Becca Moon, President and Co-Founder of Shoals Diversity Center and the visionary behind Renaissance City Pride (RCP), now in its fifth year, has morphed what began as a small dance party inside a Marriott Hotel room into a thriving nonprofit and annual LGBTQ Pride business expo and music festival in one of the most unexpected places—Florence, AL.
The two-day Pride event, which kicked off on June 7 with a drag show extravaganza at the Up Late Vivian Theatre and culminated with the signature RCP outdoor music festival, drew over 300 LGBTQ people and allies each day to the small-town, family-friendly Pride event. For Moon and the six original and current RCP organizers, LGBTQ visibility in the heart of the Bible belt is a dream realized.
“We wanted to create something we never had growing up,” Moon said, describing the impetus for creating Shoals Diversity Center and RCP. “[People] needed more support than just one party a year.”
Steven Cardenas, 23, an RCP organizer, drag performer (Emerald Jade), and Florence native raised in Birmingham, was one of those people.
“In Birmingham, the community is so big, it’s so diverse. But here in Florence, I didn’t know we had it [PRIDE],” Cardenas said. “I felt alone when I first moved [back] here until I started making friends and was introduced to Becca. I’ve been a part of Pride every single year since. There’s not a year that goes by that I don’t help,” they said.
Out as gay to their religious conservative adopted family since they were 16, Cardenas began embracing their nonbinary identity three years ago. Cardenas tells GLAAD that Moon has been a lifesaver.
“Being told that I’d go to hell [for being gay], and if I stepped into a church, it’d burn to the ground was rough,” Cardenas said, recalling early messages they received from relatives about their sexuality. “Becca has been a lifesaver. She’s been someone that I can talk to constantly,” they added.
“I was under the delusion for years that I was the only queer person in town,” said Jonathan Dunlap, 40, a Shoals Diversity Center board member and HIV Prevention Educator at Thrive Alabama—a major fiscal sponsor of RCP.
Like Cardenas, Dunlap also grew up in a conservative religious home. He admits that he spent the first 20 years of his life attempting to “pray the gay away.”
“The closet is a deadly place after a while for many of us—some people can do it for their whole lives, and that’s okay if that’s what they choose. But it was literally killing me,” Dunlap admits. “[I was] hiding so much of myself, having no authenticity with my family or with the majority of my friends, and I saw that life could be more than that. So I had to give it a shot,” he said.
Dunlap tells GLAAD that after hiding his truth for years, it’s a “big change to be out and okay.”
LGBTQ Pride and Defiance
A common misconception about LGBTQ people living in the South, specifically Alabama, is that the heterosexual majority is hostile toward its LGBTQ neighbors and that the queer experience is monolithic. Moon says this couldn’t be further from the truth.
“We are such a different area than the rest of Alabama,” she said. “Even politically, many people refer to Florence as the blue dot in a red state. So there’s a little bit more open-mindedness and diversity here. We have the University of North Alabama, so I know it helps with that open-mindedness and diversity of thought,” she added.
But like Pride events in major cities, anti-LGBTQ protesters are as common as drag queens on a parade float. Two protesters, a street preacher on a megaphone, and another man with the phrase “Can We Talk?” written on a mobile Christian cross went largely ignored by RCP attendees and disappeared as quickly as they arrived. Their lack of an organized presence in a park with multiple houses of worship surrounding it on every corner reflects the social progress happening in a city where it’s least expected and where, eight years ago in the same spot, Moon tells GLAAD the unthinkable occurred.
“The KKK showed up in full gear at one outside event that we had, which was really weird,” Moon said. They had the red sheets over their heads. It was scary, but nothing happened. The police were there, and they [KKK] were just watching, and they just stood there. They didn’t do or say anything. I guess they thought we would be intimidated and run away,” Moon said defiantly. “But nothing happened, and they haven’t been around since.”
For queer locals who don’t have access to LGBTQ safe spaces or bars in Florence, the existence of RCP and Shoals Diversity Center goes beyond the two-day Pride event.
“Having it close and local really makes it important because kids are coming around, and they’ll be able to understand and grow up, and hopefully, they’ll be able to see it’s okay to be yourself, and it’s okay to be gay or nonbinary or trans,” said Riley, a bisexual RCP attendee.
Shelle Lichti, an out lesbian and creator of the Rainbow Rider, an LGTBQ advocacy truck that travels to 48 states, was stationed in front of Wilson Park for RCP. Lichti tells GLAAD that despite anti-LGBTQ sentiment across the country and vandalism attempts on her truck, arriving at full LGBTQ equality is worth the bumps in the road.
“I knew the bulls-eye I was putting on myself when I developed this truck,” Lichti said. “But the more people do to us, the more it helps me tell the story and proves why it needs to exist.”
As quickly as RCP came to a close in the sweltering Alabama sun, preparations for RCP 2025, after a day or two of much-earned rest for the organizers, are set to begin. It’s a labor of love for RCP organizers and a recurring gig with a reward rooted in community that exceeds any monetary gain.
“To be here and to help this community prosper makes me happy,” Cardenas said. “To come into the new age of Pride celebrations—to finally feel comfortable to live as our authentic selves—I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy. I’m happy.”