International funding, while crucial, cannot replace the need for homegrown support, the report said.
Mumbai: Supreme Court’s 2018 decision to decriminalise homosexuality was a landmark moment. The recognition of the transgender community’s rights under a new law furthered the cause for equality. Despite this, the journey towards equity for LGBTQIA+ communities has been long and challenging in India, fraught with setbacks, systemic exclusion and marginalisation.
Despite some progress on the legal front, legislative action, political representation and access to adequate resources haven’t made the desired progress.
On February 4, Godrej Industries Group, Radhika Piramal and Keshav Suri Foundation, in collaboration with Dasra, a philanthropic and strategic impact organisation, announced a Pride Fund. The fund, with an initial corpus of Rs 2 crore, was announced following a report that studies the condition of the LGBTQIA+ community and how very little philanthropic work has been done for the community.
In the first phase, 50 NGOs working in queer spaces across India were identified. After a structured evaluation, 22 of them were shortlisted, with eight selected for multi-year funding. These organisations were chosen for their “long-term vision, community impact, and ability to create lasting change”. The funding it guaranteed for three years.
Less than 1% of global funding for LGBTQIA+ issues
The report suggests that India receives less than 1% of global funding for LGBTQIA+ issues, and the situation is further compounded by the fact that only two of India’s top 50 philanthropic givers explicitly prioritise LGBTQIA+ issues. The systemic exclusion and invisibility of these communities is a harsh reality, often overlooked in mainstream development discussions, it states.
The lived experiences of LGBTQIA+ individuals are anything but monolithic. And these experiences, the report says, are shaped by “intersecting factors such as class, gender, ethnicity, caste, tribe affiliation, religion, and other identities”. The remnants of “colonial conservatism” and ingrained “socio-cultural prejudices” continue to force queer communities to the margins of society.
The study notes that in the face of adversity, civil society organisations (CSOs) have been at the forefront of supporting LGBTQIA+ communities, amplifying grassroots perspectives, and providing vital services. These organisations, it says, have been instrumental in pushing for legal and formal equality and responding to the unique challenges faced by intersectionally marginalised LGBTQIA+ groups.
The 72-page study looks at the role played by the CSOs in addressing gaps in institutional services, including healthcare, education, livelihoods and access to justice. Over 57% of nonprofits working with LGBTQIA+ communities, the study finds, are service providers and field-builders. Another 53% focus on grassroots settings.
The rise of queer leadership
There is also an important shift in the landscape, the rise of queer leadership, the study has found. Over 50% of nonprofits working with LGBTQIA+ communities in India are queer-led. The change, the report shows, is being driven by those who understand the lived experiences of these communities firsthand. The study conducted with the hope to boost investment for the cause calls the queer-led leadership a “positive development” and says investing in these organisations is essential to ensure long-term socioeconomic dividends for queer communities.
The funding landscape remains a significant challenge, the findings state. Despite the growth of the movement, access to resources remains limited. Only 43% of nonprofits working with queer communities are eligible for international funding, and 59% of funding for LGBTQIA+ causes comes from international sources. This heavy reliance on external funding poses risks to the sustainability and autonomy of queer organisations in India. Moreover, a lack of domestic funding continues to hinder progress.
“For years, Indian companies have spent crores on weddings and lavish celebrations. It’s time they invest in ensuring queer people can access the same basic rights and dignities,” Piramal, executive director of VIP Industries Ltd, said at the fund launch in Mumbai. She further added that “LGBTQIA organisations are running on fumes. The Pride Fund aims to raise resources and awareness for queer-led NGOs that work tirelessly on the ground for the community.”
International funding, while crucial, cannot replace the need for homegrown support, the report has suggested. India, with its 18% share of the global population, receives only a minor share of global LGBTQIA+ funding. This highlights a significant gap between the resources available and the on-the-ground needs of queer communities.
The study stresses on the point that while judicial action – like the NALSA judgment of 2014 and the decriminalisation of homosexuality – has been transformative, the legislative landscape remains largely shaped by the judiciary, and action by the executive is still in its infancy.
The lack of a clear and comprehensive legislative framework leaves queer communities vulnerable to systemic harm and discrimination. The absence of openly queer political leaders in India’s political sphere further exacerbates this issue, the study says. It also makes a case for the need for an official data on the queer population, as without these numbers it is difficult to push for essential legislative changes.
This report, the collaborators say, is both a tribute to the resilience of LGBTQIA+ communities in India and a call for urgent action. CSOs, queer leaders and allies must come together to bridge the gap in resources and representation, it states.
Activists Indrajeet Ghorpade and Utkarsh Mishra had filed three complaints against three programmes featuring Chaudhary in 2023, at the time when the Supreme Court was hearing and delivering the equal marriage rights case.
New Delhi: The News Broadcasting and Digital Standards Authority (NBDSA) has taken a dim view of anchor Sudhir Chaudhary’s comments on the LGBTQIA+ community in news shows and stated that the community must be treated with dignity.
Activists Indrajeet Ghorpade and Utkarsh Mishra had filed three complaints against three programmes featuring Chaudhary in 2023, at the time when the Supreme Court was hearing and delivering the equal marriage rights case. Two were aired on AajTak and one, on India Today.
In an order on January 27, 2025, the NBDSA said that it found Sudhir Chaudhary’s commentary “violates the dignity of the people to say the least.”
It said they were in violation of NBDSA’s guidelines related to reporting court proceedings, defamatory content and decency.
It ordered Chaudhary to act more maturely and asked Aaj Tak to delete the violating sections from the programmes.
“A well-informed person like the anchor, that too of a national channel, is supposed to respect those rights (of LGBTQI+ persons) which even the law recognises. In this context, it has to be emphasised that even the persons belonging to this community are to be treated as normal human beings and, more importantly, with due dignity,” the NBDSA said.
In the AajTak programme, Chaudhary said that LGBTQ+ marriage is an issue of the western World. An AI-generated image of a person who is half bride and half groom were shown. Chaudhary asked the viewers to imagine their child bringing home a person like this.
He also said that demand for marriage rights is only from specific elite sections of the society.
The NBDSA has ordered Aaj Tak to remove the video. It also found Aaj Tak in violation of hate speech, neutrality and impartiality principles and guidelines.
In two other programmes (here and here), Chaudhary interviewed Union home minister Amit Shah and former law minister Kiran Rijiju and asked them questions about equal marriage rights. The NBDSA asked Chaudhury to show more maturity.
“Supreme Court ka jo bench hai woh kaafi naye naye logics leke aa raha hai ki kyun ye hamare desh mein hona chahiye (the Supreme Court bench is bringing pretty new logic on why this should happen in our country).”
“Solicitor General ki Supreme Court mein abhi chal nahi rahi hai. Aisa lagta hai Supreme Court mann bana chuka hai ki woh chahta hai aisa (The SG is unable to convince the SC. It’s as if the SC has decided that it wants this).”
