Gazing, realistically, across the spectrum of San Francisco LGBT nonprofits, it's hard to think of an organization ready to step in for Pride at a moment's notice. While the LGBT Center has been mentioned — and executive director Rebecca Rolfe notes that board chairs Calma and Randolph both spoke with her tentatively about some manner of merger — the center is hardly a picture of fiscal robustness. In fact, last year it required a $157,000 city loan to make its mortgage payments, but city officials insisted this was not a bailout.
Behan, meanwhile, is left in the not entirely unreasonable position of stating that he deserves a chance to dig Pride out of its hole before politicians start tossing dirt onto the casket. Pride, he notes, has whittled $65,000 off its debt since the beginning of the year. What's more, he adds, it faced a deficit in 1997 every bit as dire as the current one — and no one was calling for someone else to take over.
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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In '97, however, Pride was just beginning to distribute money to smaller nonprofits through its community partner program. These days, those nonprofits aren't just thankful for the cash — they expect it. "I think it's a good thing, but it's become the driving thing," former board chair Cain says of the payments. "It gets weird." In fact, it's Pride's ability to generate money — but not enough money — that has the supervisors most frustrated. Wiener acknowledges that Pride's woeful organizational structure and fiscal illiteracy were undetectable to its million-plus revelers. "The impact on the community is that the more well-run [Pride] is, the more money it's going to generate — which then goes back into the community," he says. Pushing for someone else to run the event "is more about maximizing opportunities."
To be certain, Gilbert Baker did not create the rainbow flag and march down the street to "maximize opportunities" for nonprofits. But for those nonprofits, Pride represents a windfall — smaller organizations can bank a quarter or more of their yearly revenue in one day. Curtis Moore, the executive director of Bay Area Young Positives, says that the thousands of dollars his group gets from Pride buy dinners and counseling for newly diagnosed HIV-positive children and young adults. "It's the cornerstone of our agency," he says. "It's really important to us to be a beneficiary of Pride."
A number of the nonprofits affected by the "beverage payment scandal thing," incidentally, tell SF Weekly they don't buy Pride's claim it was all a misunderstanding. They figure they were deliberately shortchanged when money grew tight. Pride cut a pile of $100 checks as good-faith payments, but the nonprofits are all still owed thousands. Yet the ones contacted for this story are coming back. The potential payday is too good to pass up.
When it comes to money, Behan pledges that Pridegoers this year, as in years past, won't be charged admission. But he's in no position to make any promises about next year or the year after that. If his organization falters, community members worry Pride's sheer moneymaking ability will lead to a for-profit organization being installed and charging revelers steep entry prices, as some other cities do. "If the people running Pride can't pull out of this tailspin, I think that will happen," former board chair Connell laments. "It'd be a real tragedy if Pride became a queer concert fest. It'd no longer be a community event, just a moneymaker. Maybe the city would be fine with that. Obviously it's not fine for the community."
What we do know is this: Come June 25, Pride is going to happen. The theme this year is "In Pride We Trust." And the irony of that is lost on no one.