I May Have Kept the 50k from Target
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.
Queer Kentucky ISSUE 08: Letter from the Executive Director
I’ve been thinking a lot about the many roles I myself perform as a Queer leader. At 25, I was uncompromising in my activism. I marched, boycotted, protested—fearlessly embodying the “with us or against us” mindset. Back then, I believed any compromise was a betrayal, and I was shocked, even disgusted, when older leaders chose pragmatism over principle. I swore I’d never follow their path.
But life has a way of evolving our perspectives. At 45, I make decisions that 25-year-old me wouldn’t understand—and probably wouldn’t forgive. I’ve learned that leadership is rarely black and white. It’s a balancing act where the stakes include not just yourself, but your entire community. Decisions stop being solely about what feels right to you, and start being about how the fallout of your choices trickles down. Every decision must ask, “Who gets left behind if I say no?” and “Who gets left behind if I say yes?”
Someone recently asked me why I kept a donation from a corporation that walked away from Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. My answer wasn’t simple, but my reasoning was clear. That money was promised for Queer hands, and in a community that’s perpetually underfunded and underserved, rejecting those funds would have hurt far more people than it helped. Last year, over 80% of Queer Kentucky’s revenue went directly into LGBTQ+ hands—over 100 writers, artists, performers, designers, influencers, journalists and more across Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and beyond. That’s real impact. Turning away money that feeds, supports, and uplifts my community isn’t a decision I get to make lightly.
Yet I wrestle with these compromises every day. Whether I’m putting on my “capitalism” hat to keep the lights on, or switching to advocacy mode in conversations about systemic change, the countless roles I perform weigh heavily. They’re not all flattering, and they don’t all reflect the parts of me I’m most proud of. But they make certain that the organization thrives, that the resources keep flowing, and that our Queer community continues to grow stronger.
Performance, in all its forms, is an inherent part of what it means to live and lead in the LGBTQ+ space. Sometimes, it’s glorious. Sometimes, it’s painful. And much of the time, it’s wearing a mask, fighting in the grey area, while striving for a better world underneath it. But no matter how weary we grow, this community continuously proves its resilience.
The show must go on. And because of all of you, it will.