Crystal Kwan: Advocating at the Intersection of Marginalized Identities
They want to be part of creating more inclusive spaces and advancing a more progressive voting block in Georgia.
About Crystal
Pronouns: they/them/theirs
Age: 36
Location: Roswell/Fulton County, GA
Organization: Provide | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
Dedicated to: intersectional social justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion
Finds joy in: food, nature, playing music, creating
Inspired by: Grace Lee Boggs, Bruce Lee, Iris Chang, Marsha P. Johnson
Frequently used emojis: 🙃 😶 😬 🤔 😈 💛 🖤
Find them on Instagram: @xtal.kwan
Self Introduction:
I’m a pansexual, genderqueer, first-generation Chinese American. I was born in California, but I’ve spent the majority of my life living in the Southeast. I’ve called Georgia home for 15 years.
Crystal, in conversation with the Asian American Advocacy Fund. This Q&A was edited for grammar and clarity. Photographs are from Crystal’s personal collection.
Content Warning: The following interview describes instances of religious and sexual abuse that may be triggering for some audiences.
Can you tell us about your journey to find your self identity?
I am half Chinese, first generation. My mom was the second-youngest of six siblings, born in Hong Kong after her family fled from Guangdong. They immigrated to the U.S. in the early 60s, settling in California. My father, the son of a WWII POW survivor, was a stern white Tennessean. My parents married after meeting at a Christian college in Indiana and lived near my mom’s family in California for about five years. Myself and two siblings were born there, then we moved to a small town in northern Alabama, where my youngest sibling was born a few years later.
My parents raised us in a strict, conservative Evangelical Christian environment (Independent Fundamental Baptist/IFB) in which physical, verbal, and emotional abuse were the norm. Being Chinese wasn’t really considered something to be proud of, and I didn’t know I was [racially] different until I started school and kids assumed I wasn’t American. I’ve always been pretty introverted, and I struggled with making friends. I was “othered” a lot and bullied for being different–at home, at school, and at church.
I started questioning my gender identity around age 5 or 6 and experiencing gender dysphoria by early puberty. By then, I was also questioning my sexual orientation. I resisted the idea of being labeled as “female/feminine” and adhering to gender norms, especially those espoused by the IFB church. Being queer or genderqueer was considered a disease that only God could save me from. I had to hide those identities until I could get myself to a safer space. As I got older, the friction between myself and my parents became untenable. At age 17, I was placed in an IFB reeducation home for “troubled teenage girls” in Florida, where I experienced several months of abuse resulting in chronic, complex trauma. It took a long time to learn that I didn’t deserve what happened to me there and that my rights, as well as the rights of others like me, had been violated. I subsequently left the IFB church (via excommunication) and my parents disowned me. After those experiences, I organized with other survivors of that home to get it shut down for illegal practices and abuse.
Since then, I’ve been committed to living my life as honestly and unapologetically as possible. My values are about equity, kindness, and compassion. I didn’t receive a lot of that when I was growing up. I’m trying to be the person that my younger self really needed.
Which communities are you connected to and when did you start seeing yourself as a part of the community?
I care a lot about marginalized, vulnerable communities, especially LGBTQ+ youth who face compounding health disparities in suicide risk, substance use, and sexual health. I’m concerned about the barriers they face because it reminds me of my own experiences of being sexually assaulted, unable to tell anyone for fear of being blamed or punished. My parents prohibited me from seeking sexual or mental health care. So I am passionate about advocating for autonomous healthcare access for LGBTQ+ youth facing similar barriers.
I started feeling connected to the LGBTQ+ community from an early age. I was disturbed by the idea of stigmatizing people simply because they’re different from you. I started realizing that the reason I felt so much compassion for that community was because I felt part of it, and I wanted the same things they did–equal rights and the freedom to live a safe and healthy life. People shouldn’t be discriminated against, criminalized, or murdered for being queer or expressing their authentic gender identity.
Even as a first generation Chinese American, I’ve felt reservations about being considered part of the Asian American community because people have said I’m not Asian enough or I’m not white enough. So much of my lived experience has been tied up at the intersections of my marginalized identities, feeling like I don’t fit in anywhere. It’s been a journey, and it’s not over yet. I know there are others out there who are experiencing the same thing–feeling isolated and needing a safe, supportive community.
What does community mean to you?
Community to me is being surrounded by individuals who share common values, support each other, and work together to make the world a better place.
What can lawmakers, people, society, all of us do better to make sure our communities are feeling more supported? So they don’t feel as alone?
Decent working conditions, fair wages, and access to health care, including the full range of sexual and reproductive health care, are essential for community health. Every person should have the right to control and care for their own body. No one should be standing in the way of that, especially politicians. They should be focusing on evidence-based harm reduction instead of criminalization. They should center the lived experiences of the people who will be most affected by legislation aimed at restricting people’s basic human rights. Stigmatizing people for seeking abortions, shelter from violence, addiction treatment, gender-affirming health care, mental health care, etc. only does more harm. Lawmakers should lead with compassion and put people’s health and real-life needs first. Our laws should protect our rights, not try to control and dehumanize us.
What values would you like to see more of from our community?
We should value every person’s autonomy, agency, and worth. We should unite against racism and discrimination. We should commit to a future where communities thrive. This includes organizing to end policies that deny people equitable access to health care, including abortion. Even though abortion is common, safe, and legal, it’s not accessible to everyone. Abortion bans and restrictions fall hardest on Black and Indigenous people, other people of color, immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, and people with low incomes.
Ensuring that all people have affordable access to abortion and the full range of reproductive health care is an essential part of addressing racial and economic injustices in our healthcare system. Low-paid jobs often lack basic benefits like paid time off or control over work schedules, making it more likely that carrying a pregnancy to term will lead to an income or job loss. After decades of attacks by anti-abortion lawmakers, the Supreme Court is now poised to completely overturn the right to abortion. As a person who doesn’t want a uterus or to become pregnant, as a person who has experienced reproductive coercion, this is a distressing issue for me. Forcing someone to continue a pregnancy against their will is a violation of their freedom and humanity. Many people don’t know where to turn when they need abortion care because of the stigma they’ll receive from their family, their partner, their church, or their small community, where everyone knows everyone. We should trust people to make the decisions that are best for their lives and their bodies.
Why do you want to get involved in the political/legislative process?
I feel like I have to. What happens in our legislatures affects real people in our state–our family members, friends, neighbors, and community members. I want to be part of creating more inclusive spaces. The South has a tragic history of discriminatory legislation that harms so many different communities in so many different ways, and I want to change that. I can’t do it alone, but there are a lot of other people out there like me. We need representation and to tell our stories. Our voices and our votes matter.
What gives you hope?
Being able to flip Georgia in the last election felt really empowering and made me want to stick around and fight more for marginalized people in the state where I have spent most of my adult life. I’ve had opportunities to meet and work with people who are advocating for issues I care about, and they give me hope. People being open and willing to have courageous, uncomfortable conversations about those issues gives me hope. Younger people getting involved with organizing and advocacy gives me hope. Seeing people come together to fight for a more just and equitable society gives me hope.
The Asian American Advocacy Fund is a grassroots 501(c)4 social welfare organization dedicated to building a politically-conscious, engaged, and progressive Asian American base in Georgia.
Subscribe | Donate | Volunteer
#GeorgiaOnMyMind gives voice to diverse perspectives, life experiences, and viewpoints. With a vision for a thriving future, we share this series to shift and shape public narratives about Georgians who care about their communities and are fighting for social justice.
