Arts & Entertainment
Roadwork reflects on its herstory to plan its future
Social justice coalition makes room for the next generation of artist activists

In 1978, amid the second wave of feminism in the aftermath of Roe v. Wade, Roadwork – a multiracial coalition – put women’s art, particularly that of women of color, on the road. Building the roads where they didn’t already exist, Roadwork created an intersection of opportunity and social change, wherein artists from diverse backgrounds shared their voices while advancing an array of social justice movements.
Forty-five years later, the coalition remains firm in its vision to support artists while connecting them to women’s cultural contributions that are absent from white feminist history. However, today, the organization is reflecting on women’s history more than ever to gauge how Roadwork will best support women and queer artists in the future.
“The beautiful thing about movements over time is that we keep growing and learning,” Roadwork co-founder Amy Horowitz said. “[For] Roadwork, it’s like a dream come true that younger artists activists are envisioning a new way forward.”
Horowitz and Bernice Johnson Reagon founded Roadwork when the very word “woman” was radicalized, Horowitz said. As activists in their 20s and early 30s, Horowitz and Reagon developed the organization as they went along, producing shows while supporting civil rights, women’s rights and gay rights movements in Washington, D.C.
In addressing how racist or misogynistic ideologies exist not only systemically but also within individuals and women’s movements, Roadwork created events where activists could focus on building coalitions across differences to take a congregational approach to fight regressive social forces like racism, sexism, and homophobia.
One manifestation of this vision was the Sisterfire Festival. Started in 1982 as a one-day fundraising festival to amplify the work of grassroots artists in response to arts funding cuts, the event welcomed all genders, races, and sexualities to support women’s voices. The festival then evolved into an annual celebration that required year-round booking, production, and coalition building.
“Sisterfire does not exist in a vacuum, it is in the voice of the song, it is in the pictures we draw, it is in the leap of the dance, and it is in the shout of the poem that we send forth, beyond the battle, our vision of the way the world should be,” a host of the first Sisterfire Festival said on stage.
The Sisterfire Festival ran until 1989, two years after two white lesbian separatists refused to let two gay Black Sisterfire volunteers into their booth during the festival.
“The festival went on for a few years after that, but we, at that point, couldn’t recover from that attack that we received from the radical lesbian separatist movement,” Horowitz said.
But the end of the Sisterfire Festival didn’t overshadow Roadwork’s vision. Horowitz founded the Jerusalem Project in 1991 with the help of the Smithsonian Institution for Folklife and Cultural Heritage, strengthening what is now a longstanding relationship between Roadwork and the Smithsonian Institute.
Roadwork even collaborated with the Smithsonian Folklife Festival and the Kennedy Center Millennium Stage in 2018 for the coalition’s 40th-anniversary celebration – a Sisterfire reunion festival.
After packing an audience into the Kennedy Center’s Millennium Stage, the Kennedy Center invited Roadwork back for a Sisterfire showcase every year since the reunion.
“It just really seemed like an awesome thing to do, to localize that, kind of, official space and grassrootsify it,” Horowitz said. “They support us doing what we want to do.”
As Roadwork prepared for this year’s annual Sisterfire showcase on March 4, the coalition takes time to reflect on where they’ve been to find direction in where to move forward, according to Roadwork Interim Director Lehuanani DeFranco.
During Sisterfire’s hiatus, Roadwork prioritized gathering archival information. After a storage facility sold and emptied one of Roadwork’s storage units that held archives, the challenge to recover the past came with a time limit.
“In this day and age where people are getting older and the stories are sort of getting lost, it’s really important to be able to collect any of that information, whether from the different types of programs or letters that would come in, to videos and archival footage that we’d be taking from interviews with people,” DeFranco said.
Collecting the oral and documented histories of Roadwork holds the coalition accountable as community builders reacting to change, DeFranco added. Aside from looking back to see how Roadwork previously dealt with challenges or considering how the coalition needs to evolve, collecting archives may also enable Roadwork to share these diverse historical perspectives with museums and universities for the next generation.
Beyond connecting the next generation of artists activists to this history, the coalition is entrusting the next generation of Roadwork leaders with finding the communities and organizations that need support in their fight for social change.
“I’m really wanting to hand over the reins, in a way, of the type of artists that we are putting on stage and the type of artists that others think should be elevated in their community,” DeFranco said.
Supporting artists also means granting them the freedom and trust to share their art in the way they want. While Roadwork offers its resources and connections to advance other projects, its fiscal sponsorship doesn’t change the vision of the project and instead operates as more of a “big sister relationship,” DeFranco explained.
Roadwork currently is involved in nine projects, including three educational initiatives, three documentary projects and three sponsored projects supporting archival work, artist housing, and Indigenous music curation aimed at reimagining Western music genres.