Referring to the then Chief Justice of India D.Y. Chandrachud, he said, “Ye desh kisi ke baap ka nahi hai aur kuch log isse chalane ki koshish kar rahe hai (This country doesn’t belong to anyone’s father and some people are trying to run it as such).”
He also said that during the case hearings, the CJI said to the SG, “Yahan wahi hoga jo mai chahunga (Whatever I want will happen here)”.
“The NBDSA closes this complaint with an advisory to the anchor to show more maturity in future while conducting such programmes. NBDSA further directs the broadcaster to edit the video of the said broadcast by removing the aforesaid portions within 7 days of the Order,” it said.
Thailand has become the first country in Southeast Asia to legalise same-sex marriage. DW looks at LGBTQ+ rights across the region.
A new marriage law came into force in Thailand on Thursday which will grant full equality to same-sex couples, including legal, financial and medical rights. Only two other places in Asia — Nepal and Taiwan — have similar laws in place.
The struggle for marriage equality in Thailand has lasted decades.
Plus and Gaye, a lesbian couple who preferred not to give their full names, told DW that the new law “gives us the courage to look toward a future beyond relationships.”
After being together for nearly 20 years, they are now eligible for tax deductions, health care consent and joint property management — rights that were previously reserved for heterosexual couples.
The bill grants “basic human rights to the LGBTQ community,” said Mookdapa Yangyuenpradorn, human rights associate for Fortify Rights.
But she questions whether the law will be implemented properly.
“Officials need to be informed and trained to avoid discrimination,” Yangyuenpradorn said, “whether it is when the couples register their marriage, sign medical consent forms or adoption papers.”
It is also telling that gender-specific words, such as “husbands,” “wives,” “men” and “women,” have been replaced with gender-neutral terms, but lawmakers did not include the word “parent” in addition to “father and mother.”
What’s next after Thailand’s marriage equality bill?
Thailand has long been hailed as a haven for LGBTQ+ people. But Yangyuenpradorn doubts the country will build on the momentum of its marriage equality law.
“When the marriage equality bill was discussed in public, some would say: ‘They [same-sex couples] just want to love each other, leave them be,'” Yangyuenpradorn said.
If the focus shifts to things like the gender recognition bill, which would allow people to obtain legal documents reflecting their gender identity, then it becomes apparent that “transphobic attitudes still exist.”
“Some people are against allowing the LGBTQ community the option to amend gender markers due to entrenched fears of (gender) identity falsification,” Yangyuenpradorn said.
Vietnam: Population backs marriage equality, laws lag behind
A 2023 Pew Research Center survey found that 65% of people in Vietnam are in favour of allowing same-sex couples to marry — more than anywhere else in Southeast Asia.
Despite this level of public support, same-sex marriage seems a long way away in Vietnam. The country only stopped defining being gay, bisexual or transgender as an “illness” in 2022.
The current Vietnamese Law on Marriage and Family was amended in 2014 to allow for symbolic weddings that are not legally recognized. The law was due to be revised in either 2024 or 2025, yet it is nowhere to be found on the parliament’s legislative schedule.
Backers of same-sex marriage also face an uphill legal battle in Singapore. In November 2022, the parliament overturned a law that criminalised sex between men, but the lawmakers also amended the constitution to block full marriage equality.
LGBTQ+ people tread carefully in Muslim-majority nations
Support for same-sex marriage in Muslim-majority Malaysia and Indonesia is the lowest in the region, with only 17% and 5% of survey respondents in favour, respectively.
“Muslims report the lowest support for same-sex marriage of any religious group in any place surveyed,” according to the Pew Research Center.
LGBTQ+ communities face diverse issues within Muslim-majority nations, as well. Same-sex relations are not outlawed in Indonesia, the world’s most populous Muslim-majority country, except in Aceh province, where Sharia law is enforced.
“It is possible to live (closeted) lives in Muslim communities [in Indonesia], provided that people are extra careful,” Dede Oetomo, a campaigner for LGBTQ rights in the archipelago, told DW.
In general terms, Oetomo said, “it is a war out there.”
“From time to time, there is news of raids of gay gatherings or venues, disruption of pageants, or persecution of individuals by family or community members, sometimes by state law enforcement people,” Oetomo said.
Brunei’s laws call for stoning of gay men
Oetomo said there were reasons for hope — the number of faith leaders and communities supporting LGBTQ+ causes is increasing, which has helped introduce “a counternarrative of religious discourse.”
“In some Eastern Indonesian cities,” Oetomo said, “there is an attempt by LGBTQ organizations and intersectional allies to have anti-discrimination local ordinances, with some success in Ambon and Kupang.”
Despite more people being in favor of same-sex marriage in Malaysia than in Indonesia, there is still a legal ban on homosexuality in Malaysia, with violations punishable by a 20-year prison term. In 2023, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim said Malaysia would never recognize LGBTQ+ rights.
But nowhere in Southeast Asia is the intolerance as severe as in Brunei. It is one of 11 countries in the world that still has the death penalty for homosexuality. In 2019, Brunei introduced new laws that make sex between men punishable by stoning to death, although this was suspended after international backlash.
Philippines, Singapore still struggle with laws
Across the Philippines, regional authorities have passed a slew of local measures to protect LGBTQ+ communities from discrimination.
But, at the national level, an anti-discrimination bill based on sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression is still blocked after more than two decades of debate in parliament.
Meanwhile, in Singapore, the government recently passed its first workplace anti-discrimination law, which is expected to come into effect in 2026 or 2027. However, the bill does not cover discrimination over sexual orientation and gender identity.
Andrew, a 30-year-old Singaporean who asked that his full name not be used, told DW that this is a “massive” missed opportunity to discuss gender and sexuality issues and shift attitudes toward the LGBTQ+ community in the wealthy island state. He said removing media censorship of positive or neutral LGBTQ+ content would help move the nation toward more acceptance.
“It is disheartening to see that Singapore media still has not changed over the years,” Andrew said, adding that gay characters are portrayed as “perverts or mentally disturbed.”
“I think that just really fits the whole narrative that people in the LGBTQ community aren’t good for society because that’s what people see and that is what the older generation would then internalize,” Andrew said.
This article first appeared on DW. Read the original here.
The Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) missed a crucial opportunity in dismantling gender paradigms. With the omission of Section 377 altogether, male and transgender victims are deprived of any legal recourse.
At the stroke of the midnight hour, as the world slept, India awoke to the gruesome rape and murder of 31-year-old trainee doctor at Kolkata’s R.G. Kar Medical College. Following the incident, the nation reverted to a well-documented pattern. A harrowing incident occurs, triggering grave and sudden outrage, often accompanied by demands for harsher punishments for the accused, as exemplified by the Aparajita Bill. Over time, however, the nation slips back into complacency, awaiting another incident to reignite its fury. From Mathura, to Nirbhaya to R.G. Kar, the cycle of tragedy remains unbroken.
