Join Queer Kentucky for their latest print edition featuring original stories, gorgeous photography, and exclusive interviews with Zack Wickham of Bravo’s The Valley, award-winning singer S.G. Goodman, and Chappell Roan’s makeup artist Andrew Dahling.

If you’ve spent time in Lexington’s Queer scene, you’ve probably heard the debate about where Pride should be held. For those outside the loop, let me get you up to speed. In 2023, Lexington Pride moved to the Central Bank Convention Center instead of its former home at Robert F. Stephens Courthouse Plaza. Though both venues are only a brisk five-minute walk apart, it stirred quite a heated conversation. While some applauded the improved layout, the enhanced sense of safety, and the sweet relief of air-conditioning (who can forget that sweltering 86-degree festival in 2022?), others worried about costs for attendees, reduced revenue for nearby Queer and Queer-friendly businesses, and a loss of public visibility.

Whichever scenario you preferred likely depended on how you view the true purpose of Pride: is it a safe, joyful space for our own community and its allies, or is it a platform for advocacy and visibility in the broader Lexington and central Kentucky area? There’s value in both approaches to Pride. Take Louisville, for example, which hosts two Pride festivals—Kentuckiana Pride and Louisville Pride—where thousands fill the Big Four Lawn or flock to Bardstown Road.

The city also has a huge parade, complete with Kentucky Fairness marching in signature balloon wings so iconic you’ll see them in photos at SDF airport. Louisville’s “show up big” philosophy runs deep. It’s the city of Muhammad Ali, after all. Louisville was home to the first lesbian couple to sue for a legal marriage license in US history, as well as the first Lesbian Gay Liberation Front Kentucky chapter. More recently, Jefferson County Public Schools bussed students to Frankfort to protest SB150, despite ever-growing threats from the legislature.

The contrast between Louisville’s and Lexington’s approaches to Queer activism may come off stark—Lexington doesn’t currently have a Pride march, for example. But, let’s not forget that Fayette County was the first county in the state to pass a fairness ordinance, the first to elect an openly gay mayor, and the first to erect historical markers celebrating LGBTQ+ history and to paint rainbow crosswalks on public streets. Even in the days of Sweet Evening Breeze—a Black Queer icon long before Stonewall—the city found ways to celebrate its Queer leaders.

photo provided by Basel Touchan

Some may attempt to draw broader conclusions here or even pit Kentucky’s only two blue dots against each other. I prefer to leave that to the basketball court. In my opinion, neither city is “better” at Queer advocacy, but each of them contribute something unique by leaning into their own personality and culture to get things done.

The question of how boldly or quietly we push for our rights has shaped Queer activism for generations. Queer activists have always balanced authenticity with relatability, navigating the need to center our vibrant rainbow of identities while also trying to gain traction in the monochromatic halls of power. This tension, this dance, has shaped LGBTQ+ movements from the 1950s to the present day. It even fractured the Mattachine Society, the first national gay and lesbian movement that ultimately launched the Gay Liberation Front in the wake of the Stonewall riots.

Think of gay activists like Frank Kameny, who initially insisted men wear suits and women wear dresses in 1960s protests because he believed it made the protests more palatable and impactful. Years later, he stormed the American Psychiatric Association’s meetings to demand the removal of homosexuality as a mental disorder from the DSM. Again and again, we see that both raucous protest and strategic compromise are essential to progress. Mastering different approaches is key, especially in a red state as the political and societal winds continue to shift against our mere existence. However, I do not share the doom and gloom others may feel.

We in Kentucky have one ace up our sleeve—we hate bullies and value authenticity above almost anything else. Sure, Appalachia suffers from endless stereotypes, but as a Middle Easterner who’s called Lexington my good ol’ Kentucky home for almost a decade, I’ve encountered some of the warmest, most accepting folks in the hills and hollers. They might judge you, but they’ll judge you on three things primarily: your work ethic, your kindness to neighbors, and whether you’re true to yourself.

In my experience, the most impactful way to perform political advocacy in Kentucky is to not perform… at all. To shift hearts and minds, you simply need to show up visibly, vulnerably, and honestly. People around here can sniff out inauthenticity in a heartbeat. Governor Andy Beshear is a prime example of someone who shows up without performing.

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY – JUNE 15: Parade participants are seen marching during the 2024 Kentuckiana Pride Parade on June 15, 2024 in Louisville, Kentucky. (Photo by Stephen J. Cohen/Getty Images)

He is steadfast in his support for activists, standing unapologetically with them at events and press conferences. He has also vetoed hateful legislation like SB150, fully aware the veto is only symbolic with a Republican supermajority and would be weaponized against him. Despite all that, the majority of Kentuckians respected Beshear’s allyship—even if they didn’t agree with his views—because it felt genuine and true to his character. Imperfect as he may be (what politician isn’t?), his sincerity resonates in a state that prizes honesty over spectacle.

Simply put, there isn’t one “right way” to do Queer advocacy. We need the fiery passion that marches through the streets, and we also need the quiet, strategic deal-making that slips past the gates. Sometimes we’ll be loud, sometimes we’ll be pragmatic, but we’ll always be working toward a Kentucky in which we can live, love, and celebrate our truths.

We all have a role to play this year. Go attend a local rally or city council meeting, volunteer for a grassroots campaign, or donate to organizations doing the on-the-ground work. Better yet, run for office yourself. And don’t forget, how we show up matters as much as showing up at all.