Born in 1965 in Hong Kong, Chung was a self-described “black sheep,” the oldest of two siblings, struggling to understand her identity and often acting out. 

“That frustration developed into depression when I turned 13, because puberty hit, and I did not like the changes that were happening to me,” she said. “I wanted to run away from everyone.” 

The unjustness she felt as a young trans person coming into herself shaped her understanding of injustice and identity, and in many ways, who Chung is today is an amalgamation of the hero she might have sought for as a young child. 

Because of how competitive universities in Hong Kong were—given that there were only two at the time—Chung’s mother decided to send 17-year-old Chung to Australia to continue her education. She went on to attend an all-boys boarding school at 18, where not only she experienced a culture shock, but also racism for the first time. 

“I ended up feeling really, really isolated and had a minor nervous breakdown,” she explained. “That was the first time I called my mom and said, ‘OK, I don’t want to run away anymore; I want to come home.’” 

But her mother had different plans for where “home” would be for Chung and her sister. The two siblings immigrated to the U.S. in 1984, settling in Monterey Park, Calif. in Los Angeles county, a predominantly Asian city that decades later would face horrific anti-Asian gun violence, with a Lunar New Year festival shooting that killed 11 elderly people and injured 9 others. 

Her immigration to the U.S. in the 1980s coincided with a period of growing visibility for her LGBTQ counterparts, especially at a time of intense stigma and discrimination amidst the AIDS epidemic. Given that medicinal treatment for AIDS had yet to be developed, the epidemic ravaged the community with over 100,000 dead in that decade alone, according to the CDC. In this time, Chung faced homelessness and sex work, and in the early 1990s, received an HIV diagnosis, a devastating blow at a time when effective treatment was scarce.

Chung is a true underdog, through and through. Having been cut off by her family after coming out as trans in the 1980s, she spent the next decade spinning ashes into gold, conquering major wins for trans people across the U.S.—herself included, eventually winning her family back. 

Coming out, and a life-changing rejection 

Inspired by popular queer English singer Boy George in the late 80s who wore makeup and fashioned himself femininely, Chung took inspiration and presented herself as androgynous throughout college in San Francisco. The singer oftentimes paired bowler hats with intricate eye makeup and decorated hair.

After graduating, when she officially came out to her family that she was a trans woman, Chung’s family did not speak to her for years.

To survive financially, she found herself in unstable housing situations while doing sex work. Between 1992 and 1993, she tested positive for HIV, wherein she was told “‘You probably have six months to a year to live,’ which was very common for folks at the time before treatment came out,” she said. Given that treatments for HIV were yet to be widely established, any semblance of a promising future was not in the cards—at least not in Chung’s experience.

It wasn’t until she was attacked to the point of hospitalization that her mother visited her, resulting in a reconciliation between the two. By 1998, it was her mother that wound up funding her bottom surgery.

“It was a very pivotal moment for me because [her love] seemed to be what I was looking for, and after 1998, that’s when I really have really asked myself those questions—what can I do? What goals can I set for life?” 

With her family by her side, she shifted her focus onto the LGBTQ community of San Francisco, where possibilities of the future seemed to unravel for her. 

A future, reclaimed and re-written 

Chung’s experiences with homelessness, sex work, and an HIV diagnosis are emblematic of the challenges faced by many transgender women of color during this era. Even today, Black trans women especially are the most at risk demographic of the larger LGBTQ community, oftentimes facing disproportionate threats of discrimination—even oftentimes making up for the demographic of trans homicides.

However, Chung’s resilience and determination led her to become a pioneering activist, fighting for policy changes and greater awareness of the unique challenges faced by the trans community.

Prior to the reconciliation with her family, she describes moving through life day by day without much of a purpose. Gaining her family back gave her the energy and momentum to do more with her life. However, by the time her family re-entered the picture, she found herself already simultaneously working alongside her community. 

In 1994, she was a member of San Francisco’s Transgender Discrimination Task Force, tracking anti-trans discrimination. With the Task Force, Chung helped champion multiple anti-discrimination ordinances and policies, including the 2001 Transgender Benefit, requiring the city’s self-funded “City Plan” to cover gender-affirming care for its trans employees. 

Working as an HIV program coordinator for the Asian & Pacific Islander American Health Forum in the early 2000s, she went on to become a founding producer of San Francisco’s first ever Trans March in 2004, now heavily replicated across many cities throughout the country.

On the backdrop of the march was the start of a trial of a 2002 brutal murder of a 17-year-old trans girl named Gwen Araujo, who was beaten and strangled to death when a group of men “discovered” that she was not cis. 

“When I saw pictures of this beautiful girl, my heart broke and I lost it, because I didn’t think anybody deserved to have this kind of hate,” Chung said, adding that the circumstances of Araujo’s death were familiar to her. “We all are seeking love, and we try to find it anywhere we can, but sometimes that love can turn into dangerous situations.” 

