Mia Yamamoto: The Trans Lawyer ‘Liberating’ The Judicial System

Credit: Annie Tritt

Mia Yamamoto was born in a Japanese internment camp during World War II. This fact has colored her entire life, pushing her into the law and striving in every way possible to help the less fortunate around her. When you “stand up for communities that are being oppressed, that is where you find some nobility,” she told me.

She later went on to serve in the Vietnam War, then returned to the U.S. and graduated from UCLA’s School of Law, where she co-founded the Asian Pacific Islander Law Student Association (APILSA).

After a lengthy, 60-year-long conversation with herself about her gender, Mia came out to her friends, family, and clients as trans.

“When I first came out to my clients, I went to the different jails and I said, ‘I’m going to be going through a sex change and I know that’s not what you signed on for. I know some of the best lawyers in Southern California. You will be well-taken care of.’ Many of my clients were murder clients and gang members and they had certain cultural issues with LGBT people and I thought for sure that I would lose most of them. I lost none. Zero.

Today, Mia is 80 years old and still a practicing attorney.

We talk on the podcast about her work as a criminal defense attorney, the racism she faced growing up as a Japanese-American after WWII, the PTSD she still experiences from her time serving in the Vietnam War, and coming out as trans later in life.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

Jeffrey Masters: You were born in and spent the first few years of your life in a Japanese internment camp. When did you realize that that was not a normal way to grow up, for lack of better words?

Mia Yamamoto: I left the camps when I was two years old, so I have no memory of the camps at all. I have memory of the resettlement, because we all came back en masse in 1945, ’46, ’47. I remember those years, and my parents told me a lot about the camps. They were trying to explain, that’s why everybody was so hostile when we came back. People were not real happy about us coming back, particularly the people that wanted us gone in the first place. So there was a lot of animosity, or bigotry, or whatever you wanna call it, a lot of hatred against us, even from other minorities. So that was an interesting experience.

JM: The camps were something that your family talked about and was discussing…it wasn’t something they ignored and never talked about again?

MY: No, my mom talked about it. My father never talked about it. He wasn’t a very talkative man, even though he was a lawyer. But my mother talked about it quite a bit, actually. She told me a lot of stories about the camp. Most people, you’re right, did not want to talk about it. They felt some measure of shame about having to just get out of prison, and they didn’t, they wanted to put the experience behind them. So a lot of them just did not want to talk about it any further, and to get on with the future.

JM: You’ve said you experienced a lot of racism when you moved back. You moved back to Southern California. What did that racism look like?

MY: Well, it was, if you’re walking on the street, there was sort of open season on Japanese people. They would just jump you. I would be walking down the street towards school, and some kids would jump out of the place and say, “Kill the Japs.” And all of a sudden they’d be on me. And the real problem with it was, it really made you not wanna be Japanese, you know what I mean? That’s the last thing that you wanted to be. You don’t wanna speak the language. You certainly don’t wanna wear anything that looked like it might’ve been somebody from Japan, any of that kind of a thing. You sort of avoided that when you were on the streets.

It was a very vulnerable feeling, and I think it’s one of the reasons why kids band together for self-protection when these things are happening. I mean, the community was the community, and we were unified by virtue of our sort of, our common exclusion. Camp was such a unifying experience. It was a horrible experience, but it was just the kinda thing, like, that every kid my age would always ask, “Which camp were you in?” It was one of those conversation starters, “Oh, did you know so-and-so or so-and-so?” Blah, blah, blah.

JM: And so when you were growing up in East LA after the camp, how were you thinking about your gender back then?

MY: Well, by the time I was five years old, which is just really not that many years after I was born actually, I started to realize the disconnect, that I could see the world a certain way, and I had three older brothers, and they were completely, absolutely different from me. I couldn’t stand them. They were violent, very, very primitive sorts of people, I thought. I didn’t even know there were trans people in the world at that time. Had no idea. It was one of those concepts that I had no name for. I just knew that there was a disconnect. I knew that I looked at the world a certain way, and I actually found that the girls had that much more in common with me, whereas the boys didn’t look at the world the same way, didn’t have priorities like mine, didn’t appreciate things the way I did, and even their connections with other people were always a lot more…I grew up in a gang neighborhood. We were all gang kids, all of us. East Los Angeles at the time, poor kids. We were rejected from every community, though. We were not accepted in any community. Not the Latino community, not in the white community, not in the Black community. We were completely excluded. So that experience of being just sort of, oh, I don’t know, kind of sequestered in its own way.

