The Disappearing Act of Spencer Cox
First, Let’s Talk About Pride
Before we get into Spencer Cox and the Utah-shaped disaster of Pride Month politics, let’s take a breath and remember where Pride even comes from, and why it still matters.
Pride Month didn’t start as a marketing campaign. It didn’t come with hashtags, government proclamations, or rainbow Oreos. It started as a riot.
On June 28, 1969, queer people (especially trans women of color) fought back against police raids at the Stonewall Inn. That night of resistance sparked a movement, one that said: enough. Enough invisibility. Enough shame. Enough violence.
But Stonewall wasn’t the beginning. It was a flare in a long, dark stretch of road. Pride also rises from the ashes of the AIDS epidemic, a time when queer people were dying in droves, while the government looked away. From burying your friends one week and marching for them the next. From queer elders who had to fight for care, for housing, for basic survival, and somehow still found time to dance, to organize, to throw glitter in grief’s face.
Pride is a protest. But it’s also a memorial. A reminder. A survival strategy. It’s drag shows in church basements, vigil candles on sidewalks, joy in spite of everything. Pride is what happens when a community refuses to disappear, even when every system around them is trying to erase them.
So no, it’s not “just a party.” It’s not about who can make the cutest Pride ad campaign or who remembered to change their logo in June. It’s about who shows up and who doesn’t. Who speaks out and who stays silent. Who protects and who performs.
And that’s why what’s happening in Utah matters. It’s not just about one governor, or one proclamation, or even one law. It’s about a larger pattern: of disappearing language, hollow gestures, and performative moderation that masks real harm. It’s about what happens when leaders pretend to support you, until it becomes politically inconvenient.
Pride has always been about visibility. So when a governor stops saying “LGBTQ+,” or a state bans rainbow flags from classrooms, or sponsors pull out of Pride festivals to avoid controversy, that’s not neutral. That’s erasure. And erasure is policy.
That’s why we’re here. To name it. To fight it. And to say, clearly, loudly, and unapologetically: that we are still here.
Cox’s Vanishing Act: From Proclamations to Policy
Spencer Cox wants you to believe he’s different. He’s special. That he’s kind. That he’s thoughtful. That he “disagrees better.” And in 2021, he almost had us fooled.
In 2021, Cox became the first Utah governor to issue an official Pride Month proclamation. And the first Republican Governor in the country. It felt meaningful. Groundbreaking, even. In a deeply conservative state, there was a Republican governor saying LGBTQ+ out loud. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
But now we have nothing. Literally nothing. Actually actively harming.
Each year, the proclamations got shorter. The language got vaguer. Then the proclamations disappeared entirely. Meanwhile, the legislation he signed told a very different story: one of silence, capitulation, and harm.
When it came time to choose between appeasing far-right legislators or defending vulnerable Utahns, he made his choice. Again and again.
Below is the record. Just the receipts.
2021: The Debut Era
Proclamation:
The first-ever “LGBTQ+ Pride Month” declaration from a Utah governor.
Included language about mental health, inclusion, and “unconditional love.”
Widely praised, even nationally, as a bold step for a Republican leader.
Legislation:
No major anti-LGBTQ+ bills passed this year.
Cox had political space to lead and he took it. For a half a second.
2022: The Copy-Paste Year
Proclamation:
Reissued the exact same proclamation from 2021.
No changes. No additions. No acknowledgment of the moment or the movement.
Legislation:
HB11: A ban on transgender girls participating in school sports.
Cox vetoed the bill, citing concerns about the harm to trans youth and the lack of real cases in Utah.
But then... he folded. The legislature overrode the veto, and he offered no further resistance.
He praised the process instead of fighting for the people harmed by it.
This was the last time he showed even a sliver of backbone.
2023: The Sentiment Disappears
Proclamation:
Now simply “Pride Month in Utah.”
The acronym “LGBTQ+” vanished.
Language softened into corporate speak: “dignity,” “diversity,” “everyone belongs.”
Legislation:
SB16: A ban on gender-affirming healthcare for trans youth.
Signed by Cox.
Called it “nuanced” while ignoring every major medical organization opposing it.
Created an indefinite moratorium on care for new patients.
2024: The Bridge to Nowhere
Proclamation:
Renamed “A Month of Bridge Building.”
No mention of Pride. No mention of LGBTQ+ people.
All vague metaphors, no actual meaning.
Legislation:
HB257: A bill banning transgender people from using bathrooms in public/government buildings.
Signed quietly.
No press release. No explanation.
Just the stroke of a pen and silence.
This was also an election year. Cox was facing pressure from his right and it showed.
2025: The Disappearing Act Is Complete
Proclamation:
Nothing.
No Pride Month proclamation at all.
Just an Instagram graphic about “service” and “respect.” In the color that is the exact opposite of a rainbow.
He liked both pro- and anti-LGBTQ+ comments. Because that’s “bridge building,” apparently.
Legislation:
HB269 – Trans dorm ban: Signed into law. Bans trans students at public colleges from living in dorms aligned with their gender.
Cox gave no public comment.
HB77 – Pride flag ban: Banned Pride flags from schools and government buildings.
Cox didn’t sign it but let it become law without his signature.
Later said the law was “divisive,” but affirmed he supported restricting Pride flags in classrooms.
Also this year: the state delivered a report on the gender-affirming care ban. The report said the care was safe. Effective. Necessary. Cox never acknowledged it.
The Performance Is the Point
This isn’t just a governor who lost interest in Pride Month. This is a pattern: of saying the right thing when it’s safe, and doing the wrong thing when it matters.
When he could be praised, he spoke.
When it required courage, he vanished.
