The conflict stems from Kehlani's support for Palestinian rights in the ongoing Israel-Gaza conflict. A music video for their song "Next 2 U" opens with the message "long live the intifada," a phrase viewed by some as a rallying cry for Palestinian resistance and by others as a call to violence. Kehlani has defended their views as anti-genocide rather than anti-Jewish, but critics claim otherwise.
Among the most notable responses was from UC San Diego, which issued a statement withdrawing its sponsorship and participation from the festival due to what it described as Kehlani's "blatantly antisemitic views." The university emphasized its continued support for the LGBTQ+ community, but said it could not endorse the headliner.
Mayor Gloria, a gay man and longtime Pride supporter in the largely Democratic city, also announced he would not attend the Pride Festival, although his office later clarified he would still walk in the parade. In a letter to San Diego Pride, Gloria said he had received an "overwhelming" number of complaints about Kehlani and was disappointed in the organization’s decision to keep the singer on the bill.
Several local Jewish organizations followed suit, with eight groups announcing they would not participate in this year's Pride events, citing safety concerns and discomfort with Kehlani’s messaging.
The controversy has ignited a broader discussion around the boundaries between political speech and hate speech, especially in a country where criticism of Israel often draws accusations of antisemitism. Many observers, including academics and human rights experts, have pointed out that condemning the actions of a state—particularly one with a theocratic structure like Israel—does not equate to religious or ethnic hatred.
Dr. Judith Butler, a prominent philosopher and gender theorist, once observed, "One can oppose anti-Semitism and oppose the Israeli occupation of Palestine at the same time." Yet in the current climate, such distinctions are increasingly blurred, particularly on social media platforms that often conflate anti-Zionist expression with bigotry, leading to censorship and deplatforming of pro-Palestinian voices.
Kehlani recently drew national attention after Cornell University canceled their scheduled performance due to the artist’s stance on Palestine. The cancellation came just weeks before the May 7 event, with Cornell's president citing "anti-Israel sentiments." In response, Kehlani posted a video reaffirming their stance, stating they are "anti-genocide" and critical of the Israeli government’s actions, while rejecting accusations of antisemitism. A longtime ally of Jewish Voice for Peace and other progressive Jewish organizers, Kehlani emphasized that their advocacy stems from a commitment to human rights. Their voice joins a growing chorus of artists using their platforms to speak out on the war in Gaza, despite professional consequences.
Kehlani has publicly stated, "I am not antisemitic nor anti-Jew. I am anti-genocide." Their position aligns with international criticism of Israel’s actions in Gaza, including by organizations like the United Nations, Human Rights Watch, and Amnesty International. As Israel continues military campaigns, including recent airstrikes on Iran, public discourse remains polarized.
San Diego Pride organizers have stood by their decision to keep Kehlani as the headliner. In a statement, the organization emphasized its commitment to free speech and protest, noting, "Stonewall is an important touchstone for our community—a reminder that we are capable of resistance in the face of oppression."
But the event has now become a flashpoint, raising difficult questions about intersectionality, political solidarity, and who gets to decide the boundaries of community. Gloria's partial withdrawal signals a troubling precedent: that even in one of the nation’s most progressive cities, elected leaders may choose political expedience over principle when issues of global justice clash with domestic alliances.
For many LGBTQ+ San Diegans, especially those who identify as Palestinian, Arab, or Muslim, the exclusion and backlash have felt like a betrayal. For others, particularly Jewish LGBTQ+ individuals, the situation is emotionally fraught and charged with fears of erasure and danger.
The result is a Pride season marked not just by celebration, but by a reckoning with the contradictions inherent in movements that aim to be inclusive but often falter when intersectional politics collide. As the parade approaches this July, San Diego stands at a crossroads: will it embrace the full spectrum of voices that comprise its queer community, or will it bow to pressure that insists support for justice must come with caveats?
Kehlani has publicly stated, "I am not antisemitic nor anti-Jew. I am anti-genocide." Their position aligns with international criticism of Israel’s actions in Gaza, including by organizations like the United Nations, Human Rights Watch, and Amnesty International. As Israel continues military campaigns, including recent airstrikes on Iran, public discourse remains polarized.
San Diego Pride organizers have stood by their decision to keep Kehlani as the headliner. In a statement, the organization emphasized its commitment to free speech and protest, noting, "Stonewall is an important touchstone for our community—a reminder that we are capable of resistance in the face of oppression."
But the event has now become a flashpoint, raising difficult questions about intersectionality, political solidarity, and who gets to decide the boundaries of community. Gloria's partial withdrawal signals a troubling precedent: that even in one of the nation’s most progressive cities, elected leaders may choose political expedience over principle when issues of global justice clash with domestic alliances.
For many LGBTQ+ San Diegans, especially those who identify as Palestinian, Arab, or Muslim, the exclusion and backlash have felt like a betrayal. For others, particularly Jewish LGBTQ+ individuals, the situation is emotionally fraught and charged with fears of erasure and danger.
The result is a Pride season marked not just by celebration, but by a reckoning with the contradictions inherent in movements that aim to be inclusive but often falter when intersectional politics collide. As the parade approaches this July, San Diego stands at a crossroads: will it embrace the full spectrum of voices that comprise its queer community, or will it bow to pressure that insists support for justice must come with caveats?
San Diego Pride 2025 takes place July 16-20. For more information, including a schedule of events, visit sdpride.org.
Originally published on June 14, 2025.