JM: Are you saying that in the post-war era, your Japanese identity was so big in people’s minds too, that that superseded any other identity, even your budding transness?

MY: Yes, I would say that it superseded it, in the sense that when we came out of camp, the big theme was fitting back in. The last thing they wanted me to do was to express my femininity.

JM: Who is “they”? Is it your parents?

MY: My parents, yes. And I would say, it wasn’t just my parents, it was the whole community. I actually went to an all-Japanese American school and church. It was segregated very purposely, because of the animosity that existed outside of the community. So we were sequestered in that sense. So yeah, it wasn’t just my parents, it was a whole lot of parents and a whole lot of a church community and a school community. And for people to bring shame to their family was bad enough, but from the family’s point of view, to bring shame to your community was a lot worse, because that made the family sort of lower their status in the community as well.

JM: And gave you another reason not to fit in.

MY: Yes. So gender conformity became something that I really understood early, and understood the need for, very early.

JM: Were you good at it, or were you seen as feminine from the outside?

MY: I was great at it. Geez, I got to the point where I was an expert, you know? I think I was probably the most accomplished closet queen in the city.

JM: In the ’60s you enlisted and went to Vietnam to fight in the war. What made you wanna do that?

MY: Oh, are you kidding? Part of it was two things. One, I mean, I’ve always been sort of, I guess, patriotic in that sense. I always wanted to serve my country. But the other part of it was the Japanese American community. We were in camp, and while we were in camp, there was a group called the 442nd, which was an all-Japanese army regiment that distinguished itself in Europe. So when they came back, a lot of people, my parents included, felt like they redeemed us, that they showed their loyalty, their sacrifice, that we were loyal, which was the big question during the course of our incarceration. So I felt like the military was a really important thing for me to do. My parents were really imbued with that, you fight for your country, that’s how you gain your measure of acceptance, was you fight for your country, and that you have to understand the context. I was living a very tortured life at that time. It was horrible to be, to be in the closet, to be suppressing my identity with. So I felt very tortured, very, very unhappy, very suicidal. So going into the military, joining the military and going to Vietnam, was an honorable exit from a troubled life. I felt like that would be a way out.

JM: It’s a passive way of killing yourself.

MY: Right, it was, in its own way. I was young at the time. I didn’t really understand the implications of all that. I just understood that if I lost my life in battle, that my family would never be ashamed of me.

JM: You would never have to come out.

MY: Yes.

JM: But you also didn’t die in Vietnam. Once you were there, you weren’t throwing yourself in the line of fire. Did your feelings change when you were there?

MY: When I went in the military, I just did what I was told. I did what every other soldier does, and it’s part of the culture too, you don’t ask questions about when you’re ordered to do something, you just do it. And that was also, to me, part of the community and part of the ethos of being a soldier.

JM: Going back though for a second. I’m surprised by you talking about the patriotism that you and your family felt. It strikes me as odd, having been forced into this internment camp as a child, your family there, and yet your family and you were still patriots, still wanted to fight for your country. Can you connect that for me?

MY: Yeah, but it was really very understandable. If you saw the reverence that my community had for the soldiers, and for the honor they had brought to the community, then being a soldier was the most natural thing in the world. And my parents were very much, I feel, socialized into that, because my father had died by the time I went in the service. He died when I was very young. But my mother, I’m telling you, this is a true story, she said to me, “I don’t want you to ever be a coward.” She said, “I would rather you came home dead than you come home a coward.” And I still live like that. You can’t be a coward in this world. You gotta live your life with courage. And I had no problem with that. I mean, especially ’cause I had no fear of death, for one thing, so it wasn’t that big of a deal to me.

