Legacy Project

Esther Kang is a researcher, educator, and Professor of Design Studies at the University of Wisconsin. As both a child and adult she moved often, experiencing life across a diverse range of cities spanning from Los Angeles and San Francisco, to Dallas and New York, and abroad in Perth, Australia, and Durbin, South Africa. Having lived in Los Angeles the longest and throughout her formative years, she considers the city to be her hometown; her family moved to L.A. in January of 1992, just months before the L.A. Uprising in April. Kang recounts how Saigu was a catalyst in her family’s discussions about race, the idea of which stuck with her as the family moved around the country: while attending school in Dallas, she was one of only two Asians students in the entire student body. As a researcher and educator today, Kang’s work centers on the political, cultural and social implications of Design, incorporating the recognition that design is more than just a means of communication, and that in many ways, the process of design itself is the product as well. She continues to ask what an equitable design process looks like, and what ethical design ethos is, questions she compels us to think about with critical and sensitive understandings of their consequences.

Sammy Kim (they/them) is a multifaceted individual: a queer artist, writer, healer, sex worker, community organizer, caregiver, and friend. From a young age, Sammy took on a caregiving role when their mother was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, moving in with relatives as her condition progressed. Seeing their mother struggle with her health, Sammy naturally came into a role of caregiving, grounding themselves in gratitude while extending empathy towards their family. By their pre-teen years, Sammy knew they were queer but felt compelled to hide it due to their Christian upbringing, even trying to “ungay” themselves to avoid eternal damnation. Operating out of fear, Sammy didn’t come out to their parents until their mother approached them about it, by which time they had been living openly for three years. Although their mother struggled to accept this part of Sammy, she affirmed her love, signaling a need for more time to understand.

Through sex work, what began as a caregiving role to provide for men seeking to feel wanted eventually evolved into a way for Sammy to heal from their early childhood trauma of sexual abuse. Their work became a way for them to deeply question their relationship to the sexualization tied to their identities. As Sammy continues to unravel the many intersections of their experiences, they choose with intention to feel alive in the present, living in the joy that stems from simply being themselves without distraction.

Andrea Hong Marra (she/her), often known as Andy, is a trans activist and executive director of the Transgender Legal Defense and Education Fund (TLDEF). From an early age, she knew who she was as a Korean American and person of color. Adopted into a white family and growing up in a diverse neighborhood, she was raised to be in touch with her Korean heritage. However, there were fewer resources available about being transgender, leading to a journey of helping her parents understand and accept her queer identity.

With a commitment to service and leadership instilled by her parents, Andy began volunteering at LGBTQ organizations in her hometown. She realized that a life of service and advocacy was her calling, a path she’s dedicated herself to for the past couple of decades. Andy reminds us that activists often prioritize their work over themselves, but the spaces they create are for them too. She encourages us to leave behind our stories so that those who come after know they are not alone, asserting that leaving evidence of our existence is a powerful act of defiance.

Mudang Sung Park (he/him) was born in Seoul, Korea, and immigrated to the Ridgewood/Bushwick area with his family when he was young. Growing up, they were the only Korean family—or East Asian family, for that matter—for blocks around, and although Sung tried his best to reproduce the joys of his Korean childhood from within New York, his new environment slowly changed aspects of his personality. Encountering racism as a child, he became withdrawn, and was disappointed that the racism followed him into college, where he was battered with microaggressions ranging from compliments to his English, to students touching his soft hair.

Sung always knew that he was born in the wrong body, but being “queer” was something he attributed to whiteness. And there was another complication to his gender: like many Korean Americans, Sung grew up in the church, and came from a family of ministers. After college, he went to seminary, where he obtained a divinity degree, and was under care at a church to be ordained when his father suddenly passed. He wanted to honor him, but because his family had stopped practicing traditional rites long ago, didn’t know how to, and left ministry, having grown resentful of the ways in which the church prohibited indigenous practices in Korea. Wanting to relearn the practices of his spiritual heritage, he sought out a mudang to mentor him in musok, and was surprised to learn that he came from a lineage of not only ministers, but mudangs as well. He doesn’t know of other trans men who are mudang, and isn’t sure if there’s a significance to his gender and his spirituality, but he feels that there must be one, as coming into the musok tradition has felt like a second homecoming into the queer Korean American community.

