In the long run, however, it's asking a lot of these newcomers to resurrect an organization that has ground up so many well-meaning (and fiscally literate) individuals before them. Pride "is at a point where it needs a massive restructuring that [not all] the board members who are left are in favor of doing," departed board member Hardwick says. Consensus can be a bitch.
While Pride grapples with a system that lends itself to a glacial pace and empowers its most fractious members, another major city festival has created a remarkably efficient organizational structure. When ambling down Folsom Street and presented with the odd spanking, flogging, or perhaps even a gentleman ejaculating out of a second-story window onto the crowd below, your first thought probably isn't, "Now there's a well-run nonprofit." But it should be. Folsom Street Events is run tighter than a size-L pair of chaps on a XXL derriere. One intriguing indicator of the esteem in which the city holds Folsom is that the Department of the Environment tapped the leather festival to pen the official city best practices guide on large-event recycling. It's safe to say this is an "only in San Francisco" circumstance.
Jean-Philippe Dobrin
Prides interim executive director, Brendan Behan, says obituaries for the organization are premature.
Jean-Philippe Dobrin
Mikayla Connell counts her years
atop Prides board as one of her lifes great failures.
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Folsom does not feature an "activist board," but is instead a "working board." That is, its members actually plan out and undertake every year's events — which include the Folsom Street and Up Your Alley fairs — and do not hire paid contractors as Pride does. Rather than drawing from the activist community, the Folsom board features IT workers, techies, nurses, lawyers, teachers, and nonprofit professionals. Not only are the board members able to do math, the system they operate in doesn't allow the numbers to multiply out of control. Each member oversees a certain aspect of the festival — recycling, security, volunteer coordination, etc. — and so must regularly comb through line-item budgets. What's more, the whole board goes through the budget, item by item, and discrepancies must be explained to the group by the board member overseeing that area. This provides "face-to-face accountability," in the words of president Jacob Richards.
Folsom also boasts stability and an orderliness Pride can only wish for. That's largely because of the ingenious system of "board associates." These are, essentially, junior board members. Last year, for example, event security was planned by two board members and one associate; recycling was handled by one board member and two associates. A year as an associate is a prerequisite for board membership — and serves as an efficient screening process and training program. As board members leave or are termed out, the organization promotes from within, anointing people who have already proven their competence.
"Generally, things happen like clockwork around here," Folsom executive director Demetri Moshoyannis says. "You have to create the infrastructure to operate successfully every year. But you also need the people to execute that vision." His efficient system — and the low overhead costs associated with a nearly-all-volunteer organization — has turned Folsom into a leather-clad moneymaking monster. Last year it donated $326,000 to other nonprofits, as compared with Pride's $132,000 disbursement. Over the last five years, Folsom has given between $301,000 and $350,000 to charity. Pride's donations in recent years ranged between $180,000 and $220,000. Folsom attracts up to 400,000 people — around a third of Pride's foot traffic — and operates on a little more than half Pride's budget.
Money generated for the community is not the ideal way to evaluate an event's worth — but it is something government officials can understand. And they do notice. "Folsom is a very well-run event and the foundation gives away a lot of money," Wiener says. "I think the more well-run organizations like that are generating investments into the community, the better off we're going to be."
When Supervisors Wiener and Campos propose wresting Pride away from its overseers or folding it into another organization, they're careful to note that the transition "must be a smooth one." Good luck with that. Any such talk is superficial at this point, as evidenced by the fact that the supes didn't even know whether the term "San Francisco Pride" is trademarked. The folks at Pride did.
In fact, the San Francisco Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Pride Celebration Committee, Inc., holds a number of trademarks, including "San Francisco Pride," "SF Pride,"and "Pride Celebration." Brooke Oliver, Pride's outside counsel, said an event called, say, Pride San Francisco would be "too similar." If the staff at Pride is reticent to give up the ball, Wiener and Campos' hypothetical organization may have a difficult time finding a name for future festivals. "It's an interesting suggestion of theirs," says Oliver of the supervisors. "But they're bound by the law just as anybody else is."
So, it turns out you can fight City Hall. But municipal government is not without resources of its own. Both supervisors noted that it is within the realm of possibility that the permits for the Pride parade and festival could simply be granted to someone new. This is not unprecedented — in the late 1990s, the mayor's office, displeased with the group that had traditionally run the annual Juneteenth celebration, ensured the permits went to a group of young African-American professionals called the Blacklist. Pride also receives $58,400 from the city's Grants for the Arts program. If another group applied for that money, director Kary Schulman says she and her staff would have to evaluate who was best able to carry out the event. Dueling applications are not unheard of — she notes that this happened with Juneteenth and for this year's Martin Luther King Jr. commemorative celebration. In both instances, the rival groups opted to work together.