For decades, the Fresno County Fairgrounds have stood at the center of public controversy. In 1942, the site served as an assembly center where more than 5,000 Japanese Americans were detained before being sent to internment camps, according to Central Valley News (Rodriguez, 2022). In 2005, a two-year-old girl contracted a severe E. coli infection after visiting the fairgrounds’ petting zoo, resulting in a $2.2 million settlement against the fair and a sanitation contractor (ABC30, 2010). Over the years, allegations of financial mismanagement, animal cruelty, and violence at major events have continued to shadow the fairgrounds’ reputation. Now, a new controversy is reigniting questions about accountability and public oversight. Cornerstone Church of Fresno—a conservative, charismatic congregation known for promoting anti-LGBTQ rhetoric—has been permitted to host its third annual “Church at the Fair” event on October 5 and 12. The decision has sparked outrage among some Fresno residents, who argue that a taxpayer-funded public venue should not be used to platform organizations accused of spreading divisive or discriminatory messages.
Cornerstone Church of Fresno’s political advocacy and public outreach are rooted in a rigid theological framework governing sexuality, gender, and marriage. While its website presents only a simplified belief that “God established monogamous marriage between a male and a female as the foundation of the family,” the church’s ties to the Assemblies of God denomination reveal a far more expansive doctrine. Within this framework, all non-heterosexual and non-cisgender identities are seen as consequences of humanity’s “fall from grace,” requiring spiritual “redemption.”
Pastor Jim Franklin leads the congregation alongside his wife, Pastor Cyndi Franklin, both credentialed within the Assemblies of God—a major Pentecostal movement emphasizing biblical inerrancy, salvation through Christ, and divine transformation. That affiliation places Cornerstone within a network of conservative evangelical churches that explicitly define gender as “an unchangeable characteristic” and view same-sex attraction or gender variance as spiritual disorders to be “redeemed through the gospel.” These doctrines don’t merely disapprove of LGBTQ+ identities—they recast them as moral failings that demand correction.
This belief system reframes discrimination as compassion, promoting “ex-gay” and “ex-transgender” narratives as acts of spiritual healing. It also provides the theological foundation for conversion-therapy ideology, which Cornerstone and its allies have repeatedly defended in both religious and political arenas. Publicly, however, the church strikes a different tone. Its website emphasizes a “welcoming environment for individuals from all walks of life,” projecting inclusivity while concealing a harsher doctrine that drives its activism.
The historical record shows that this dual approach has long defined Cornerstone’s strategy. Under Pastor Franklin’s leadership, the church has been a central organizing force in California’s Central Valley against LGBTQ+ rights. In 2005, Franklin partnered with the Traditional Values Coalition to fight same-sex marriage legislation, a campaign that intensified during the battle over Proposition 8, when he emerged as a key spokesperson. After same-sex marriage was legalized in 2013, the church’s strategy shifted—from legislative activism to cultural confrontation.
That pivot culminated in 2023 with a conference promoting “ex-gay” and “ex-transgender” speakers, advancing the discredited ideology of conversion therapy. Today, Cornerstone’s anti-LGBTQ+ advocacy is intertwined with a broader Christian nationalist movement. Its defiance of COVID-19 health mandates, promotion of religious symbols in public spaces, and alliances with figures like Turning Point USA’s Charlie Kirk underscore a consistent goal: to challenge secular governance and reshape public life around its version of biblical morality.
For more than 147 years, the Fresno County Fairgrounds have stood as a symbol of community celebration—a place defined by food, games, rides, and entertainment. Yet beneath the festive surface lies a deeper and more troubling history.
As Central Valley News reported, “for thousands of Japanese Americans in the Central Valley, this is the place they were forced to live after the attack on Pearl Harbor.” Among them was Frankie Wilkinson, who was detained there from May to October 1942. “They were prisons – what else can you call them?” he recalled. “There were guards out there” (Rodriguez, 2022). The fairgrounds’ wartime role as a detention site marked the beginning of a long and often uneasy relationship between the venue and the public it serves.