Appointed by Pres. Barack Obama in 2013, she served two full terms on the Presidential Advisory Council on HIV/AIDS. And with the support of queer music legend Elton John, she launched Positively Trans, a national network of HIV-positive trans people led by an advisory board of HIV-positive trans people of color.

Her involvement with starting the Trans March aside, her work with the Transgender Law Center, the largest trans-led civil rights organization in the U.S.—now nearly two decades since she started working there—called for her commitment.

Current Role and Vision

Behind her unflinching demeanor, Chung’s advocacy reached the national stage.  In her tenure, she’s been the first trans woman and first Asian elected to lead the Board of Directors of the San Francisco LGBT Pride Celebration, and the first trans woman and person living openly with HIV to Chair the San Francisco Human Rights Commission.

Chris Daley, the executive director of the ACLU of Indiana met Chung back in 2003 when she started working at Transgender Law Center and Daley was the director. He tells Reckon that Chung’s ability to be a practical visionary allows her to bring a better world into fruition.

“Cecilia showed me the importance of [building] relationship,” he said, commending her ability to be social with anyone. “She resists getting mired in the trap of theoretical change by focusing on where she can make differences that will positively affect people’s lives and then just keeps making them again and again and again.”

In 2014, she was honored as one of the Women of The Year by the California State Assembly, selected by San Francisco’s assemblyman Phil Ting.

“Cecilia has an inspiring record of breaking down barriers,” Ting said the night of the ceremony ten years ago. “Her bravery and brains have made our community a more compassionate and welcoming place. As we strive for even greater equality, we can simply look to her for a roadmap forward. Cecilia’s passion and commitment to equality know no bounds.”

Two years later, she was appointed as one of the Grand Marshals of the New York City Gay Pride parade. Still, her public facing victories don’t seem to resonate with her. From fair housing to HIV/AIDS advocacy and trans healthcare, perhaps the strides she has been making is a mere assurance that generations of trans people to come won’t have to endure what she herself went through to get here.

After all, aside from her work today being deeply ingrained in the LGBTQ community, Chung’s upbringing was far from colorful. 

As a mentor, she is shaping the next generation of advocates with high hopes for the future of trans rights, prioritizing transgender women of color. Today, she stands as the senior director of strategic initiatives and evaluation at Transgender Law Center, the largest trans-led civil rights organizations in America for the transgender community, and still calls San Francisco her home since immigrating in 1984.

With her help, the Transgender Law Center has recently been community organizing in the South, especially with the states with an onslaught of anti-trans hostility in legislation.

In the summer of 2021, the center also released “No Data No More: Manifesto to Align HIV Prevention Research with Trans and Gender Diverse Realities,” and they are currently digging deeper on how to strengthen their fight for trans liberation.

The broader cultural context of Chung’s story is one of gradual progress but also persistent backlash. While the LGBTQ+ rights movement has achieved significant victories, such as marriage equality, transgender individuals continue to face discrimination in housing, employment, healthcare, and even basic safety.

Chung’s work as an advocate has been instrumental in challenging these injustices. She has been a vocal opponent of discriminatory legislation, a champion for inclusive healthcare policies, and a mentor to countless young trans activists.

Even in 2015, while reflecting on her advocacy work, she told HIV Plus Magazine that her success is merely a part of a much larger picture—one that isn’t limited to just her own story.

“I’m heartened to see the progress in HIV prevention and treatment but concerned that many inequities that make us vulnerable to HIV still exist today,” Chung told HIV Plus Magazine nine years ago. “Next time when you see or hear me, please keep in mind that there are hundreds and thousands of stories from other HIV-positive women waiting to be heard.”

Reflecting on the future generations of trans leaders of color to come—especially the ones she is shepherding—she hopes that the community continues to utilize a singular tool that has made a world of difference: storytelling. 

“It’s important to share our personal stories because we are not here to just change people’s minds; we want to change their heart—a change that is more sustainable.” 

At her boarding high school in Australia, her majority white classmates called her “slant eyes” and “socket face,” and the torment she faced from others never seemed to escape her. Even as a sex worker, two men tried to sexually assault her, with her efforts to escape resulting in a sustained stab wound and a trip to the hospital that would break the years-long silence between her and her mother.

Being an outcast was a pattern clear as day; being thrust into a foreign education environment, being shunned out of the family for her transition, losing work to the point of homelessness and survival sex work, even watching her loved ones die one by one from a mysterious virus affecting her community of queer and trans people.

She notes that today’s wave of anti-trans rhetoric might be the last fight Republicans will lose before the trans community moves forward permanently. Chung, whose birthday is in two months, tells Reckon that “I really didn’t think I would live to see 59.” 

Despite all of this, Chung describes her upbringing as “unremarkable.” Over Zoom, this is fitting; she is subdued, absent of any semblance of her success in her nonchalance while donning a plain black t-shirt, large black thick frames and hair in a slick bun, cupping her morning tea like her greatest trophy.