Meet Chi Hughes: The Activist Who Co-Founded The First Openly LGBTQ+ Student Organization at an HBCU
Activist, organizer, and pioneer, Chi Hughes. Photo courtesy of Chi Hughes.
By Jaimee A. Swift
As a pioneering activist, organizer, and alumnus of Howard University, Annette “Chi” Hughes (she/her/hers) paved a formidable legacy for LGBTQ+ student-activists at Howard as the co-founder of the first openly LGBTQ+ student organization at an HBCU.
Chi Hughes’ interview is a part of ‘Voices in Movement’ February 2020 theme, #MakingBlackQueerHistory: Black LGBTQ+ Women and Non-Binary Student Activism at HBCUs. To read the descriptor, please click here.
In 2019, Howard University’s official LGBTQ+ undergraduate student organization, CASCADE (the Coalition of Activist Students Celebrating the Acceptance of Diversity and Equality), celebrated its 40th anniversary as an organization on Howard’s campus. Recognized as the first and longest openly LGBTQ+ student organization at any historically Black college or university, former and current student-activists of CASCADE have truly made revolutionary strides in garnering LGBTQ+ rights and representation. From tabling and petitioning the university’s administration to establish and offer Queer Studies courses (which were offered for the first time in 2019); to ensuring the university acknowleges Pride Month in June as well as securing the month of October as Howard’s specific Pride Month; to hosting their annual conference titled, “As Queer As It Is Black”, CASCADE is undoubtedly continuing in the legacy of queer student-activism and leadership at Howard University.
However, CASCADE and its other LGBTQ+ student organizational iterations and predecessors at Howard––most notably Oxala and BLAGOSAH (the Bisexual, Lesbian, Allied, and Gay Organization of Students at Howard University)––would not have existed if it wasn’t for Chi Hughes, who in 1979 co-founded the first and original iteration of CASCADE, Oxala, and BLUGOSAH, which was then named the Lambda Student Alliance (LSA). It is because of Hughes’ leadership, bravery, and relentless pursuit for justice that an officially recognized LGBTQ+ student organization exists at Howard University today.
Nestled in Northwest Washington, D.C., Howard University––which is affectionately called by its students as “The Mecca”––is known for its cadre of renown students, faculty, staff, and alumni. While many may be familiar with some of the university’s prominent alumni such as Amiri Baraka, Kwame Ture (previous Stokely Carmichael), Elijah Cummings, and Kamala Harris, many are unaware––as it has often gone unpromoted––of Howard’s queer pioneers, history makers, and activists such as Lucy Diggs Slowe, a lesbian educator who was the first Black woman to serve as Dean of any U.S. university and the first Dean of Women at Howard University, who was also one of the sixteen founders and the first president of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated, the first sorority founded by Black American women in 1908 at Howard; Alain Locke, an openly gay academic, educator, and activist who is referred to as the “Dean” or the “Father” of the Harlem Renaissance and the College of Arts and Sciences Building at Howard is name after; Pauli Murray, a genderqueer civil rights activist, an Episcopal priest, lawyer, and co-founder of the National Organization for Women (NOW), who was also the true mastermind behind the landmark 1954 Supreme Court court case, Brown v. Board of Education; Zora Neale Hurston, a bisexual author, anthropologist, filmmaker, and Harlem Renaissance extraordinaire who not only co-founded Howard University’s student newspaper, The Hilltop, but while at Howard, would frequent The Caverns (later, Bohemian Caverns) as a space where LGBTQ+ students could meet, mix, and mingle; and Cheryl Clarke, a prolific lesbian activist, poet, and essayist. Moreover, Howard University is noted as being the founding point of the Black Pride Movement, “an international movement celebrating the unique experiences of Black people who are same-gender loving (SGL); [with] the first Black Pride celebration held across the street from Howard at Banneker field.” Here, Howard University is surrounded and entrenched by a very queer and very Black legacy of radical organizing in D.C.––which was the nation’s first Black-majority city formally known as “Chocolate City” and in area which has often been described as a “Queer Capital.”
Born in Hyde County, Alabama but raised in Hollis, Queens, New York, Chi Hughes, 62, who arrived at Howard in 1975, is another queer pioneer whose work at the university may be overlooked by its administration; however, is still felt, seen, heard, known, and lives in the students who continue in her footsteps and who carry the mantle she lit 40 plus years ago.