When extremist legislators pushed cruel laws, he signed them or let them pass unchallenged.
And when queer Utahns needed protection, he offered a Canva graphic.
Spencer Cox may call himself a moderate. But moderation isn’t silence. It isn’t rebranding Pride as “respect.” And it sure as hell isn’t pretending neutrality while rights are being taken away.
Here’s the hard truth: Moderates like Cox are often more dangerous than the extremists.
People like Mike Lee are honest about their cruelty. You know what you’re getting. But Cox smiles while he stabs you in the back. He builds trust, projects empathy, and then disappears when the fight begins. And somehow, he still gets credit for being "one of the good ones."
That’s the scam.
The “Moderate Mafia,” as we have written about before, are the electeds who say they’re above partisanship, who center civility and dialogue and mutual understanding, and then quietly usher in the same regressive policies as their louder colleagues. But because they do it with a Patagonia vest and a reasonable tone, people think they’re safe.
They’re not.
Because betrayal wrapped in niceness is still betrayal.
Because signing anti-LGBTQ+ laws while saying you “love” people is still signing them.
Because refusing to stand up to your party’s bullies while pretending to “disagree better” is worse than yelling with them, it’s lying to everyone else.
So no, Cox isn’t better than the far-right extremists. He’s just better at pretending he is.
Bigger Picture: National Edition
It’s not just Spencer Cox. Across the country this June, Pride is feeling smaller. Quieter. And not by accident.
Let’s start at the top: Donald Trump hasn’t acknowledged Pride Month. Not once. Not in a statement, not in a tweet, not even a poorly lit Truth Social video. For a guy who never misses an opportunity to grandstand, the silence is intentional.
And it’s contagious.
Based on our research, not a single Republican governor has issued a Pride Month proclamation in 2025. Not one. Even in past years when some red-state governors offered lukewarm support or symbolic nods, this year, there’s a coordinated freeze-out. The message is clear: you are not worth political risk.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, pressure campaigns are working.
Corporate sponsors are quietly pulling out of Pride festivals. In New York City, the largest Pride event in the U.S., companies like Mastercard, Citi, Nissan, PepsiCo, and PwC have withdrawn their support. In San Francisco, Pride lost over $200,000 in sponsorships. In D.C., Booz Allen Hamilton dropped out of WorldPride. And right here in Utah, Pride is short $400,000, nearly half of its usual budget.
Publicly, they say it’s “economic uncertainty.”
Privately, it’s fear of backlash.
Boycotts. Right-wing outrage. Trump retribution.
It’s the same dynamic we’ve seen with Target, Bud Light, and countless other brands. They were happy to slap a rainbow on their logo when it was trendy. Now they’re vanishing the second it gets hard.
And that’s the real danger: Pride is being erased by a thousand quiet decisions.
No proclamation. No statement. No flag.
No budget. No sponsor. No ad campaign.
No words. No fight. No risk.
And in that vacuum, anti-LGBTQ+ policies thrive.
Across the country this year, more than 700 anti-LGBTQ+ bills have been introduced. That includes bans on healthcare, bathroom access, books, pronouns, and even rainbow flags. And all of it is happening while the political class and corporate America pretend they’re just being “neutral.”
But neutrality is a choice. And in the face of oppression, it’s never the right one.
So if you’ve felt like Pride is quieter this year, not just in Utah, you’re not imagining it. It’s being hollowed out by fear. By silence. By people in power who would rather protect their careers, their brands, or their poll numbers than protect actual human beings.
What You Can Do
If you're feeling angry, disillusioned, or extremely sad right now, good. That means you’re paying attention. And while Spencer Cox, Donald Trump, and half the corporate world are ghosting Pride, you don’t have to.
Here’s how to fight back, stay loud, and have some fun while doing it:
1. Get your pride merch
We already wrote the whole saga of HB77: the Pride flag ban that tried to make rainbows illegal in Utah schools and how Salt Lake City clapped back the Utah way: with municipal sass.
Now? We turned it into merch. Flags. Stickers. Tote bags. Mugs. Vibes.
This Is Not a Pride Flag → Go buy your rainbows. Give one to your neighbor. Stick it on your car. Fly it from your porch. And remind the Legislature that Utahns don’t scare that easy.
2. Beat Cox. Literally.
Spencer Cox is a moderate in branding only. So we made some merch that’s a little less... polite.
“I ❤️ Cox (Except the Governor)” – for the lovers and the haters alike
“Beat Cox” – in that font, because he banned Pornhub and still expects you to vote for him
Wearing these might not change the legislature overnight but it will turn heads at the farmer’s market. And that’s a start.
3. Get Involved in Utah
Attend a Utah Pride festival event. Attend a Utah Pride festival event. Wear your merch, add glitter, and join in celebrating, supporting, and showing up for your community. Bring a friend. Bring two. Bring your awkward ally coworker who needs to learn things.
If you have the time or money, donate or volunteer for one of the organizations working to support our queer community in Utah like:
Support and donate to state legislative candidates who are actively fighting for LGBTQ+ rights, especially those running against lawmakers who voted for the Pride flag ban in the House and Senate.
Post about what’s happening. Call your legislator. Write the school board. Share the data. Share this post. Pride started with protest, and it still matters when you show up, even if it’s small.
Spencer Cox wants to disappear Pride without getting his hands dirty. He wants credit for being nice while signing away people’s rights. He wants you to believe that silence is civility, that neutrality is leadership, and that nothing is political if you just don’t say the words out loud.
But we’re not fooled. And we’re not going anywhere.
Pride is still protest. Joy is still resistance. And visibility is survival. So, whether they ban the flag, rewrite the proclamation, or ignore the entire month, we’ll still be here, and so will you.