In the decades that followed, new controversies continued to emerge. Under the leadership of Deputy Manager Lauri King, who joined the fair’s administration in 2003, a two-year-old contracted a severe case of E. coli linked to the fair’s petting zoo. Then, in 2023, a state audit by the California Department of Food and Agriculture cited The Big Fresno Fair for “financial mismanagement” between 2020 and 2021 (Fox26 News, 2023). Together, these incidents reignited questions of oversight, accountability, and the stewardship of a publicly funded institution.
By late 2022, another dispute was beginning to take shape—this time over religion and public space. That October, Cornerstone Church of Fresno hosted its first “Church at the Big Fresno Fair,” a worship service held on state property. At the time, Lauri King was serving as Deputy Director and later assumed the role of CEO, overseeing operations from July 2022 through June 2023. Under her tenure, the fairgrounds began allowing faith-based organizations to hold services on publicly funded grounds—an arrangement that raised constitutional questions about the separation of church and state and the fair’s duty to maintain inclusivity in taxpayer-supported venues.
When contacted for comment, King did not respond. Follow-up inquiries sent to the fair’s communications department also went unanswered. Among the questions submitted were concerns about Cornerstone Church’s well-documented opposition to LGBTQ+ rights and its history of exclusionary rhetoric. The church has publicly denied the legitimacy of transgender identities, characterized LGBTQ+ identities as a “choice,” opposed same-sex marriage during California’s Proposition 8 campaign, and hosted a 2023 event titled “Taking Back the Rainbow,” intended to reclaim the Pride symbol for religious purposes.
Given this record, The Big Fresno Fair’s partnership with Cornerstone has raised concerns about whether the collaboration could foster an unwelcoming environment for LGBTQ+ attendees and other marginalized groups. Reporters also asked what measures the fair had taken to ensure all visitors feel safe and included at public events. Despite multiple attempts, no responses were provided.
Public rental records show that Cornerstone began leasing the Paul Paul Theater – a 4,701-seat venue, at the fairgrounds in 2022. On October 5, 2025, the church held its third annual “Church at the Fair,” promoting free admission to the fair for anyone attending the 9 a.m. service.
Documents indicate that renting the Paul Paul Theater costs roughly $1,800 per day, with additional deposits for cleaning and security bringing the total to about $5,400 for a single-day event or $10,800 for two. Cornerstone’s pastor, Jim Franklin, boasted on social media that “thousands” attended the October 5 service alone.
General admission to The Big Fresno Fair runs $15 for adults and $8 for children and seniors. If the church filled the 4,701-seat theater, the fair would have forfeited roughly $70,515 in adult ticket sales that day. Assuming a comparable turnout for a second service held on October 10, the total loss could reach an estimated $141,030.
This raises key questions: Why would the Fresno Fair Board permit such a substantial loss in revenue? Do current or former fair officials have ties to Cornerstone Church? Despite repeated requests for comments, neither King nor the fair’s communications staff responded.
Their silence leaves unresolved questions at the heart of this investigation: How does a taxpayer-funded institution reconcile its obligation to serve a diverse public with a decision to host a religious organization known for exclusionary beliefs? And for a venue long seen as a symbol of community celebration—does The Big Fresno Fair still belong to everyone?
The Fresno County Fairgrounds have long been a mirror of Central Valley power—who holds it, who’s excluded from it, and who remains silent when that power is misused. By allowing Cornerstone Church to turn a public stage into a platform for exclusionary theology, fair officials have blurred the line between civic neutrality and religious endorsement. Their refusal to answer basic questions about oversight and public access speaks volumes about whose voices are prioritized and whose concerns are dismissed. For a site that once confined Japanese Americans behind barbed wire, the decision to again host an event that marginalizes an entire community carries a painful symmetry. The fairgrounds may still call themselves “a place for everyone,” but until transparency and accountability replace silence, that promise remains unfulfilled.
