This Sunday, the 2K Ranch in Bunnell will host the third annual Bunnell Pride Festival, a milestone for the local LGBTQ+ community. After the tradition shifted from Palm Coast to Bunnell a few years ago, this event has become the primary space in Flagler County for residents to gather in a spirit of inclusivity. Organized by Amber Ebers, the local entrepreneur behind the “Cosmic Hippie” wellness brand, the festival is intended to be a humble, family-oriented celebration. Ebers emphasizes that the day is designed to weave the community together, welcoming veterans, seniors, local families, and allies to share in an environment defined by joy, music, and mutual support.
However, a gathering that was meant to be purely celebratory has become the target of intense, manufactured controversy. In recent weeks, the festival has been subjected to a barrage of aggressive misinformation, primarily originating from social media pages like “St. Augustine News Uncensored.” Posts have leveled inflammatory accusations against the event, spreading debunked claims about “illegal” activities. Much of this hostility stems from a outdated screenshot of a festival flyer that included a drag performance—a component Ebers proactively removed from the official agenda as legal landscapes in Florida shifted. Despite removing the act to ensure compliance and avoid unnecessary friction, Ebers and her team are still being hunted by rumors that bear no resemblance to the current reality of the festival.
The situation escalated recently when a local news segment gave a platform to an unnamed representative of the Proud Boys, a group widely classified by civil rights organizations as a far-right extremist entity known for its history of anti-LGBTQ+ agitation. The report framed the presence of this group at the festival—where they intend to protest the presence of families and children—as a simple difference of opinion rather than acknowledging the group’s documented history of hate and violence. This reckless framing has left organizers and attendees deeply shaken. In an era where fear has become a frequent companion to public gatherings, many participants have expressed private terror, with some drawing chilling parallels between the current climate and historical tragedies like the Pulse nightclub shooting.
One of the most heart-wrenching aspects of this ordeal is the financial hurdle of public safety. Ebers, who funds the entire event out of her own pocket to keep participation affordable for local small businesses, found that the cost of hiring off-duty police officers—roughly $600—was simply out of reach. In previous years, undercover deputies were able to volunteer their time to help keep the peace, but policy changes have rendered that impossible. It is a stark reflection of the burden borne by community organizers: to keep entry free and inclusive, Ebers has had to compromise on dedicated security, leaving her to rely entirely on the promise of increased patrols by the local Sheriff’s Office rather than having the boots-on-the-ground support she previously enjoyed.
The broader tragedy here is how the term “drag” has been weaponized within the current Florida cultural climate. While drag performance has deep roots in artistic expression and community history, it has been willfully misrepresented by critics as inherently sexual and dangerous, particularly to minors. This moral panic has had a tangible effect, forcing venues and organizers to self-censor out of fear of harassment or legal repercussions. By fixating on a canceled performance, those opposing the festival have successfully shifted the narrative away from the event’s actual mission—a safe day of, at its core, neighbors supporting neighbors—and toward a manufactured culture war that prioritizes hostility over the well-being of local citizens.
Despite the shadow of threats and the noise of misinformation, Bunnell Pride will proceed as planned this Sunday. For Ebers and the many families involved, the event has become about something far larger than just a festival. It is a quiet, resilient act of defiance against fear. As the event opens its doors to the public, the message remains grounded in the simple, defiant belief that community shouldn’t be defined by who allows it to exist, but by the kindness and support that neighbors offer one another when they stand together. In a time of profound disconnection, the organizers are choosing to hold onto the light, hoping that the values of freedom and celebration will ultimately outshine the noise of those trying to tear the community apart.