JM: For the Japanese people you knew back then, they had no problem also going to fight in this war?

MY: Don’t forget, I was born in camp, but by the time I went in the military, I was already like 20, 21, 22 years old. So I had lived a whole couple of decades in my own right, and I knew what I valued and what I didn’t value. And I thought that that was service to your country, right? I know it sounds kinda strange, ’cause I’m a total radical revolutionary that way, but I still feel like everything I do is in service to this country and in service to my fellow Americans, that we’re always trying to make this thing better, and more evolved, and more progressive, and all that sort of stuff. But all this stuff couldn’t come without sacrifice, so I always feel like this is the theme, and this is the way forward.

Honestly, I mean, when you’re 21 years old and the war’s going on, and people telling you, you gotta serve your country, you just go. And your family’s telling you this, “You gotta go, you gotta go.” It’s like, when your country calls you, you go. You don’t sit there and say, “Well, I don’t know if I like it very much or not.” I hated the war before I went in. I’m not gonna lie. I don’t like the war. I was old enough, I had been to college, I wasn’t completely stupid, not like some of my colleagues there. I realized how bad it was, how evil it was, but my country was there, and they were fighting, and I couldn’t not be there.

JM: Your reasons to join the war, how much also had to do with your gender, and wanting them to make you a man?

MY: I mean, I feel like that was everything to us, is proving myself, not just to the world and my society and my family, but to myself, that I could do this thing, that I had what it takes to get out there with a gun and fight. I always knew I could fight with my fists, that was something I was always game to do, but getting out there with a gun, that’s serious business. That means somebody’s gonna die. Hopefully it ain’t you, you know? So I never had any fear of death. I really didn’t, at the time. I felt like it was an honorable exit, like I said, from a very, very troubled lifestyle I was trying to get out of, anyway. So that factor never, ever came up. I really, I just did my time, got out.

On one level, it was just going in the military. Not everybody I knew at the time. A lot of people were against the war, a lot of people were going to Canada, a lot of people were fighting the draft. I wouldn’t do it. I refused to do that. I felt like that was cowardly. Again, my mom, she said, “I’d rather see you dead than see you a coward.” She said a lot of things in my life that I harken back upon. I remember she said something once that never left me. When I was very young, she said, “If I ever hear about you running from a fight, you’ll have to come home and fight your brothers.”

JM: Did she get that from her own parents, those thoughts?

MY: I don’t know where she got that, but I remember her telling me that when I was very young. And don’t forget, my brothers were like eight and 10 years older than me, you know? And when you’re like five years old, fighting with a 15-year-old or a 17-year-old, that ain’t a fight, man. That’s a slaughter.

JM: How much of that fight mentality made you want to go to law school, to fight as a lawyer?

MY: No, my dad was a lawyer. My dad had graduated from law school in 1928. Spent his whole career in the segregated bar. He died when I was very young, but one thing I did learn about my dad was he helped people all the time. He lived his whole life sacrificing financially and all kinds of other ways to make sure that he was of service to people that needed his help, and that legacy is something I’m very proud to carry. Yeah, so being a lawyer that way, that’s a family tradition.

JM: I don’t know if you had experience with PTSD, but were you dealing with that at the same time you were in law school?

MY: I’m still dealing with it. It’s really awful, but it still affects me today. Like 50, 60 years later, I still jump out of my seats. People think it’s funny, and I guess it is. But it was, at the time, extraordinarily stressful, because it takes you a couple of seconds to kinda calm down and realize it’s not something that you have to react to. And I like to think it’s getting smaller over the course of time. But I feel like it’s still there. It’s not that amazing, just that reaction, immediately. It’s completely visceral. It’s not something that goes through my head, it’s just something that happens, and you, boom, you jump. There’s almost no way for me to help it. I was in therapy for a long time, believe me, dealing with a lot of those struggles. But today it’s pretty harmless, I feel. It’s not harming me in any real way, I don’t think.

JM: You’ve described your work as a public defender as the most important thing you ever did. Why is that?