Co-chaired by Hughes and fellow Howard U student, Warrior Richardson in 1979, the Lamba Student Alliance was founded to foster and build community for gay students. Hosting educational seminars, executive board meetings, events, and even parties, Lamba Student Alliance provided a safe space where gay students and even faculty and staff at Howard could feel included and where their Blackness, queerness, and livelihoods could exist on equal and irrefutable planes. However, Lambda Student Alliance was not formulated without a fight and without resistance from Howard’s administration. The administration tried to prevent Hughes, Richardson, and other students from chartering the organization, which subsequently led to LSA members’ filing a lawsuit. The lawsuit forced the administration to acquiesce to their demands and LSA would later become chartered and recognized as an official student organization. However, Hughes and other LSA members would receive homophobic backlash from administrators, staff, and even fellow peers. In a 1980 Washington Post article, Kali Hill, the former president of Howard University’s Student Association (HUSA), felt LSA and gay students did not belong at Howard, with Hill stating, “I feel that homosexuality is an abomination, and would be a destructive force on this campus...We have to consider the dangers of homosexuality and ask ourselves if this is something that the black community needs."
Despite such regressive resistance to her activism, Hughes’ leadership prevailed––on and off Howard’s campus. The same year Hughes co-founded the Lamba Student Alliance in 1979, she also became a founder of Sapphire Sapphos, D.C.’s “first ongoing political, social, and cultural group for Black lesbians”, which was also the very same year the National March on Washington for Lesbian and Gay Rights took place in Washington, D.C. Hughes later became the first African-American Deputy Director of the Los Angeles LGBT Center and has led countless initiatives and campaigns to combat violence against women, HIV/AIDS, homelessness, and so much more.
A true revolutionary pioneer in her own right, Hughes has spearheaded a blueprint, a movement, and legacy that will forever be etched into the frameworks of Howard, Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, California, and beyond.
I spoke with Hughes about her experiences at Howard University; about the moment that led her to her activism; the importance of documenting Black LGBTQ+ history; how proud she is of CASCADE for continuing the work of LGBTQ+ activism at Howard; and what a Black Woman Radical means to her.
In your write-up about your work on the Rainbow History Digital Project Collections, it says for you, “being a visible gay woman of color at that point in time, in the early ‘80s, was a political statement.” What were some of the challenges and benefits of being “a visible gay woman of color” at Howard University, in Washington, D.C., and wherever you were located at that time?
Chi Hughes (CH): “The benefits at Howard––it was character building because if you stop and think about it, we were 18, 19, and 20 years-old. So, taking on this cause, if you will, we were still trying to figure out who we are. We are in D.C., and that point in time it was called ‘Chocolate City’ because it was about 65 or 70 percent Black, and there was this sense of comfort being in a Black city from my perspective, having grown up in New York and having a Black professor until I got to Howard. Coming to Howard meant a safe space, only to find that once I identified as gay, lesbian, or queer, it became not as safe. So, it was a time where––it was the eighties. White maleness and all of that was the letter of the day. Heterosexuality. Here, we were totally different, so to speak, trying to still have a voice and have a say and moving against the status quo. It was character building––we were learning and building our own identity. I have friendships that I still have from 40-something years ago. Community building. I think CASCADE was hopefully able to stand on our shoulders in building a community at Howard and not just how it felt then when we were rather isolated and closeted. Hopefully, a community exists where people feel safer. And a little bit of notoriety. For better or for worse!” [Laughs]
“Coming to Howard meant a safe space, only to find that once I identified as gay, lesbian, or queer, it became not as safe. ”
You discuss Howard being a safe space until you identified as a lesbian. How did it feel to experience backlash from the administration and even students––from people who look like you? Was this backlash also what initiated the founding of the Lambda Student Alliance (now CASCADE), which is the first openly LGBTQ+ student organization at a historically black college or university?
CH: “Oh, [the backlash] was what made us work. It did not feel good, of course. This is when I realized that I was an activist before I was gay because, if you allow me, I would like to go back to when I was about 12 or 13 in Queens, New York. I wanted a paper route and back then, you delivered papers and you got paid for it. I wanted a route and they wouldn’t let girls have paper routes. I said to my Dad, ‘Hey, that’s not right! We should protest––we should go up to the newspaper and protest on Saturday!’ [Laughs]. He said, “Okay,” and we went. That is why I say I am an activist who happens to be gay. Back then, this thing was going on around sexism and I knew it, felt it, and it didn’t feel good and I just wanted to speak out against it. So, that is kind of where it started for me. Now, here I am at Howard and I finding out who I am. I was excited to go to Howard to get out of New York so I could go actualize as this gay person and I didn’t feel like I could do that under my parents’ watchful eyes. So, I figured, jeez––Howard, a Black spot.”