India remains a country that’s highly reactive and rarely proactive, whose policy makers remain inert until a catastrophe occurs. While retributive justice has its place, it serves merely as symptomatic treatment, failing to address root causes.
Rape isn’t merely an act of uncontrolled carnal desire; it is a manifestation of deeply ingrained societal prejudices. It reflects a pervasive culture that trivialises sexual violence and perpetuates notions of ideal victimhood, chastity, and female passivity. Our gendered laws inadvertently reinforce these biases, perpetuating the very culture they seek to dismantle.
Gendered laws and reinforced stereotypes
Prior to the enactment of the new criminal laws, Section 375 of the Indian Penal Code (IPC) defined rape as something a ‘male perpetrator’ did to a ‘female victim’. Rape against men, which was governed under Section 377, was not officially classified as an offence of rape but rather as ‘unnatural sex’.
The newly enacted Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita (BNS) missed a crucial opportunity in dismantling such gender paradigms. With the omission of Section 377 altogether, male and transgender victims are deprived of any legal recourse. While such an omission could have been an act of legislative oversight, it reflects the societal notion that rape against cis-women is inherently more serious than rape against other genders.
Rape, regardless of gender, must be viewed as a violation of one’s bodily integrity, not of honour or chastity. The omission of Section 377 also discounts the idea of homosexual relationships and the possibility of rape in such scenarios. While the BNS makes the perpetrators of certain offences gender-neutral, it continues to recognise only women as victims in such cases.
Our laws continue to reinforce the notion that men seek sex while women respond to it, thereby placing women in a submissive position. This, in turn, promotes a rape culture in society where women are viewed as passive sexual objects, making them more susceptible to rape.
Such gendered laws create immense dilemmas for the judiciary as well. For instance, in Priya Patel v. State of Madhya Pradesh, the Supreme Court had to acquit a woman charged with the offence of gang rape solely because it was ‘conceptually inconceivable’ under Section 375 of the now repealed IPC. The law ended up reinforcing the patriarchal notion that women are passive recipients of sexual violence, incapable of perpetrating it themselves.
The persistence of victorian morality
Despite laudable efforts towards decolonisation, our penal provisions retain vestiges of colonial morality. Section 74 of the BNS, which deals with acts outraging the ‘modesty’ of women, places the focus on female purity and chastity instead of upholding their autonomy.
Ambiguities in the language of these laws, including terms like ‘unwelcome behaviour’ and ‘modesty’, lead to misuse while failing to address systemic inequalities. These provisions place a disproportionate emphasis on punishing sexual wrongs, thereby neglecting the promotion of sexual rights such as freedom of expression, sexual autonomy, and equality in relationships.
Blind spots and intersectional exclusion
The marital rape exception in Section 63 highlights the deep-rooted connection between societal prejudices and laws, underscoring the urgent need for policy reform. Furthermore, laws also turn a blind eye to intersectional aspects of rape, especially with regards to how caste, religion, sexuality and other socio-economic factors leave or entirely exclude certain communities from protection and public discourse.
A call for genuine reform
If our bureaucrats genuinely wish to tackle the scourge of rape, they must look beyond symptoms and start addressing root causes. It is crucial for our lawmakers to address the systemic factors that perpetuate a rape culture in our society, starting with the very laws they draft.
Instead of reinstating IPC’s Section 377 in the BNS, the legislature should focus on making the existing penal provisions for rape gender-neutral, thereby encompassing individuals of all genders. Additionally, laws addressing the ‘modesty’ of women should be rephrased to shift the emphasis from protecting purity to upholding personal autonomy.
The R.G. Kar case painfully reminds us that despite years of reforms, the horrors that Mathura and Nirbhaya faced persist. Even after years of freedom and legal progress, India struggles to protect its women and uphold their rights. It’s time for change. It’s time for reform. At the stroke of the midnight hour, it is time to awaken- completely, genuinely and sincerely.
SaiDharshan K.S. is a law student at OP Jindal Global Law School.
‘Patriqueernormativity’ reveals the limitations of queer inclusion in India, where visibility does not equate to true equality
While legal milestones like the decriminalisation of homosexuality in 2018 have marked progress for LGBTQIA+ rights India, true queer liberation remains to be achieved.
Often queer inclusion is permitted only in ways that uphold the patriarchal setup and traditional gender norms associated with it. Despite increased visibility, queer identities continue to be marginalised within societal frameworks that prioritise patriarchal family values.
Defining ‘Patriqueernormativity’
Patriqueernormativity is a term that encapsulates the integration of queer identities into societal structures without challenging the foundational norms of patriarchy and heteronormativity. It describes a system where queer inclusion is permitted solely in ways that maintain the existing power dynamics, ensuring that gendered hierarchies remain intact.
To break down the term:
– Patri refers to patriarchy, a system of power rooted in male dominance, in which societal structures are shaped by and for the interests of men. Patriarchy persists through cultural norms, legal systems and everyday practices, creating a hierarchy that privileges men over other genders .
– Queer represents LGBTQIA+ identities, including those who challenge traditional notions of gender and sexuality. Under patriqueernormativity, queerness is superficially accepted as long as it conforms to dominant heteronormative expectations.
– Normativity points to the preservation of societal norms – in this case, heteronormative and patriarchal norms. Queer individuals can be included, but their inclusion is conditioned on their ability to fit into pre-existing frameworks, preventing any real disruption of traditional gender roles and relationships.
Thus, patriqueernormativity refers to the selective and controlled acceptance of queer identities within a societal structure that ultimately remains patriarchal and heteronormative. For example, queer individuals may be visible in popular media, or legal changes may occur, but core patriarchal and heteronormative values – such as the privileging of traditional family structures, male authority, and hetero-centric social organisation – are never fully challenged.
Theoretical framework
Patriqueernormativity is consistent with Foucault’s power relations where power operates not only as oppressive, but as productive to the extent that it determines the norms by conditioning certain actions and punishing others. Foucault opines that power does not work in negating or even in banning or ostracising persons, it is exercised by controlling what is permissible.
Within this frame, queerness is acceptable only within normative confines that reinforce male dominance. That is why queer visibility exists but is also limited in terms of what it is able to challenge and change in a queer way.
Similarly, Judith Butler’s concept of performativity provides insight into how identities, including gender and sexual identities, are shaped by dominant norms. Butler argues that identity is not fixed but is instead performed within the confines of societal expectations.
As it stands, patriqueernormativity shows how the inclusion of queer identities in India (and perhaps in other societies) suffers from a constricted and institutionalised understanding. Within the system queer people and their identities are accepted, provided that they do not in any way challenge or redistribute power away from the patriarchal heteronormative order of Indian society.