MY: I was working for the poor. I mean, I was fighting for the poor. I always tell people that, fighting for the poor is still the highest calling for any lawyer. If you’re gonna answer a calling, it seems to me that trying to make things more equal, trying to make things more fair, and really trying to minister to the needs of the people that are the most needy people in society, is still the highest calling for a lawyer. It’s still the thing that absolutely makes me tick, in the sense that I see that happening, and I feel like it just gets me going, basically. The unfairness of a situation is not something I could turn my back on.

JM: And when you say fighting for the poor, what types of cases and clients were they?

MY: Well, I had everything. I mean, I was a Public Defender for 10 years. I’m still a criminal lawyer, still what I do. So it’s really basically still the same clientele, essentially. I look at how little they have and how little they’ve ever had, in terms of their lives, and where they, how they get to where they get. And some of them go pretty far, despite all the adversity.

But some people, it just beats them down, and they never quite crawl their way out of it, and they often need a champion, somebody who really understands that, who sympathizes with it, who has some empathy for their life, and can walk into a courtroom and fight everybody over the issues that have to be fought. I just feel like, yeah, I’m really lucky, because so many people get that kind of emotional and spiritual satisfaction out of fighting, you know?

JM: I read too that you were working, some of your clients were queer and trans people.

MY: Yeah. Oh, yeah. I mean, that was the most interesting thing, because I really, in many ways, until I was a lawyer, until I was a public defender, I never really understood how the community was treated by the police. I really never understood that. And when I was working in the juvenile court, I remember representing trans kids, and I remember looking at them and thinking, they got kicked out of their house when they were like 12, 13, ’cause their parents didn’t like the way they dressed. And they would be on my caseload, and they’re just little kids. And they’re busted for things like, there’s people that were trying to use you, at that age out there in the streets, and they would be busted for stealing, for dealing narcotics, for selling their bodies. They would be doing anything they could on behalf of their sponsor, whoever that is, their pimp, and they would end up on my caseload.

And I would try to get them home. Anybody who works in juvenile court, reunification of the families is always a very important objective, the goal. I would try to get them to go back home, and the mom would tell me, “I can’t take him home. His father has promised me that he will kill him if he comes in the door again. His brothers have promised that they will help him, they will help my father kill him. And I can’t take him home. He’s gotta go to a home, he’s gotta go to a foster home, he can’t come back, or else he’s dead.” So the plight of that 12- or 13-year-old still kinda gets me. It’s just so, it’s just so tragic and so sad, and these kids are so brave. I mean, the thing that struck me was, these kids are coming out 13, 14 years old, something I had absolutely no way that I would have ever been able to do then. I wouldn’t have mustered the courage to stand up and say, “I want to wear a dress, and I don’t care what happens when I do.”

JM: It was also just a different time when you were growing up in the ’40s and ’50s. Do you remember the first time you heard the word transgende or transsexual?

MY: The first time I ever heard that word, transvestite, was in the movie Psycho. And at the end of the movie, there’s experts sitting around trying to figure out what this guy is, what makes him tick. And they say, “Well, he’s obviously a transvestite.” I remember looking at that thinking, “Well, what’s in the dictionary?” And I guess because I was in high school at the time, I couldn’t go very far with it, but I was going through the dictionary, going to the encyclopedia, and all kinds of other places trying to figure that out.

And when I went to college, I was in every medical school library, I was in every single library, the psychology department of every single school I was ever in. I would be in there for hours and days and weeks trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong with me, you know? And I’d find those, all these terms, I found transsexual. I mean, even though the first time it was applied to me was my second or third therapist, who came to that conclusion about me after testing.

JM: How old were you?

MY: I had to be in my mid to late 20s. I was finally making enough money to go into therapy and to see a shrink. And so I was reading about all these things at that time, but it was also still a revelation.

JM: And so this therapist tells you you’re likely trans in your 20s. You came out at 60, though. Were you taking those, like, 30, 40 years just to grapple with it in your head? What was going on in your mind?

