TAMPA, Fla. — Tampa Pride recently announced its 2026 parade and festival in Ybor City will be canceled due to a significant decline in sponsorship funding, citing both economic challenges and the current political climate as key factors. The decision comes after several sponsors who had supported Tampa Pride in past years either scaled back or withdrew entirely, leaving the organization unable to cover rising costs for security, insurance, permits, and event production.
This affects the event across the bay, St. Pete Pride, which is stepping up its fundraising efforts after Tampa's cancellation, urging partners and allies to increase support. Organizers said they’ve lost about $150,000 in sponsor funding over recent years but remain committed to holding next year’s events. Even rainbow and pride-themed street art were removed at the state's request, leading to protests from the community, and local artists coming together to create new art and murals around town, amid concerns of "an ongoing erasure of LGBTQ+ visibility across the state."
In this Digital Original, Tampa Bay 28's Frances Lin spoke with four individuals whose year-round commitment to advocacy, education, and allyship keeps Pride alive long after the banners come down.
Crystal Allen: A fierce mother’s love
"Don't be your child's first bully."
When her son Chris came out at 16, Crystal Allen was ready. In truth, she’d known for years. She thought she was giving him space, waiting patiently for him to tell his own story. But looking back, she wishes she had started the conversation sooner. “He was already being bullied,” Crystal said. “Maybe if I’d spoken up, I could have given him more support during those tough years.”
From that moment on, her life changed. Pride events became more than celebrations; they became a lifeline. At parades, Crystal and her husband proudly wear “Pride Mom” and “Pride Dad” shirts, opening their arms to hugs from strangers, young and old. “I tell every parent the same thing: Don’t be your child’s first bully. Even if you don’t understand, you show up for them. Without you, they’re lost.”
For her, Pride is a promise. One she renews every day by making sure her son and anyone else who needs it knows they are loved beyond measure.
Pam Smith: From locked doors to open streets
"It was a horrible 13 years because I didn't have any rights to my own children."
Pam Smith remembers when you had to knock on a door to get into a gay bar, and a camera would scan your face before they decided whether to let you in.
“In the ’60s, you didn’t tell anyone you were gay,” she said. “You could get kicked out of your family or worse. Pride then was rebellion. Dangerous, but necessary.”
She carried that courage through marches in Washington, then into motherhood after adopting two children in Michigan with her partner. But state laws denied her any legal rights to her own kids. For 13 years, leaving a harmful relationship meant losing them entirely. So she stayed until they were old enough to know better.
Now in her 60s, Pam doesn’t take open rainbow flags for granted. “We’ve come so far, but there’s still work to do,” she said. When she sees young people at Pride, she feels the gap between her days behind a locked door and today’s visible, unapologetic community. “Beyond June, my job is to keep showing up. For the kids, the families, the ones who still don’t feel safe.”
Judy Rice: Choosing truth over fear
"If you think it's hard coming out to your parents, try coming out to your children."
Judy Rice was 36 when she realized she was gay. She was working for a company that wouldn’t even allow discussion of Ellen DeGeneres’ coming-out episode, claiming it was “too disturbing.”
She came out after a marriage to a man and raising three daughters. Their reactions were a mix. Acceptance from some, resistance from others. Her middle daughter, then in ninth grade, felt that her world had ended. Years later, she came back. “I thought it was the end of my perfect life, but I didn’t realize it was the beginning.”
Judy now volunteers at every Pride event she can, sometimes bringing her daughters, who marvel at the warmth of the LGBTQ+ community.
Rene Cantu: Building Pride into the local economy
"The work that needs to be done does not end at the end of June."
Rene Cantu is the president & CEO of the Tampa Bay LGBT Chamber. For Cantu, Pride goes beyond parades. It’s about building year-round economic power for the LGBTQ+ community.
Cantu spent most of his career leading mainstream chambers of commerce before turning his focus to LGBTQ+ business advocacy.
“Pride is a great time to celebrate how far we’ve come,” Cantu said, “but a lot of the real work happens the other 11 months of the year.”
He’s seen backlash against small businesses that display rainbow flags year-round, sometimes escalating into hateful messages. “That can be jarring for a small business owner,” Cantu said. “We help them find solutions so they can keep operating without fear dictating their success.”
“We’re not looking for special treatment,” Cantu said. “We’re working for equality, full inclusion in the economy, and the ability for our members to succeed regardless of who they love or who they serve.”
Allen, Smith, Rice, and Cantu told Tampa Bay 28 that Pride is not defined by a month on the calendar, but by the daily commitment to stand for love, equality, and the right to live authentically.
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