The fourth annual Equality Prince William Pride was held at the Harris Pavilion in Manassas, Va. on Saturday, May 17.
(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)






















The Washington Blade held its 18th annual Summer Kickoff Party in Rehoboth Beach, Del., on Friday, May 16. Delaware Gov. Matt Meyer spoke along with State Sen. Russ Huxtable, CAMP Rehoboth Executive Director Kim Leisey, Blade Editor Kevin Naff, and Clear Space Theatre Managing Director Joe Gfaller. The event raises funds for the Steve Elkins Memorial Fellowship in Journalism, which was awarded to AU student Abigail Hatting.
(Washington Blade photos by Daniel Truitt)



















In some fowl fiction foreshadowing, a gay-owned chicken joint has come home to roost on U Street, taking a page from the chicken window subplot on the HBO show “Looking.”
Last Friday, Lucky Pollo – much more than just a takeout window – stretched its wings atop the busy nightlife corner of 14th and U Streets NW.
Behind the poultry production place is Zach Renovátes, a D.C.-based nightlife operator and managing partner of LGBTQ venues Bunker and District Eagle, as well as the LGBTQ event production company KINETIC Presents.
Renovátes opened Bunker in February 2023 and District Eagle in January of this year. Lucky Pollo is the third in his growing gay empire, though this time there are noshes.
“Lucky Pollo was meant to be fun and a little provocative,” Renovátes said.
Based around its Peruvian-style rotisserie chicken, Lucky Pollo is a quick-service restaurant boasting a small menu of poultry and sides. Renovátes says that the dishes are deeply rooted in Peruvian culinary tradition, “a playful experience alongside seriously good food.”
Lucky Pollo’s signature chicken is steeped in a dozen-plus-spice marinade for 24 hours. The meat is then slow-roasted, rotisserie-style, over oak-wood charcoal. Chicken options include quarter, half, and whole.
Helming the kitchen at Lucky Pollo is Chef Luis Herrera, who brings Peruvian recipes passed down through three generations, including his grandmother Laura’s original creations.

Beyond the full bird, the menu features Peruvian-inspired sides like yuca fries (“I personally love these,” says Renovátes) and fried plantains, as well as comfort classics such as mac and cheese and mashed potatoes, and bowls, wraps, and salads. Herrera oversees development of the multiple sauces (including staff favorite, the “secret green sauce”), crafted in-house using traditional Peruvian ingredients.
Lucky Pollo, in its streetside perch, is an independent concept from District Eagle, open to the public and staying open late (3 a.m. on weekends) to serve both nightlife guests and the wider U Street crowd hungry for late-night bites. However, just beyond the kitchen, tucked in the back lies a vintage 1950s candy machine—labeled “Out of Order,” which serves as the door leading to subterranean District Eagle.
Renovátes notes that when District Eagle is open, security staff will maintain a strict two-line policy, ensuring that those seeking meat to eat will not get entwined with those looking to gain access to District Eagle.
Lucky Pollo unites the need for sustenance with the idea of a bit of fortune, given its motto, “Get Lucky” and the whimsical brand mascot: a leather-booted chicken perched on a horseshoe. Renovátes and his District Eagle business partner had always been interested in opening a restaurant, and the Lucky Pollo space was indeed lucky: It already came with a functional kitchen. Plus, he says, the nearby fast-casual places around 14th and U streets “don’t offer a lot of quality options,” so opening the chicken spot “was a no-brainer.”
The space, designed by NYC creative Jasin Cadic, blends theatrical street-art-style vibes with Keith Haring-inspired wall prints, neon signs, and ceiling-hung chicken figurines —”some edgy, some sweet,” says Renovátes —creating an immersive, playful atmosphere. Lucky Pollo and District Eagle maintain separate amenities for their respective customers.
Lucky Pollo opened last week with a competition to devour a whole rotisserie chicken in the fastest time, with the winner earning $1,000 and a framed spot on the restaurant’s “Wall of Fame.” The opening also featured other games and prizes, and a full crowd spilling out the door.
“We want it to be a great place to eat, but also serve as a playful front for something completely unexpected.” Renovátes says.
On weekends especially, he jokes, the motto will be, ‘Come for the chicken, stay for the cock.’”