MY: Well, I fired that first therapist that told me that. I said, “You know, I came here looking for a cure. I’m paying you for a cure, and if you can’t find me a cure, you can at least give me what the cause is. Because if I can find the cause, I can create a cure.” I said, “You can’t give me either, you’re fired.” I didn’t understand till maybe 10 or 20 years later, when I was in group therapy, and when I was in group therapy, I met all these other people who had kids, had married, they were in jobs, they were in careers, that every single one of them was in great jeopardy, because the family was in jeopardy, their marriage was in jeopardy, their relationship with the kids and everybody else they knew was in jeopardy.

And I made certain decisions about my life based upon that. I’m never gonna get married, never gonna have kids. I was never gonna drag some other human being through my problems that way, because it just seemed so humiliating for their families. And especially for the wife. I mean, she had not signed on for this, you know?

JM: You had a lot of really negative examples of trans people. Your clients, they’re struggling, face incarceration, these people in group therapy. Is that how you just assumed your life would end up if you transitioned?

MY: I wasn’t sure. I knew I didn’t wanna live that life that they were living, and that I didn’t wanna live the life I was living. If you think about it for a second, that’s the reason why it took me so long to come out. I was 60 years old when I came out, and it took me that long to come to the one single revelation, was that the real shame was not being trans, it was being fake. It was not being authentic. It was not being truthful. It was being a phony and a coward, and all the things I really kinda don’t like about people. So I knew I couldn’t continue like that. I had to take whatever consequences came from it.

JM: What was that moment that you decided, “Okay, I’m gonna do this”?

MY: I remember the moment. I was singing a song, I was playing a benefit for some progressive cause, and a proposition something, I can’t remember, somebody’s backyard, and I’m playing this gig, and people are coming up, and blah, blah, blah, and I’ve got my guitar with me, and I’m singing with my nephews. All of a sudden people said, “Oh, it’s a surprise birthday party, you’re 60 years old,” and blah, blah, blah. And I was sitting there thinking, as these people are all making nice with me, basically congratulating me, all that sort of stuff. But I remember thinking at the time, “How would you like it if I killed that dude?” It went through my head. That was the words that went through my head.

And I just said, “No, I refuse to live like this.” I don’t know a single trans lawyer. I don’t know of a single trans trial lawyer for sure, because I was the courts every day. And it got to the point where it just didn’t matter. I was kind of hoping that the world would be more open to it someday, but I knew if I, you know, I’m 60. I already lived a whole life in complete stealth, and I’m thinking, you threw your life away, you lived a fucking fake life, how can you continue with that? And so I just started coming out to people, and most people thought I was completely insane. So many people thought I was joking, and it was just another gag, you know what I mean?

JM: I think that coming out at any age has its own challenges, and I don’t think one’s easier than the other. But I do think it’s a really specific and compelling thing to come out at 60, because you have 60 years of proof, in other people’s minds, to be like, “What do you mean? Of course not.”

MY: Yeah, but the fact of the matter is I got a whole variety of responses from that. But my best friends, I remember, because it’s interesting to do something like that. Coming out is really a fascinating exercise in relationships because my favorite response was the people that says to me, “It’s a fucked-up world that you couldn’t have come out sooner.”

That was the one that got me.

But, coming out trans is different than coming out lesbian or gay. It’s much more in your face. You’re gonna look a lot different tomorrow after you come out.

JM: In terms of your work, and how it impacted your work and your clients as a lawyer, what did you expect would happen, and what actually did happen?

MY: I expected to lose everything, lose everybody and everything. I expected it. I looked around, I could see the animosity that people had. You look around the world, you look around the courts, you look around where I work, and the people that I associate with, bar associations, community organizations, jails, prisons, prosecutors offices, and primarily the courthouse, where it’s a very public place. So I figured I would lose everything, and it was okay. I remember I got to that point in my life, I said, “You know something? It’s way more important for me to just come out.”