Vanilla Honey (she/they) is a queer architect and community organizer based in New York. Growing up on Long Island, Honey was never taught Korean by their mother, but they connected with their family and other Koreans through humor and playfulness. Being biracial, Honey often felt out of place in certain spaces, but discovering their queer identity brought a familiar fluidity between their experiences with race and gender.

Queerness has been, and continues to be, a bridge connecting them to the larger Korean American community. Partnering with friends and other queer Koreans, they helped bring KQTx(@kqtxnetwork @kqtxnyc)—a national grassroots network aimed at uplifting Queer and Trans people of Korean descent—to New York City. Queer joy, for Honey, is a mix of warmth, smiles, and a sense of safety surrounded by loved ones. They remind us: “You’re not alone. Support is out there; you don’t have to rely on yourself.”

Alexander Chee (he/him) is a bestselling author, essayist, and Professor of English and Creative Writing at Dartmouth College. Born in South Kingstown, Rhode Island, to a white American mother and Korean father, Chee’s journey is a tale woven with humor and wit. Describing his childhood self as a “financial crisis” due to being unplanned, he moved around the Pacific with his family’s fisheries business before settling in Maine, where he encountered racism from his peers.

It wasn’t until he moved to San Francisco in 1989 that he found a community. There, he not only met another gay Asian man for the first time, but also others who shared his mixed-race background. However, he was surprised to discover that even within this vibrant community, there were divisions; some gay bars excluded women, while others historically excluded Asian men.

Through his experiences, Chee emphasizes that political work extends beyond demonstrations and policy-making. It’s also about finding joy and connection in everyday moments like “going out dancing with friends, jumping on a stage for a favorite song, or just being goofy.” His journey underscores the importance of finding spaces where you belong, even within the complexities of identity and community.

Sulkiro Song (she/they) is a queer, asexual, and aromantic pastor based in Virginia. Born in Seoul, Korea, to a family of ministers, their path seemed clear: carry on the family line and become a pastor. However, at age five, their grandfather declared, “women cannot be pastors!”—their first encounter with gender discrimination in ministry. Struggling to identify with the word “queer” and navigating their sexuality, Sulkiro felt misunderstood and out of place. They knew they were asexual since middle school but were often teased by peers. It wasn’t until much later, during a pride march, that they encountered the ace flag and finally felt like they belonged.

Despite the initial discouragement, Sulkiro attended seminary, not just to study religion academically, but also to help themselves through deep religious trauma—a process they describe as “ridiculously expensive therapy.” Although they didn’t take courses in preaching or pastoral care, they felt comfortable sharing what they were learning in seminary with their congregation. Today, serving as the pastor of HAN UMC, Sulkiro’s sermons encompass queer, feminist, and anti-imperialist themes, reflecting their commitment to inclusivity and justice.

Emmett Yoon (he/him) is a trans rights activist based in Houston, serving as the Executive Director of the Transgender Education Network of Texas (TENT). Born in South Korea and adopted by a white family in the Midwest, Emmett often felt out of place and confused as a transracial adoptee. His mother reminded him that both he and the world were more expansive than he realized, instilling in him a strong sense of social responsibility and community through volunteering. As an adult living in San Antonio, Emmett noticed the lack of support and the targeted attacks toward the trans community. This compelled him to take action and start volunteering, eventually leading him to become the Executive Director of TENT in 2017. Faced with the absence of trans infrastructure in Texas and drawing on his unique experiences, Emmett continues to expand trans-focused educational policy, legislation, and community resources. It’s an enormous task, but he remains grounded by the family he has built and his belief in the inherent goodness of humanity. Emmett hopes that by creating inclusive spaces, the trans community can find their own strength to protect their joy and for the greater community to see each other in fullness to work collectively for a better future.

Ellie Kim (she/her), known as SuperKnova (@superknova), is a genderfluid trans singer and musician based in NYC. Her relationship with music began early when her parents—like many Korean parents—enrolled her in piano lessons as a child. She hated it. It wasn’t until she picked up her first guitar that she fell in love with music and started dreaming of becoming a musician. Due to the lack of Asian American musicians in the mainstream—and even fewer queer Asian American musicians—Ellie didn’t think being a musician was a possibility, so she chose the “safe route” and pursued medical school. Ellie completed school and earned a medical degree, but she is not a doctor. She is now living life fully as both Ellie and SuperKnova. Music became the vehicle for her to process emotions and her queer identity, as well as to find a community that embraces her for who she is. So what’s her advice for the next generation? “Don’t listen to me! I’m just excited for Gen Z and Gen A to come up with their ideas and make the world better.”