Victorian Morality and Section 377
Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, enacted in 1861 under British colonial rule, was rooted in Victorian-era morality, which imposed rigid, heteronormative sexual and gender norms. The British forms of law, for instance, tried to control people’s sexual behaviours by proscribing anyone engaging in “unnatural” activities such as consensual homosexual relationships. Such an imposition marked a clear break from the more fluid and diverse notions regarding gender and sexuality that existed in India prior to colonial presence.
Before British colonisation, India was home to a range of gender nonconforming communities, such as the hijras—a recognised third gender in many parts of the subcontinent. Various religious and cultural traditions, including Hinduism and Sufism, embraced diverse expressions of gender and sexuality, offering space for gender fluidity and same-sex love. However, with colonial rule came the enforcement of Western norms, which systematically erased or suppressed these indigenous identities, framing them as deviant and immoral.
Although Section 377 was struck down in 2018, the underlying Victorian moral frameworks remain embedded in Indian society. These conservative attitudes persist in how many still view queerness as “unnatural” or incompatible with traditional family values. This particular tendency is what underpins patriqueernormativity – where legislation becomes more progressive but does not change the behaviours enforced by society.
The law may no longer criminalise queer existence, but the moral landscape, shaped by colonial ideals, continues to restrict true queer liberation in contemporary India.
Beyond decriminalisation of homosexuality
In September 2018, India witnessed a historic legal victory with the Supreme Court’s ruling in Navtej Singh Johar v. Union of India, which decriminalised homosexuality by striking down Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code. The judgment marked a profound moment for queer rights, as it symbolised a long-overdue affirmation of queer identities and their place in Indian society. The celebrations that followed were jubilant – pride marches grew larger, queer individuals spoke openly and a sense of liberation echoed through urban spaces. The bench proactively articulated the dignity of queer citizens for the first time in an incremental step toward inclusion.
Although the ruling lifted the criminalisation of consensual same-sex relationships, it did not address aspects of its implementation. It only resulted in decriminalisation of private, consensual acts and did not give any other substantive rights. Discrimination based on sexual orientation is still rampant; same-sex marriage is still illegal, queer couples are still not allowed to adopt, and inheritance provisions do not provide for same sex spouses.
These rights, which are critical in ensuring that an individual lives with equitable dignity have been elusive, putting queer persons in a legal and social quagmire. In effect, the decision made it possible for the queer population to be out in the open but without availability of, or full involvement in, the apparatus of marriage and family which provides the cover of social acceptability
This is where patriqueernormativity is an important term. As a combination of patriarchy and heteronormativity, patriqueernormativity permits a visibility of queerness, but only within predefined limits. While this may have eliminated the legal day-to-day oppression, true equality and belonging are still withheld from them.
Queer people are now “accepted” in the boundaries of patriarchal society, but their unions are still seen as ‘less potent’ than heterosexual relationships.
The fight for marriage equality
The battle for same-sex marriage in India is one of the most significant legal and social struggles for the queer community since the decriminalisation of homosexuality in 2018. While this landmark judgment marked a major step toward equality, the ongoing fight for marriage rights highlights the limitations of that victory. At the heart of this battle are deeply ingrained societal beliefs about “family values” and the sanctity of marriage, which serve as major points of resistance to recognising same-sex unions. These objections are often rooted in a fear of disturbing heteronormative family structures.
Those opposed to same-sex marriage often mention the need to uphold the time-tested version of a ‘family’, proclaiming that marriage, only meant for a man and a woman, is centered on procreation. These views are not just about legal definitions; they are about protecting an idea of the family that upholds patriarchy by reinforcing gender roles. The Indian family structure, as envisioned by conservative voices, relies on the binary of male and female, where the man is traditionally the head of the household and the woman the caretaker. Any disruption to this model challenges the very foundation of this patriarchal order.
Patriqueernormativity helps explain this resistance to same-sex marriage.
Marriage, in Indian society, carries a great deal of symbolic and social significance. It is not merely a legal contract between two individuals; it is a social institution that confers legitimacy, status and belonging. For many, marriage is the gateway to full participation in societal life – it connects individuals to family networks, ensures property rights and allows for legal recognition in issues of inheritance and adoption. Without access to marriage, queer relationships remain outside the bounds of social legitimacy. The refusal to grant same-sex couples the right to marry is not just a denial of legal rights but a reinforcement of the idea that their relationships are inferior to heterosexual ones.
The denial of marriage rights keeps queer people on the margins of Indian society, regardless of their legal right to exist. While they are no longer criminalised for their sexual orientation, they are still denied the social and cultural recognition that marriage provides.
The ongoing fight for same-sex marriage is, therefore, not just about the legal right to marry but about the broader struggle for full recognition and equality. Patriqueernormativity explains how queer identities are controlled and constrained, even as they are made more visible. Legal victories like the decriminalisation of homosexuality are important, but until marriage and other rights are granted, queer people will remain second-class citizens, visible but unequal.
Commodification of queer identity
Since the 2018 ruling, pride marches in Indian cities have gained increased visibility and momentum. These events, held in major cities like Delhi, Mumbai and Bengaluru, have become both platforms of celebration for the LGBTQIA+ community and public displays of queer identity. Pride, for many, represents a vibrant expression of individuality and defiance against years of marginalisation. But simultaneously, these festivities have also morphed into centres of intensifying commercialisation, where corporate advertising and other commercialised elements subvert their original, radical aims.
The increasing participation of corporations in pride events has led to a phenomenon known as rainbow capitalism. Businesses put on rainbow logos and sell pride products in the name of supporting the community. While this indicates a certain level of tolerance and normalisation of queer identities, it comes with the danger of commercialising the queer struggle by turning it into a brand that makes money instead of a movement that seeks to challenge the status quo. Pride becomes a simple product to be pushed out with little reference to the struggle it grew from.
This commercialisation intersects with the concept of Patriqueernormativity. Corporations and urban elites embrace pride marches, but in doing so, they often strip it of its political potential. Pride marches are tolerated and celebrated as colourful, controlled spectacles that showcase the “diversity” of society. However, this visibility is conditional: it exists within the boundaries of market-friendly, apolitical spaces. True activism, which would push for systemic change and the dismantling of heteronormativity and patriarchy, is sidelined.
Patriqueernormativity enables this dynamic by creating safe, controlled spaces for queer identities to be visible. As long as queer expression remains commercially viable and culturally palatable, it is accepted. But when it threatens the status quo by questioning family structures, marriage norms, or gender roles, it is either ignored or marginalised.
True liberation
Patriqueernormativity reveals the limitations of queer inclusion in India, where visibility does not equate to true equality. True queer liberation in India requires dismantling these underlying power dynamics to ensure genuine inclusion and equality.