When I first came out to my clients, I mean, they’re a really important high priority for me, because that’s my responsibility. I came out to each one of them individually, went to the jails and I said, “I’m gonna be going through a gender change, a sex change, and I know that’s not what you signed on for.” I said, “And if you can’t manage that,” I said, “I know some of the best lawyers in Southern California. You will be well taken care of. And I appreciate that this is a shock.” And it was to almost all of them. And many of my clients were murderer clients and gang members, and they have certain cultural issues with LGBT.

And I thought for sure that I would lose most of them. I lost none of them. Zero. Every person had a different reaction at first, well, they all had the same reaction, actually. They all said, “No shit, man. You really gonna do that?” But then they would say something like, “Well, why would I want somebody else besides you?” And one of them said, “I hired you for your brain.” These guys are pretty tough guys, but I didn’t lose a single one of them, and they all wanted to stick with me, even after I gave them the option, saying, “I will find somebody to represent you. I won’t continue with this. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” So the clients were awesome, I thought. Just amazing, really. To this day, I’m still moved to tears by how embracing they were of me, because I didn’t expect that at all. Not from them. They’re some tough, hardcore guys, man.

JM: What did it feel like to walk into court that first time, presenting as a woman?

MY: Well, you know what’s interesting? The night before that, I remember I got my clothes ready, and I was getting ready to go dress for the first time, and I remember saying to myself, “I’m gonna liberate the criminal courts building. I’m gonna force them to experience something that they will never, ever be able to unsee, and the landscape will change, and it won’t be comfortable for me. People are gonna be shocked, but it’s gonna be a good thing that I’m gonna do. I’m gonna liberate the courthouse. I’m gonna liberate the jail, liberate the prosecutor’s office. I’m gonna liberate all of these places that have never seen a transgender trial lawyer before in their life.” And I remember that was the motivation I needed, that this was something, something noble I was going to do, something really progressive and liberating, and I remember saying that to myself before I went.

I was like, “Okay, it’s time to liberate the criminal courts building.” But first time I went to court, it was like jaws dropping, eyes popping, people, many people not even knowing what the hell to say to me. Or people asking me if I’m crazy. “What the fuck are you doing?” That kind of a thing. But then when I walked into court for the first time, the DA looks at me, and she goes, “So what do we call you now?” And I said, “That’s a perfect question.” I said, “I call myself Mia. That’s my name, and I appreciate you even asking me that.” And she was great about it.

JM: Did you also have to start then identifying as a lesbian too?

MY: I did. And what was really interesting was, I mean, I was a separate person, believe me…I took advantage of being a male. I had a great time being in relationships with women. However, they were always very limited, because I knew that I was gonna be going through transition. I knew where I was headed, and I could never stick with those relationships. I had some very great, loving relationships, and I remember looking at them thinking, “God, if I wasn’t trans, I could have such a great life with these wonderful women.”

So, the weird thing about being trans is that I’m a straight male…I’m a lesbian trans woman, but in no instance am I attracted to males, you know, at all. And yet, that’s the only people that I got attention from after I transitioned. So now I’m a flaming lesbian, I have to say.

JM: And you’re a married woman now too.

MY: I am. Yeah, I thought I was never gonna get married, but, you know, I turned 70. I thought, “I dodged it, I’m never gonna get married,” and it’s fine with me. I like being by myself. I’ve lived with it a long time. There’s a lot of advantages to being totally single. And I’m not the type of person to get lonely, because I have so many friends, and I have so many activities, I’ve been playing in bands for almost 40 years now. So I have a big social circle, and a huge progressive community that I do a lot of work out in the community as advocacy stuff. So I never felt like I would.

But then somebody came along when I was 72, 73, and wanted to get married, so we’re married. And it’s fine. I mean, I go through as many struggles as any other married person, believe me. We fight like crazy, but I still love her dearly. Yeah, I am married. I never thought I would be. I never thought I wanted to be. Whoever would’ve predicted that? Whoever, I would’ve never predicted I would’ve made it to 80. Never. I figured no way in the world was I gonna get past 40. I figured if I didn’t kill myself, somebody was gonna kill me.

JM: That was depression talking, you’re saying?

