve’s grandfather passed away. Family members living on the reservation cared for the farm during the week, while those living in the cities helped operate the business on weekends.

It was a remarkable arrangement that kept generations connected to one another and to the land.

"We grew up alongside those horses," Steve said. "We even had our own private racetrack on the farm. A lot of wonderful memories happened on that farm. We were a very large family, but we were also a very close family. Working together made us even closer.”

Growing up, however, he also experienced the painful realities of racism. While the family lived in Cudahy during the school year, Steve and his sisters stood out in their predominantly non-Native classrooms. He remembers hearing derogatory remarks about his parents and being called racial slurs, including "Tonto."

"My mother was white and my dad wasn't," Steve said. "They faced a lot of discrimination because of that."

Yet his parents never allowed other people's prejudice to define their family.

"We never heard our parents say bad things about other people. They had dealt with judgment themselves, so they were never going to judge anyone else. They implanted a strong sense of compassion in me. My parents did a really good job of giving us a moral compass.”

Steve also learned to be resilient at a young age.

"I don't let words own me because that gives other people power," he said. "I've been called names my whole life, but I don't want to empower somebody else's words over me."

Growing up in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Steve knew he was gay, but finding examples of people living openly was another matter. There were few visible LGBTQ role models around him, on television, or within the Native communities he knew. Gay people weren’t talked about at all on the reservation.

“Gay was a word kids used to insult each other,” said Steve. “It was not a name you wanted to be called.”

He relied on his instincts, his close relationships with male cousins who took him hunting, fishing, and riding motorcycles, and the strong sense of self his parents had helped instill.

Shortly after graduating from high school, a trip to Madison with friends unexpectedly became his coming-out experience.

"The drinking age was 18 at the time, so it was a free-for-all," Steve recalled. "We went to the NewBar -- I'm aging myself here -- and Rod's. We all went our separate ways that night, hooked up at the bar, and reconnected the next morning looking bashful about it."

"Well, the rest is history. All three of us came out on the same night -- with three guys who were also friends."

For Steve, it was an unexpected beginning to a new chapter.

Wanting to serve his country and see the world, he enlisted in the military soon afterward. But at just 19, his military career was abruptly cut short when another airman outed him to military authorities.

Under the exclusionary policies in place before the implementation of Don't Ask, Don't Tell in 1993, gay and lesbian service members could be investigated and discharged because of their sexual orientation. Steve found himself caught in a system that forced him out of an institution he had hoped to serve.

During the discharge process, an unexpected ally emerged: his commanding officer's wife. She was a prominent interior decorator from Atlanta with a gay brother of her own. Surprisingly, she stepped in to advocate for Steve, reassuring him that he would be okay and making sure he was treated with dignity throughout the process.

Returning home presented a new challenge. Steve would now have to explain to his parents why his military service was suddenly over.

Instead, he found something he hadn't necessarily expected: acceptance.

"I went home and told my parents everything," Steve recalled. "And nobody said a word. It didn't matter. It was just silent acceptance."

Knowing themselves what exclusion felt like, Steve’s parents chose to be positive and supportive. His identity was not a reason to withdraw love or belonging. He was still their son, their brother, and part of the family.

“My military discharge led to two of the most defining experiences of my life,” said Steve. “One, with my family, and one, with a total stranger.”

On his flight home from the military base, Steve started chatting with a flight attendant. When he explained why he was returning home, she encouraged him to consider a career in the airline industry, telling him it offered an inclusive environment where people were valued for their character and work ethic.

Steve took her advice. He impressed airline recruiters with his honesty and embarked on a remarkable 30-year career as an international flight attendant. The job took him far beyond Wisconsin, with layovers in Hong Kong, Beijing, Australia, and across Europe. He experienced places and cultures he might never otherwise have encountered.

"The airline industry is a safe space for a lot of people," Steve said. "It's also a lot of fun. I got to travel all over the world and go places I never dreamed I would see in my lifetime."

In 1999, Steve met Jim Balistreri in Milwaukee. It might have started as a chance encounter, but it rapidly developed into a lasting lifelong partnership built on humor, affection, and mutual respect.

Together, they built a life that took them from Milwaukee to Chicago and Palm Springs. Through career changes, moves, and the many experiences of adulthood, they remained devoted partners.