To achieve this, a more transformative approach is needed – one that challenges the patriarchal structures underpinning societal norms. This includes legal recognition of same-sex marriage, adoption rights, and equal access to social and economic privileges. Additionally, efforts must be made to shift cultural perceptions by promoting education on gender diversity, fostering inclusive media representation and ensuring that queer activism remains radical. Queer communities should continue to push for systemic change that goes beyond visibility and directly confronts patriarchal norms.
Disha is a Ph.D. scholar and senior research fellow at Dr. K. R. Narayanan Centre for Dalit and Minorities Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.
‘It has been almost four years since this scheme was launched but the truth is that we do not have any strong mechanism to issue transgender certificates.’
New Delhi: The year 2024 marks a decade since the landmark NALSA judgement that recognised the rights of transgender persons in India. But Delhi’s transgender community continues to face an uphill battle for basic recognition and access to essential services.
Bureaucratic red tape, insensitive verification processes and the absence of systemic accountability make it nearly impossible for many trans individuals to secure essential identity documents such as the transgender ID card, which is also crucial for accessing healthcare, employment, and education.
For activists like Pari, a trans woman working at Delhi’s Naz Foundation, the numbers are telling: out of the 75 people she has helped apply for certificates, only two have been successful. Her own reluctance to apply stems from the same fears that paralyse much of the community – an exhausting maze of paperwork, multiple office visits and the threat of family rejection.
The transgender identity certificate is designed to provide transgender individuals with formal recognition, enabling access to government assistance and facilitating name and gender updates on official documents to mitigate instances of discrimination.
To streamline the process of issuing the certificates, the government had launched the SMILE (Support for Marginalised Individuals for Livelihood & Enterprise) portal. This online platform offers access to various support services, including scholarships, skill development programmes, employment and essential medical care like counselling, surgeries, and hormone therapies, and access to shelter homes like Garima Greh.
The ‘SMILE’ homepage.
Applicants can submit their information and track their applications online, avoiding the need for in-person visits. According to the official website, district authorities are required to issue the transgender certificate and ID card within 30 days of receiving the application. However, the ground reality is very different.
The government website says, of the 28,599 individuals who applied for the transgender certificate nationwide, 23,800 have successfully received it – that is, 83.21% of the applicants got their certificates. In Delhi, the situation is more challenging – of the 935 applications submitted, only 488 were approved, which is only 52.19% of the applicants, leaving the rest rejected and without the essential documentation.
Bela, a board member of Mitr Trust – a nonprofit in Delhi’s Sitapuri which runs a Garima Greh – points out that many individuals are compelled to visit the district magistrate’s office to initiate the certification process. This is not a one-time visit – it often requires multiple trips over several months. “Not everyone can afford to invest so much time and money into this process,” she says, and adds that obtaining transgender certificates remains elusive for many.
Data released by the Press Information Bureau for December 12, 2023 illustrates her point to an extent:
Sl.No.
State Name
Total Applications
Certificate Issued
1
Andaman & Nicobar Islands / UT
1
0
2
Andhra Pradesh
2525
2124
3
Arunachal Pradesh
8
2
4
Assam
323
102
5
Bihar
341
210
6
Chandigarh / UT
28
13
7
Chhattisgarh
762
567
8
Daman &Diu,Dadra& Nagar Haveli /UT
1
0
9
Delhi / UT
847
290
10
Goa
17
11
11
Gujarat
1692
1388
12
Haryana
267
89
13
Himachal Pradesh
55
25
14
Jammu & Kashmir
226
135
15
Jharkhand
234
102
16
Karnataka
2156
980
17
Kerala
1480
1066
18
Lakshadweep / UT
2
0
19
Madhya Pradesh
852
684
20
Maharashtra
3483
2478
21
Manipur
549
423
22
Meghalaya
23
13
23
Mizoram
3
0
24
Nagaland
15
7
25
Odisha
2694
2237
26
Puducherry / UT
246
83
27
Punjab
227
112
28
Rajasthan
378
238
29
Sikkim
36
35
30
Tamil Nadu
1109
581
31
Telangana
1236
631
32
Tripura
41
21
33
Uttar Pradesh
1070
514
34
Uttarakhand
82
46
35
West Bengal
1106
597
Total
24115
15803
Bela stresses that simplifying documentation requirements could make the process more inclusive and accessible for the transgender community.
Verification visits
Bela, who has been waiting for her own transgender certificate for nine months, says that the major challenge is the verification visits and subsequent process. Verification visits aren’t legally required but it often involves officials sent by the district magistrate’s office visiting the address mentioned in applicants’ Aadhaar cards, which further complicates the process, especially for those who are homeless and without any proof of residence.
Shailaja, a member of Mitr Trust, points out the risks involved in these visits. “We don’t have the privilege of living with our families; we have to leave our homes,” she said. “So, when they talk about officials coming to the address mentioned in Aadhaar cards for verification, it goes against our safety.”
Shailaja also highlighted the importance of accessibility. “For so many years, we have been kept behind,” she said. “But now that there is so much hope, these small things like obtaining identity cards should be easily accessible to people.”
Suraj, a 26-year-old trans man from Sangam Vihar of Delhi, said the process involved an extensive list of documents, multiple trips over six months and dealing with insensitive officials. “The application process is tedious, requiring proof of residence, birth certificate, educational documents, and more,” said Suraj. “Many transgender persons who leave home at a young age find it impossible to furnish these papers.”
Officials are also not trained to verify applications with sensitivity, said Suraj. “Now, I have the transgender ID, but it has not improved access to healthcare and jobs,” he said. “I’m an educated person, and it is still confusing for me to access the scholarship portal. I tried calling the helpline several times but didn’t get any satisfactory reply.”
Reena (name changed), a trans woman in her late 30s, living in Delhi, had to personally visit the Dwarka district court to get her application accepted. Despite waiting for four months, her application was only accepted after she personally approached the sub-collector. “People in higher positions don’t speak up or provide support, so our issues never reach them,” she said. “And even if they do reach them, they don’t pay attention to our problems.” Reena stressed on the necessity of establishing a dedicated body to oversee this issue, arguing that entrusting it to the district magistrate will not ensure procedural justice.
A staff member at the district magistrate’s office in Northwest Delhi, who did not wish to be identified, said, “It has been almost four years since this scheme was launched but the truth is that we do not have any strong mechanism to issue transgender certificates.”
Many transgender people come to Delhi from all over the country, many of whom have not had a full formal education, said the official. “While the government aims to support them, creating a strong roadmap remains challenging.”
Stalled progress
Grace Banu, a Dalit and transgender activist, said little has changed despite the decriminalisation of Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code that criminalised “unnatural sex), the NALSA judgement (hat granted the right to self-identify their gender and The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019. “Even after all these years, trans people are still begging on the streets or engaged in sex work,” said Banu. “How can I say my community has progressed or achieved liberation?”