MY: No, no, it was just realism, just realism. In this life, I wasn’t gonna have much of a life, and it was probably gonna end very early. And because of that, I made no provisions for old age. It’s like, oh my God.

JM: Are you worried about aging and getting older?

MY: No, I don’t worry about that. I don’t worry about stuff like that. Matter of fact, I’m still working. I’m still working full time. I still see people that need my help. I’m not gonna stop doing that. So I feel like it’s kind of an experiment. At this age, yeah, I’m not, I’m not gonna be around too much longer, probably. I don’t know. But I wanna be able to be productive, and helping people, and whatever, for as long as I can.

JM: It’s so interesting that you are working with queer and trans people early in your career. Usually people run as far away from the thing that scares them as possible. But you actually were in the closet and helping the trans community.

MY: As a matter of fact, all the time I was working in coalitions, working with bar associations, I wanted to make sure that everything that we did, we never excluded the LGBT community. They always saw me as this great ally, and they didn’t realize I was a member of the community for all those years. But I was always fighting for the community long before it was fashionable. I would go to law student groups, and kids would come up to me and say, “You’re the first leader we’ve ever seen advocate for gay people,” they said, and they were very, very, they were just dazzled by that.

When you’re the kind of person I am, you’re kind of a rebel. You have no problem advocating for despised communities. Matter of fact, I feel very proud to do that. I feel like, if it takes no courage at all to support popular positions. The idea of gay inclusion, particularly in the bar, at one time was considered radical. It was considered radical advocacy. Today, it’s necessary. It’s just part of being equitable in society, is making sure that you got room for everybody.

JM: I know for many years you worked fighting against the death penalty. What is your focus now? What’s your big mission at the moment?

MY: Well, I’m still against the death penalty. And I still think it cheapens and harms all of us morally. But right now, I think I’m far more involved with, or currently, I’m much more of an advocate for LGBT people, and that is my biggest audience. I just spoke to an audience of 2,100 Asian American lawyers for the National Association of Asian Pacific Lawyers, in Indianapolis. Talked to the California attorneys, consumer attorneys of California, two days ago. And in each of my speeches, I talk about the need to support the community, and I talk about the ways we’re being attacked. I talk about the fact that they’ve gotta be allies. They can’t just be standing on the sidelines and say, “Oh, that’s too bad.” Because being an ally is an obligation of every single person of conscience. Because when you see an injustice someplace close to you, if you don’t do something about it, then to me, you’re part of the problem.

JM: Most of the battles we’re fighting now are in the courtroom, right? Especially for trans youth, they’re being attacked in statehouses. We’re on defense. Do you think that we’re doing something wrong? Should we be playing offense in a specific way? Should we be doing something else?

MY: I think the advocacy has to be to the non-trans and non-LGBT community. We have to actually be seeking out allies. I often quote from Frederick Douglass, where he said that when he fought against slavery, it was for himself. When he fought against racial discrimination, it was for his people. But when he fought for the rights of women, he found some nobility there. And I think that’s the whole point of it, is that what I’ve learned in the course of this advocacy is that there’s a group called Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays, and they are very open and vocal in support of their kids.

And I’ve watched them over the course of the past 30 years, and I’ve realized they are more powerful and more persuasive in the public forum than I could ever be for myself. The people that love us, and therefore being an ally is the hugest, biggest thing I can be advocating for out there on the streets, is what I do in every one of these speeches I’m talking of, is, be an ally. Stand up for communities that are being oppressed, because that is where you find some nobility. It isn’t in your self-interest. It’s for the people that you love, and in many ways, it’s all about love. It’s all about love. It’s all about love of each other, love of justice, and love of equality, and love of people.

And this whole thing about, I have a focus on support the parents of trans kids, because they’re the ones who are being attacked, and those are the ones that have the voices that will ultimately liberate all of us. No minority movement is ever gonna succeed without allies.

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Click here to listen to the full interview on the LGBTQ&A podcast.

LGBTQ&A features interviews with the most interesting lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people in the world. Hosted and produced by Jeffrey Masters. ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠@jeffmasters1⁠⁠⁠

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