After decades in the air, Steve continued exploring new opportunities. He attended court reporting school, mastering stenography at an extraordinary 225 words per minute with 96 percent accuracy. After accepting an internship in Chicago, he took a side job in the hospitality industry, where he worked with Lettuce Entertain You and later became a union bartender at the iconic Park Hyatt on Michigan Avenue. While living in Palm Springs, he worked at the iconic Tropicale restaurant. After several years in California, Steve and Jim returned to Chicago in 2023.

Throughout it all, his next chapter was being written, even if he didn’t realize it quite yet.

As Steve and Jim began thinking about retirement, an opportunity emerged that would bring Steve closer to his family and heritage.

The Stockbridge-Munsee Tribe was developing new residential homes on the reservation, providing tribal members with an opportunity to establish a home within the community. At the same time, Steve's father was receiving hospice care, and Steve and his sisters had been sharing caregiving responsibilities, traveling back and forth from Chicago.

“Coming home felt like the right and best thing to do,” said Steve.

Steve and Jim packed up their city life and moved back to the reservation full-time. Today, Steve works part-time at the tribal casino, paying out jackpots, and serves as a public defender and layperson in the tribal court system. He is also actively involved in his community.

But perhaps the most meaningful part of returning has been reconnecting with a heritage that, like so much Indigenous culture, was not openly celebrated during his childhood.

Steve has witnessed a remarkable cultural revitalization on the reservation. Growing up, Native language, traditions, and history were often suppressed or hidden under the painful legacy of Indian boarding schools and generations of forced assimilation. Today, he sees a very different environment. Native language signage lines the roads. Cultural programs are flourishing. Plans are underway for a new cultural center on tribal land. Steve has even taken up learning to play the traditional Native flute.

This transformation is especially meaningful for Steve, who grew up with limited access to historic Indigenous culture. Returning home has offered Steve the opportunity not simply to revisit his past, but to participate in the continued preservation and celebration of his community's heritage.

“Being Stockbridge-Munsee means I am part of a community that works for the greater good of everyone in that community,” said Steve. “I can take what I have learned and give back to make a stronger experience for us all. I have been able to rediscover our heritage and history. I have the privilege to see our traditions and make them my own.”

“I feel like I am home because it is a safe space. That is how I always remember it. I feel the community creates a feeling of extended family. The big difference for me in the reservation is the multiple businesses that we now own and run. The businesses were not there when I was growing up. Business development has generated not just opportunities and benefits, but a lot of pride in ownership.”

Equally meaningful to Steve is the growing visibility and acceptance of Two Spirit and Native LGBTQ people.

Two Spirit is a contemporary umbrella term used by some Indigenous people to describe identities and experiences related to gender, sexuality, and cultural or spiritual roles. Indigenous nations have their own distinct traditions and understandings, and the term does not represent one universal historical experience.

For Steve, the increasing recognition of Two Spirit identities represents an important change from the world in which he grew up. He remembers having few visible LGBTQ role models and little opportunity to see Indigenous LGBTQ people celebrated within their communities.

In June 2026, Steve and Jim attended the first Wisconsin Two Spirit Pow Wow at the Woodland Bowl in Keshena, where they witnessed Indigenous families embracing and celebrating their LGBTQ children.

"It was so wonderful to see all these kids, dressed in their pride colors, and proudly being themselves, with their whole family sitting right there supporting them," Steve said. "It really feels like the world is changing -- even up here on the reservation."

“My advice to the younger generation LGBTQ Natives is to be true to yourself,” he said. “The support from our community is amazing, but don't take it for granted. That support is what made my homecoming so special.”

Today, Steve and Jim are comfortable being themselves wherever life takes them. Jim runs the bar at a popular Shawano steakhouse and introduces Steve to regulars as his husband. Steve is equally open about his personal life with casino colleagues and guests.

They simply live their lives. Without any hesitation, without any explanation, and without any apologies.

In rural Wisconsin, where LGBTQ visibility can still be limited, those everyday interactions matter. Each introduction, conversation, and shared experience helps make LGBTQ people more visible and familiar to their neighbors and communities.

Steve believes some of the most meaningful activism happens without a microphone, a protest sign, or a public platform. Sometimes, it comes from simply being present and refusing to hide.

One of their Chicago friends once offered an observation that stayed with them: "By being visible in a rural area, you're doing more for pride than you even know."

For Steve, that visibility is also part of a much larger story. He knows firsthand what it means to live without apologies. Today, by simply being himself, he is helping make sure the next generation has even more reason to live out loud.