As a leading Asian American civil rights activist who has been advocating for transgender people for more than 20 years, Cecilia Chung carries a number of firsts under her belt. Her presence on the San Francisco Human Rights Commission and the Presidential Advisory Council on HIV/AIDS changed the face of advocacy in those spaces, but these auspicious appointments were a far cry from her humble beginnings.
Born in 1960s Hong Kong to a traditional Chinese family, Chung became aware of the complexity of gender at a young age. After moving to Australia for high school and later California for college, she grappled with finding her place as a budding trans woman in gay male-dominated culture. After coming out as trans after college, Chung quickly found herself rejected by her family, facing homelessness, and engaging in sex work to survive financially. These difficulties contributed to her HIV diagnosis in 1993.
Today, as the Senior Director of Strategic Projects at Transgender Law Center, Chung directs Positively Trans: a project addressing the structural inequalities driving poor health outcomes and high rates of HIV/AIDS among transgender people through research, policy advocacy, and storytelling. Through its National Advisory Board, this initiative strengthens the leadership of a host of transgender people living with HIV and AIDS. We caught up with Chung to discuss her legendary career, being a first-generation Asian American immigrant, and her journey to loving herself.
What was your childhood like?
I had a relatively tough time going through my childhood in terms of trying to develop my sense of identity or sense of self. I didn’t find a reference for how I felt from any particular person — at least not in my early childhood days. My parents first noticed that I was quite effeminate. I had a really tough relationship with my dad, who could not even hide his disapproval on his face. I internalized his discomfort. It took me until I hit my teenage years to know what [my gender identity] was all about.
You moved to the U.S. in 1984. What was it like for you to move to a different country while grappling with your gender identity?
It wasn’t my first transcontinental move — I actually attended high school in Australia before then, and that was my first experience with culture shock. I went from a country that was predominantly Chinese to one that was predominantly white with very little regard for communities of color and immigrants. I think it was still tolerable for me the first year because I was staying with my aunt and her family, so I didn’t feel too alienated from my own communities.
The year after that, I moved into a boarding school, and the sense of being a minority was very clear and distinct. I almost had a nervous breakdown because I just didn’t know how to adjust to a completely different environment. It was very anti-immigrant. I was constantly told, “Go back to your country” or “Get back on the boat.” I dealt with all kinds of pejoratives too.
How would you compare the experience of being gender-nonconforming in China, Australia, and the U.S.?
Well, in Hong Kong, I think I really experienced a lot of confusion. In Australia, I was a teenager, so I think my sexuality took over. It was more about identifying who and what I was attracted to. My gender identity wasn’t as clear to me at the time. When I graduated college in the U.S., I felt a sense of liberation. I asked myself the hard questions like, Who am I? The natural answer for me was that I was a woman. That’s when I began my transition. I was living with friends and putting myself through college. It was a very liberating experience to be able to do all of that.
How did you get involved in activism?
I had always been an angry child and I always tried to find fault with the real world. I think becoming an activist was just a natural development from that. I got to a point where I realized all the things that I didn’t stand for, especially injustice. At a very young age, I tried to be the big sister to everyone and tried to take care of people — especially keeping people out of trouble. I was in a group of 12 friends who were really effeminate in high school. I think my organizing came from spending time with them and knowing that if we didn’t band together, bullies would have the chance to hurt us. So we sat together during every class break and lunch break and we became closer. We started to earn respect from fellow classmates.
How do you feel about the trans rights movement and how it has changed since you entered it in the early 90s?
I think it’s a very different movement, although fundamentally there are some basic matters that are still the same. When I was coming into the movement, transgender people were dying left and right — not just because of violence, but because of what we later found out was HIV. We weren’t just fighting for our rights, we were fighting for our lives by demanding treatment and more research. We were also demanding to be seen as human beings.
This was all happening while San Francisco was adopting an anti-discrimination ordinance on gender identity. It was also around the time when protease inhibitors were introduced and changed the life trajectory of a person living with HIV. It’s because of these intersections that we have seen an explosion of transgender activism. We went from dying to a thriving community almost overnight. People were able to get better and fight more effectively. I think that environment turned into an incubator for the first and second generation of trans leaders in the contemporary movement.
What tips would you give younger organizers and activists who are now trying to do the work?
For us older activists, we have seen how rights were gained and how rights were lost almost faster than we gained them. Hopefully, it sends a message back to us and our community that we can never get complacent again. We have to really look at the big picture and remember that we don’t exist in a vacuum.
How do you take care of yourself? What do you do for self-care?
[laughs] I’m constantly being lectured by everybody about this and it helps me practice and express my gratitude. I don’t really take great care of myself, but I know that I have friends that constantly remind me and carry me quite far. What keeps me going is my love for my community. I wouldn’t be working so hard if I didn’t love them.
What’s the story behind your boo and what does love look like for you now?
I think that mine is the most boring kind of story you can have. A girl and a boy met on OKCupid and started dating. Five years later, they’re still together. It went by pretty fast. We’re just like any other couple though. Occasionally we fight, and a majority of the time we really share our lives with one another. It’s nice to have someone with you in life, walking with you on this journey.
Have you always felt you could find love?
At one point I didn’t think it was possible. In my early days, being exposed to my mom’s codependency made me think that I had to prove myself worthy of someone else. I thought love wouldn’t come easily to me. I didn’t think I deserved it or deserved to be happy; thoughts like those would go through my head constantly. It’s about opening yourself up and allowing somebody to be embedded in your life.
What do you want your legacy to be?
I want people to remember me as someone who really tried to experience unconditional love — not by demanding it, but by practicing it. We are all human beings in this world, so why not practice that love with one another? I think young people who can’t come out or talk to their parents about who they are need to remember this: don’t let all of those hiccups keep you from experiencing life and joy. I think whatever your thing is, it’ll come naturally if you allow it to.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Raquel Willis is a Black queer transgender activist and writer dedicated to inspiring and elevating marginalized individuals, particularly transgender women of color. She is also a National Organizer for the Transgender Law Center based in Oakland, CA.
