One Year Anniversary Reflections

On May 8th, I started my journey as Executive Director of Blue Ridge Pride. Having come from a 20 year career in mental health, I didn’t know what the unknown pride-world would hold (mostly), but I knew a few things I could expect from being queer myself and from the awful anti-trans laws that passed shortly after I accepted the position.

The last year has been filled with amazing growth and depth for Blue Ridge Pride, including a more diverse board which myself and David Perry pushed hard for, actual Education programming which was sorely needed in our business and nonprofit community, and a comprehensive health equity survey which will help all regional queer-led organizations serve our community better. Those results will be released in July.

It has also been filled with some expected hurdles like those in any large transition, such as learning the ropes, cleaning up systems, and refining policies, but also those specific to the queer community. We’ve grappled with divisions on capitalism, politics, heck even on liquor, and I’d be lying if I said we are not also rooting out the vestiges of ageism (in both directions), transphobia, sexism, classism and racism. We, just this week, were called “useless queers” and other slurs by a few mostly white people on social media because we wouldn’t invest significant staff and board time in crafting a statement on Palestine when we have barely been able to wrap our capacity around statements on the endless barrage of legal and political attacks on our own community here in WNC, including book bans, anti-trans laws, drag show murder threats, and more. Nevermind the local racial equity work we are stepping into with the talkback through our Asheville Queer Film Series showing of Moonlight and a summer board listening session. There is no shortage of intersectional queer issues to address within WNC, and I firmly believe our work needs to be here before anywhere else; that is simply where we are in the evolution of our organization as one expanding beyond a festival.

In the past year we’ve also seen some financial growth, growth needed to keep up with newly paid employees (our organization was all volunteer-led until 2023). As our fundraising efforts finally take shape, we’ve been asked by organizations with budgets similar to ours to share our wealth. Our festival breaks even every year, yet somehow the powerful presence of so many queer people enjoying themselves once a year has given the queer community the illusion of entrenched wealth and power. And while we don’t find that the wealth in Asheville is in particular “trickling down” to us en masse, we believe we are rich in our community power. We’ll keep answering financial requests with facts, and as much support as we are able via our Community Partner Fund and cohosted fundraisers. And we’ll keep asking our community for support also, because we also continue to need it. Pride organizations have no dedicated government or large foundation grant funding like many other social justice and human service causes do, so we rely on our donors and sponsors.

In all of the ups and downs of the past year, the one piece of news that sticks with me is the death of Nex Benedict. Their death, although ruled a suicide, was no doubt caused by the relentless bullying of their peers, bullying sanctioned by laws that closet, shame and discriminate against our queer youth. Hate laws. The news came to me as we were putting down my dog of 14 years. I was the solo FT employee at the time, and as I watched the details unfold as my dog’s life ended, I could not come up with words. I figured it was because of grief, and it was. But it was not my dog. It was my high school self. At 16 years old, I was dressing in boy’s clothing and struggling to hide my attraction to women; I was the odd duck out at school, and although I was not physically bullied (much), in junior high I was relentlessly emotionally bullied, voted “Weirdest” in 8th grade yearbook and in high school voted “Quietest” my senior year, which unfortunately was true. I had been silenced by my parents, my religion, and my classmates. Years later, when I finally had the guts to come out, I questioned whether my life was worth living or not also. I was houseless in that time, refusing to stay with my charismatically Catholic parents who would have no doubt attempted “conversion” therapy.

While my family relationships are better now, for 30 some odd years I took the long, hard queer road, and I had not fully felt that until Nex died. What I also feel now, in the aftermath, is that I made the right decision in taking this job. Beyond my Masters and experience in nonprofit leadership, I get it, and more importantly, I don’t want any other young person to be forced into the long, hard road.

This week, we made a strong statement divesting from those giving money to anti-LGBTQ+ politicians, giving up $13,500 or 12% of our sponsorship funding. We cannot abide pinkwashing, not when it risks the lives of our youth. And I made a statement to our organization that we need to support our trans and nonbinary community more. According to preliminary results of our mental health survey, a full quarter of 18-30 year old queer people in WNC have had thoughts of harming themselves in the past year. This makes me angry (at state politicians), and resolute: from my first day, I have believed that our Pride organization can and should do more than a once-a year-presence for queer joy. And we are on that path. This month, as a first step, we are convening a mental health committee to discuss how we can become a helpful part of a supportive ecosystem for those struggling.

Thank you for the chance to serve our community. Lives are on the wire. There is more to do. Our work is here.

Yours in Partnership,

Amy