“We need a place to come together. We need to acknowledge who we are. We needed to build a community of safety to come out and explore all of this together. We decided, a group of us, to formalize an organization.”
“I talked to people who knew Black gay folks that I could get in touch with in D.C. So, I go to Howard and I am thinking––I am seeing people who look like me and I am going past the Fine Arts Building and I see these visibly gay men––they were visibly gay to me from my lens. I would go to the clubs and I would go to the Black gay club called “The Clubhouse” and I would see people and associates at Howard. Here we are dancing on the dance floor and when Monday comes, we go back and don’t acknowledge each other because we weren’t out. That sucked. Why couldn’t I go up to this person and say, ‘We had a really good time at the club the other evening. Did you want to do this or that or what did you think about the protest against the administration?’ but we couldn’t have those conversations because we were so afraid. I was like, ‘This is crazy.’ We need a place to come together. We need to acknowledge who we are. We needed to build a community of safety to come out and explore all of this together. We decided, a group of us, to formalize an organization. To do that, we needed a charter that allowed us the same access to the privileges and use of space and a little bit of money from the school to organize as a chartered organization. We thought we should have access to all of that, too––just like any other organization. When we did approach the school administration about a charter, they were decisive and pretty much told us we couldn’t. We thought we should and could have a gay organization on campus and we filed a lawsuit. That was when they acquiesced. We got the signatures we needed to form the charter and so they had to allow us.”
Do you mind sharing the types of events, initiatives, and campaigns the Lambda Student Alliance had?
CH: “We would have meetings––I am going to say I don’t know the frequency of the meetings but we did have regular meetings. When we wanted to meet on campus, something as simple as having access to rooms––we didn’t even have that. This is where the beauty of organizing comes from too––when you’re out and you’re visible it is easier to identify your allies. Janitors unlocked rooms for us so we could use them and we would meet. We had forums. I remember one that stands out is that we had Dr. June Dobbs Butts, who had a Ph.D. in human sexuality, I believe. We invited her to do a forum to talk about about homosexuality. So people would come and say they were doing research for their class [Laughs] or they could come and be a part of the community and at least see other people who were out. But Dr. Butts came, and I remember the comment from her that stands out the most because she was a professed heterosexual. The comment that stands out most is she said, “Don’t die wondering”, to the students in attendance [Laughs]. She really normalized homosexuality in a way that was academically sound and we had a chance to just be visible.”
“The whole thing of why it was political to be out during that time was that you are fighting against the status quo, you are fighting against the norm––the normative––and you cannot do that with power and success as an individual. It forces you to organize and organizations are generative. So, that is in a nutshell the process and the whole thing of just existing, being visible, and being political because you are pushing against this thing.”
Do you ever look at yourself in the context of being a blueprint or a pioneer?
CH: “No, but people do, and so I have. I understand as a part of the aging process it is part of my purpose to share what I know. This is something that I have come to know in my sixties. When people say now that you are a pioneer, and 40 years ago you did x, y, and z and then I think, ‘Well damn, maybe I am a pioneer.’ [Laughs] It was done because it had to be done and now that I am older, I have learned some things from it and it makes sense for me to share it.”
In 2019, Sapphire Sapphos had an event last year in Washington, D.C., commemorating the 40th anniversary of its founding in 1979. Sapphire Sapphos was D.C.’s “first ongoing political, social, and cultural group for Black lesbians.” You are a co-founder of Sapphire Sapphos. Can you please tell me more about the organization and why was it so important for you to establish this safe space for Black lesbians?
Article about Sapphire Sapphos, "Of Gems and Nurturing Women by Jim Marks". Washington Blade, 1984. Image via DC Library.