Sahil Choudhary, head of the LGBTQIA+ programme at The Naz Foundation Trust, echoed Banu’s views. “There have been some legal advancements in the past few years, but they have been very superficial,” said Choudhary. “Nothing significant has been achieved.”
Referring to the October 2023 marriage equality case, which granted the legal right to trans individuals in heterosexual relationships to marry, and the NALSA judgement in 2014, Choudhary said, “On paper, the community has progressed, but on ground, nothing has changed.”
Legally, Choudhary notes that the trans community has seen improvements compared to other segments of the LGBTQIA+ community in recent years. However, he highlighted social challenges, emphasising that social marginalisation persists, making the trans community particularly vulnerable in society.
Bittu Kaveri Rajaraman, professor and head of the psychology department at Ashoka University, called for systemic changes, including horizontal reservation across caste and gender lines in education and employment. “Even housing initiatives by the Delhi government are underfunded,” he said. He also advocated for a functional welfare state, emphasising the need for simplifying documentation processes for obtaining identification.
Rajaraman said transgender individuals find it challenging to vote, which compromises their participation in democratic processes. “A significant number of transgender individuals do not perceive any incentive to vote.”
Barriers in recent elections
Ahead of the 2024 Lok Sabha elections, Chief Election Commissioner Rajiv Kumar announced that among the 97 crore eligible voters nationwide, only 48,000 are transgender voters, with just 1,176 in Delhi. These numbers are starkly different from community estimates: activists say that there are over one lakh transgender individuals in Delhi alone, far more than the 4,213 recorded in the 2011 census.
One major reason for low voter enrolment is that transgender individuals must have a transgender ID card to obtain a voter ID reflecting their gender, making the whole matter a nightmare loop.
Pari, who still votes under her dead name, expressed disappointment. “This government has done nothing for transgender persons,” she said. She has helped others obtain voter IDs but noted that most cards still list male or female genders, despite efforts to get the correct “T” designation. To have the voter ID card correctly reflect the gender with a “T” designation, one has to navigate numerous difficulties, only to face rejection at the end of the process, she says. “Kuch bhi karlo, zero hi rehna hai, sarkaar toh aati hai jaati hai – governments come and go, but no matter what we do, it always ends up in naught,” she said.
Delhi voter enrolment
In an effort to boost voter turnout among transgender individuals, Delhi organised several awareness initiatives ahead of the 2024 general elections. A transgender voter awareness camp was held in the central district at Takia Kale Khan, Matai Mahal. Similarly, in Alipur, north district, an event on April 19 at the APMC Auditorium focused on ethical voting and featured cultural programmes, drawing over 250 participants from the transgender community.
In Gautam Budh Nagar, transgender individuals took to the streets to boost voter turnout for the elections. Led by activist Ramkali, this group sang and chanted slogans to raise awareness and motivate citizens to vote. Ramkali, the founder of Basera Samajik Sansthan, while en route to Gorakhpur for another campaign, said “Trans individuals are always left behind. This awareness camp was meant to propel the community forward.”
She said that the government was doing its best, “because they have at least considered us”. Striking an optimistic note, she said that previously, the community was invisible, but now, with access to transgender certificates, “I can proudly say that Ramkali is a trans woman”. Ramkali believes that Modi has helped the trans community make significant strides in recent years.
However, Kashish, a trans woman in her 40s who resorted to begging near the red-light area in Kali Mata Mandir area for 12 years, has not benefited from such awareness drives. Without a smartphone and unaware of the existence of transgender certificates, she asked, “How can we obtain voter cards when they don’t want us to vote? Many governments come and go, making promises and leaving. What’s the point of voting?”
The voter turnout for transgender persons voter in the 2024 Lok Sabha election across states and Union Territories was 27.08%. Delhi recorded a turnout of 28.01%. The highest trans voter turnout was in Chandigarh and Himachal Pradesh at 77.14% and the lowest in Bihar – 6.4%.
What politicians could do
Months after the 2024 general elections, the transgender community continues to feel overlooked by political parties. The Bharatiya Janata Party’s manifesto barely addressed their needs, with a limited focus on including transgender persons in the Ayushman Bharat healthcare system and expanding Garima Grehs, shelters for transgender individuals.
The Congress, in its Nyay Patra, promised legislation to legalise civil unions for LGBTQIA+ couples and pledged a constitutional amendment to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation under Articles 15 prohibiting discrimination and Article 16 guaranteeing equal opportunity in public employment. The Aam Aadmi Party had advocated a “gender-affirming” approach, stressing the need for safe spaces for LGBTQIA+ individuals.
Many in the transgender community, like activist Banu, say their lives change little. “When we talk about these welfare schemes and promises in party manifestos, these are all temporary solutions,” said Banu. “These are our rights. When we ask for our rights, they give us schemes.” She also highlighted the struggle to obtain legal recognition, such as the transgender certificate, which in turn hinders efforts to get voter IDs.
Bruna (31), a tattoo artist in Hauz Khas, recently decided to relocate from northwest to south Delhi in search of greater inclusivity and acceptance as a trans woman. Her voter ID still displays her dead name and misgenders her. Bruna plans to update her documents once she completes her transition and secures her transgender certificate.
Reflecting on her experiences, Bruna also voiced her disappointment with the lack of tangible support from the BJP government for the transgender community. She highlighted the absence of vocal advocacy or significant actions addressing their needs, which has only exacerbated their marginalisation. She emphasised the need for amendments to the transgender act, which she said falls short in protecting and empowering trans individuals.
For many in the community, the demands from politicians are clear: more than token promises and welfare schemes, they need systemic reforms, legal recognition and tangible actions that uplift and protect transgender lives.
Uthara UR is a recent graduate of the Delhi School of Journalism, University of Delhi. She is currently pursuing her Masters in Sociology at Jamia Millia Islamia.
This story was produced as part of the InQlusive Newsrooms Media Fellowship 2023. InQlusive Newsrooms is a collaborative project by The News Minute and Queer Chennai Chronicles, supported by Google News Initiative, and is working on making the Indian media more LGBTQIA+ sensitive.
And they are not just restricted to surgical procedures.
Thiruvananthapuram: For Deepa Rani, the decision to go for a sex reassignment surgery or SRS was the essential and final step in her efforts to embrace her true identity. A theatre artiste and model, Deepa underwent the surgery at a hospital in Coimbatore in 2019. The procedure did not go as planned and almost took her life. Correctional surgeries at a Kochi hospital took over a year but were ultimately successful. The ordeal left Deepa grateful, but not quite satisfied.
Deepa Rani. Photo: By arrangement.
“There was something missing, I realised,” Deepa says. “I looked like a woman and I walked like a woman. But the moment I spoke, I could see doubt and confusion in people’s eyes. My voice was still a man’s. It left me frustrated,” she says.