CH: “I could start with the name of the organization. The name tells you who we were and who we wanted to be seen as and knowing through our name, that we are lesbians. For people who are familiar with Sappho and then taking that imagery of Sapphire in cinema and literature––that was a caricature of a Black woman––we wanted to turn that on its head. People may say the imagery of Sapphire was offensive and some may say because she was strong and defiant and amongst other things––we thought those were positive qualities and we were going to take them as such and name our organization, Sapphire Sapphos. We were a group of friends looking for places to go and D.C. was pretty segregated back then. The gay white guys didn’t want Black folks in their clubs and made us have several IDs to get in and so that wasn’t a viable way to socialize. Part of our history that is probably not out there is that I mentioned The Clubhouse as being a popular Black gay club during that time. They opened another club downtown that I guess they wanted to appeal to the straight community but because gay folks who went to The Clubhouse knew they were opening up another spot, just assumed it would be open and welcoming. Well, I went there with a friend, a woman, and got up to dance and they asked me not to dance with her. I was like, ‘What the fuck? Is this The Clubhouse or not?’ It was like wait a minute––I guess we were not wanted there, so where could we go?”
“People may say the imagery of Sapphire was offensive and some may say because she was strong and defiant and amongst other things––we thought those were positive qualities and we were going to take them as such and name our organization, Sapphire Sapphos.”
“We just decided to create our own because some of the women had children and it became something where we said we wanted to be family-friendly. Because the group of us who formed it were interested in the politics of the day, we wanted it to be political. We were in our own way social activists and decided we wanted to incorporate all of those things. We also wanted to have a good time. We wanted to be able to go and dance without anyone telling us to ‘please leave the dance floor.’ We wanted to formulate something that allowed us to do all of that. And we did. We started just by asking folks to come and get together. We found this little club and I can’t remember the name of it now. I think it was near 14th and U––which is nothing like what it is now. There was a club, a bar there, and the owner of the bar said we could meet there and we said, ‘Great!’ We started meeting there but then some of the members of the group said, ‘Hey, we don’t want our kids leaving and smelling like day old beer’ because we were bringing the kids to the meetings with us [Laughs]. We needed to find another location. A friend, a gay activist, Ray Melrose, a wonderful human being who since has passed on from HIV, said we could use his carriage house at the back of his home. He was turning it into a social spot for the community and he said we could meet there. So, we met there at Enik Alley Coffeehouse located at the corner of I and 8th streets in Northeast D.C. It was perfect. We started meeting there and it was a similar kind of thing of let’s create our own safe space and creating who we were as an organization. We liked entertainment and dancing, so we invited groups like Sweet Honey in The Rock and also, Audre Lorde spoke at the Coffeehouse, too. We showed up at Gay Pride just to show that there are Black lesbians and lesbians of color who wanted to present. We just created something because of the void.”
You were honored as a community pioneer by the Rainbow History Project Digital Collections, and for your work in curating and creating D.C.’s LGBTQ+ community. You also were the first African-American Deputy Director of the Los Angeles LGBT Center. With all your activism, there is so much of Black lesbian history, activism, and leadership that has been overlooked. Why is it important to you that Black lesbian––and Black LGBTQ+ history in general––is documented?
CH: “History is history. Those who are in power get to write it and tell the stories. History influences so much so that stories that have been told about us––many have not been uplifting at all. It is important for us to tell our own stories and uplift because for me, it is about being able to fully actualize who you are. If I am holding a part of myself back that doesn’t allow me to sit at the table and tell my stories, and it doesn’t allow me to be counted, and that doesn’t push against ideas that I am anti-family or I am anti-Black or perverted or any of those things, if I can’t understand those things aren’t true statements and if I can’t come forward and live my true life and my best life, then how are others going to do that? How are they going to find their way? So, that is really why history is important. It is important for people to know there are folks who look like you who did powerful things.”
“We need people we can say fully actualized and lived their best lives and showed up as complete and whole individuals who helped the planet. That is where I come from. Our history is important so people can know we can exist, can gain strength from it, can try to be as whole and complete as they are. Whatever thing you think may have shamed you, throw it aside.”
“I can’t say with complete support––if I would say to a young kid who wanted to be a politician and a congresswoman and she is a lesbian, I can’t point my finger and say, ‘Barbara Jordan, look at her’, because she lived her life in the closet. For me to even say or to associate her with the LGBTQ+ community, some would find blasphemous or shameful and it would be a sham if I don’t. We need people we can say fully actualized and lived their best lives and showed up as complete and whole individuals who helped the planet. That is where I come from. Our history is important so people can know we can exist, can gain strength from it, can try to be as whole and complete as they are. Whatever thing you think may have shamed you, throw it aside. Here is a part of history you haven’t heard: you haven’t heard about us. I have realized over time the importance of history and us being represented in a positive way and that we have contributed to society as a whole.”
What other activism have you done and led? Do you mind telling me more about your work?
CH: “Working at the Los Angeles LGBT Center, while it was a LGBTQ+ organization, the center also addressed various social issues. There were 10 different departments. There was a department called “Lesbian Central” and the youth department provided housing for runaway LGBTQ+ youth. There was a mental health division and substance abuse treatment and there was a clinic. HIV/AIDS was big then in terms of people trying to figure out what it was, how to treat it, and how it was transmitted. The center led me into working for an organization called Prototypes. Its focus was specifically on women, HIV, and substance use. In that capacity, Icreated curricula for HIV prevention targeting women. It was an international program funded by the federal government. I got to learn about domestic violence, which was a big issue in preventing women from protecting themselves from HIV transmission. Through that, I got a chance to go to South Africa to Soweto to talk about HIV/AIDS prevention and women. The road through which I learned about other social justice issues and activism was being gay, being a student at Howard University, and being around during the time of the HIV/AIDS epidemic and deciding this is something that is important to me. I saw the disparities. I worked at Whitman-Walker clinic in the very beginning, doing outreach and public education targeting the minority community. So, things just snowballed.”
“I do not do well with injustice. That is when I decided to go back to school and get a degree in journalism, because at Howard, I was majoring in journalism with a minor in English but I never knew that HIV/AIDS and gay and whatever would lead me into these other issues that were equally important from my perspective. I was one of the project officers of the women with HIV/AIDS study and I wanted to make sure women had access to HIV/AIDS education and medication. This also led me to working with nonprofits and in philanthropy but it all started as the little girl who wanted a paper route, saw she couldn’t, and saw that not just me––but all girls––were being denied. It led me to realize that there were a lot of ‘isms’ that needed to be addressed. In Atlanta, I worked with Hope Atlanta, which focuses on housing and homelessness. I helped them put together a program for people living with HIV/AIDS who are homeless. It is so connected. In terms of my activism, I feel like everything I have done has been trying to level the playing field.”
When you see this current generation of students who are a part of CASCADE who are continuing the foundation you laid with Lamba Student Alliance, how does that make you feel?
CH: “I am elated because I see people wanting to show up. Moreso, I see people who are empowered, who want to show up, and who want equality. They want a seat at the table and they are in the academe––and that is most certainly a place to do the work. I smile when I think about it. I really, really do. They are empowered and they are not afraid. Howard puts a special spin on you. Howard says you have to show up, you are a part of a community, and even if we don’t want you, you are still apart of it. Just to know they are still there and pushing against that notion––the notion of Howard not accepting all of who we are––I love, love, love it. When I heard they were mentoring others, managing to get scholarships––just the recognition of we are here, we are deserving, and we are going to show up for it is powerful for others that are watching. It makes people like me feel like, ‘Wow, we did something that hopefully other people are benefiting from.’ That is what I love about C.A.S.C.A.D.E––the mentorship, scholarship, social justice, LGBTQ+ organizations at HBCUs––those are good things to focus on.”
“I can just come out and say, ‘This is who I am and these are my gifts.’ You think I am going to sit on my gifts because you don’t think they should come from someone that looks like me? A Black woman? I have things that I can contribute. So, if it means that I have to be radical to live my best life, I am going to do that. I welcome others to do that. If I can lead by example, wonderful.”
What does a ‘Black Woman Radical’ mean to you?
CH: "I eschew labels because they tend to restrict. I eschew them but I understand the usefulness of them but for the sake of this conversation, I can be a Black lesbian radical. It means that, I hope, I can lead by example. It means that hopefully I had the opportunity to live my truth and to live my truth, I had to be radical. By virtue of wanting to live my freaking life out and proud, it meant that I had to be political and radical. It also means that I chose it––I chose to live my truth. I want that for everyone because it seems kind of freeing. Again, you can sit at the table and bring all of who you are and realize your fullest potential. I don’t have anything to hide. I can just come out and say, ‘This is who I am and these are my gifts.’ You think I am going to sit on my gifts because you don’t think they should come from someone that looks like me? A Black woman? I have things that I can contribute. So, if it means that I have to be radical to live my best life, I am going to do that. I welcome others to do that. If I can lead by example, wonderful.”
For more information about Chi Hughes, please visit here.