In 2021, two years after her SRS, Deepa chose to undergo a voice feminisation surgery. This surgery, introduced in Kerala only in the last decade or so, is typically the last stage of the SRS procedure.
Dr. Jayakumar R. Menon, one of the leading laryngologists in the country, also holds the distinction of being the first doctor to have performed the surgery in Kerala. Laryngologists are doctors who specialise in treating conditions of the larynx or voice box.
“The surgery originated internationally in the 1970s, in Japan. Dr. Nobuhiko Isshiki, a pioneer of laryngology, developed a series of voice alteration and improvement surgical techniques. In India, it took until the early 21st century for the surgery to be implemented along with the SRS,” Menon says.
The surgery is termed so, Menon adds, because almost all the cases involve a male-to-female voice alteration procedure. The 15 such surgeries Menon has carried out have all been a part of the SRS process for trans women. Menon currently practises at a hospital in Thiruvananthapuram.
Dr. Jayakumar R. Menon. Photo: By arrangement.
The basic science behind the voice feminisation procedure can be attributed to string physics, he notes.
“When the mass or length of a guitar string is reduced, you get a higher pitch. Now, apply the same physics to our vocal cords,” he says.
“In humans, the pitch for males falls in the range of 90 to 130 Hz [Hertz]. The female pitch ranges from 180 to 250 Hz. By reducing the thickness or the length of the vocal cord, we can increase our voice pitch. Another way to raise the pitch is to increase the tension of the vocal cord,” Menon says.
Dr. Reshmi M. Nair, a laryngologist based in Kochi, is another one of the few doctors handling voice feminisation surgery in Kerala. She has performed a total of 11 such procedures and started only in 2020. She is part of the SRS team at the Kochi hospital where Deepa was treated.
One of the earliest techniques used was vocal cord stretching, Nair points out. But the problem with that procedure was that it was not always permanent. “In nearly 30% of the cases, the pitch started dropping over time. Thus, more permanent methods to alter the voice by changing the vocal cord, had to be considered.
“The procedure to increase the tension of the vocal cord is known as a ‘Type 4 Thyroplasty’ or ‘Cricothyroid approximation’. In this, the pitch of the voice is increased by moving the thyroid cartilage close to the cricoid cartilage. Reducing the gap between the two in turn stretches the vocal cord, thus increasing the tension, resulting in a higher pitch. It’s similar to how a guitar string’s tension happens,” Nair says.
Type 4 Thyroplasty: surgical steps. Photo: By arrangement.
“An ‘Anterior or Wendler Glottoplasty’ is carried out to reduce the length of the vocal cord. The procedure shortens the vocal folds, thus raising the pitch,” she adds.
Anterior Glottoplasty: surgical steps. Photo: By arrangement.
The mass of the vocal cord can be decreased through LAVA (Laser-Assisted Voice Adjustment surgery), a laser debulking process. A ‘Thyroid Chondroplasty’ is carried out alongside any of the above vocal cord procedures for a reduction in the Adam’s apple, she adds.
Even after these procedures, voice therapy plays a key role in getting the pitch and the diction correct, Nair says.
SRS procedures, particularly those involving genital surgeries, have come under a lot of scrutiny over the years in Kerala.
Dr. Sundeep Vijayaraghavan, the head of the department of plastic and reconstructive surgery at a Kochi hospital says that SRS is increasingly being referred to as GAS – Gender Affirmation Surgery – amongst the medical fraternity.
The first sex reassignment surgery in Kerala, performed at Thiruvananthapuram Medical College in 2017, was in the limelight for the wrong reasons. The patient, a trans man, claimed that the procedure endangered their health drastically and that they had to undergo several rectification surgeries later. Ananya Kumari Alex, who became known as the first trans radio jockey from Kerala, died by suicide in 2021 after allegedly facing serious health issues after their SRS. Only one hospital in Kochi now performs SRS.
According to Dr. Arjun Ashokan, a senior plastic surgeon in a Kochi hospital, the genitalia (also known as ‘down surgery’) and abdominal procedures in SRS can sometimes lead to infections or other complications. The patients are counselled thoroughly, and made aware of such risks before the procedure.
“But the voice feminisation surgery doesn’t really pose such concerns as there aren’t any risks or long-term side effects associated with the voice surgery,” Nair additionally notes.
“One commonly encountered complaint is that the changed voice doesn’t meet the expectations of the patient. That’s where voice therapy and counselling come into the picture,” she adds.
One of the rare issues they have encountered is with the vocal cord reduction procedure, Nair says. If the sutures within the cord get severed, it can create a dual sound effect, known as ‘diplophonia’.
Another feedback they have received from some patients, she adds, concerns an aspect of appearance. The scar left by an open surgery can bother some, especially if they have undergone other cosmetic surgeries as part of the SRS.
Priya. Photo: By arrangement.
V.S. Priya, an Ayurveda medical practitioner from Thrissur, is a trans woman who had her voice feminisation surgery performed by Nair.
“For many transgender persons, voice feminisation surgery may not be even an important part of their SRS. For me, the voice transformation was something I was very sure about right from the start,” Priya says.
Another reason why patients opt for voice feminisation surgery is that hormonal therapy hardly plays a role in voice transition for trans women, Priya adds. “Modulating your voice through therapy techniques can be a constant and conscious effort, and tires you out eventually,” Priya says.
“The first year after my voice surgery was quite a struggle. It was difficult to hold even a normal conversation without straining yourself. I used to sing rather well before that, and I had my doubts as to whether my singing days were over,” she says.
Priya still feels that out of all the surgeries she got, this has been the most beneficial to her. “The stigma associated with a mismatched voice was much greater than the stigma of having to undergo a procedure and changing my voice entirely,” she says.
But both Deepa Rani and Priya unequivocally point out one thing – the need for a better medical system and public health schemes that make gender affirmation surgeries more accessible. As of now, SRS and related surgeries are available only in the private medical sector in Kerala. Under the current state scheme, trans women can be reimbursed up to Rs 2.5 lakh for such surgeries. But this quite often ends up covering only a small part of SRS procedures. For a socially and economically underprivileged trans individuals, there needs to be better state support.
According to Jayakumar, despite the success rate with the voice feminisation surgeries in the state, the current procedures are still not without flaws.
“For one,” he muses, “we only focus on the vocal cord right now, not the resonance factor.”
“The structure of a male and a female throat are quite different from each other. And the part of the throat above the vocal cord amplifies the sound, thus playing a significant role in how the voice ultimately comes out. Unless we figure out how to make changes to that, we would not be able to alter the resonance, and obtain the result that we really desire,” he elaborates.
Dr. Unnikrishnan K. Menon, an ENT and laryngology specialist at a Kochi hospital, feels that this is exactly why the procedure is increasingly being referred to as “pitch alteration surgery” these days. Unnikrishnan is another one in a list of few medical experts to have performed voice feminisation surgery in Kerala. According to him, laryngologists, who have also specialised in voice surgeries, are a rare class in the country itself.
“So it isn’t surprising that Dr. Jayakumar R. Menon and Dr. Reshmi Nair together make up for the majority of the voice feminisation surgeries in Kerala,” he notes.
All the medical experts I talked to agreed that voice feminisation surgery still seems to be one of the “elite procedures” for the transgender community in Kerala. A key reason they noted was the cost of the procedure, which can fall between Rs 1 lakh and Rs 1.5 lakh rupees, depending on the hospital and the type of the procedure chosen. The lack of availability of the procedure in government hospitals right now is a significant reason for lesser numbers. The number of private hospitals in the state performing voice feminisation surgery itself can be counted on one hand as of now. Since the procedure is carried out as the last step of the SRS – which consists of a series of other cosmetic surgeries – the patients are often short of money.
Secondly, voice surgery is generally not deemed to be an indispensable part of transition by many transgender individuals. The doctors noted that only those who felt that voice transition was necessary in their day-to-day – particularly professional – lives opted for it.
Nair cites her patients as an example – most of them are involved in professions where they have to converse and interact with people face-to-face daily. The numbers largely consist of transgender individuals from urban and middle or upper class backgrounds.
Nair feels that the challenges that we talk about are not just restricted to surgical procedures. While undergoing sex reassignment surgery, a trans person exists in a very complex gender spectrum. “Our healthcare and medical system can be more empathetic and representative of, as well as accessible for, the transgender community,” she adds.
Bharath Thampi is an independent journalist and documentarian based in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.
There were discussions on inclusivity and solidarity with speakers from Dalit and black trans communities collectively expressing the need for uniting the histories of their struggle.
In a first-of-its-kind trans rights conference, TransPower 2024, held in Chennai on November 9 and 10, ideas of solidarity and intersectionality echoed as activists and trans rights leaders united to amplify their advocacy for change. The conference was organised by Trans Rights Now Collective, a Dalit transgender-led collective dedicated to advancing the rights and visibility of the marginalised transgender individuals. Spearheaded by prominent Dalit-transgender activist Grace Banu, the conference also reflected the core mission of her organisation: addressing intersectionality within the transgender rights movements.
TransPower curated a unique space for bringing together activists and participants, not only from India but from across the globe, to share their ideas with senior policymakers and influential leaders from diverse sectors such as media, technology, business and more. There were discussions on inclusivity and solidarity with speakers from Dalit and black trans communities collectively expressing the need for uniting the histories of their struggle. This agenda of collective histories shaped the very theme of this event, “Pathways to Inclusive Futures.”
With nearly 70 participants joining in, the conference featured notable voices, including New York-based human rights leader Qween Jean and Bahujan politician-activist Dr Thol. Thirumavalan. During conversations with a couple of activist-leaders present at the conference, it became evident that a substantial part of their activism is rooted in the struggle for legitimising their identities as trans and intersex (T&I) individuals within the community. For organiser Banu, this conference has been a key moment in raising awareness about pervasive transphobia and rising patriarchy that must be addressed globally.
The conference titled “Reimagining Inclusion” brought together young trans individuals under the age of 35, with a specific focus on addressing the tragic realities faced by this demographic due to relentless discrimination and systemic social oppression. Banu emphasised, “There is a need to create our own space. Globally, the community is fighting for trans rights but the fight for intersectional trans rights at the regional level must remain distinct. It is especially within this hierarchy of oppression that the privileged voices often dominate the narrative, and those at the bottom of this hierarchy truly understand its weight.”
In the wake of the rising tide of anti-rights movements and alarming rates of gender-based violence being perpetrated on women and trans people globally, the conference opened critical discussions on these pressing issues. Launching her book The Palestinian Bird, a memoir exploring the Palestinian struggle through a trans perspective, Banu shared, “The narrative of my book draws parallels with the oppression the trans community faces everyday. I see my community being pushed into begging and sexually demeaning work. Nothing is more traumatising than enduring a ‘systematic genocide’ of discrimination and violence in one’s own land. This shared pain inspires us to stand in solidarity with all oppressed groups, from Dalit trans individuals to Palestinian communities.” She calls this initiative a reimagining of inclusivity against the systems of oppression.
Rie Raut, a trans woman and the first trans person in Maharashtra to secure a government scholarship, shared her remarkable journey as a student in London. Currently pursuing an MA in Human Rights at University College London, Raut reflected on the challenges she faced navigating the rigid gender binary during her application for government funding. At the conference, Raut emphasised the urgent need to enhance the quality and accessibility of education for trans learners. A key takeaway from her insights was the critical importance of advocating for horizontal reservations for T&I communities. Raut stated, “This exclusion underscores the necessity of institutional affirmative action, such as granting horizontal reservations to trans individuals, to address systemic inequities and ensure inclusion.”
The conference also delved into crucial panel discussions surrounding the trans community’s experiences with law and justice. In a compelling exchange with renowned transgender and RTI activist Vyjayanti Vasanta Mogli, the spotlight was cast on trans litigation histories and the injustices faced by the community. Mogli reflected, “On a whole, the conference was a confluence of diverse lived realities and histories – oral, documented and undocumented. We revisited our collective journeys as communities, examining legal battles and the histories of litigation in Indian courts.”
She further remarked, “What elevated this gathering beyond a national conference was the international dimension brought by speakers such as Qween Jean from the US and Hina Baloch from Pakistan, who joined virtually. Their contributions infused a global perspective into our conversations on trans movements, liberation, power and trauma. For many of us, the way forward became clear – to seize opportunities, to wrestle for them and to reclaim spaces long denied to us; whether in education, employment, public sector reservations or aided education. This is about reclaiming agency and creating pathways for change.”
While the conference amplified the voices of both transgender and intersex communities, it underscored the critical need for intersex identities to retain their distinct visibility, even within the broader trans umbrella. Aanandh CR, an intersex transman and activist, and the first intersex person to run for Lok Sabha elections in 2019, highlighted this issue. That same year, the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, was implemented. However, the act failed to resonate with the intersex community, as it did not explicitly distinguish intersex identities from transgender ones.
Aanandh, a member of Amigos, a trans men-led collective, emphasised the ongoing underrepresentation of the intersex community and the need to acknowledge their unique struggles and challenges. “TransPower 2024 has truly empowered and inspired me to take concrete steps toward establishing a national intersex alliance, a platform dedicated to uniting and advocating for intersex individuals,” he shared. “In Kerala, we have a trans men-led organisation called Amigos Trans Collective, along with the Sathrang Foundation, which is soon to be formally registered. By combining the efforts of both collectives, we aim to create a unified platform to represent and champion the intersex community at a national level.”
Vihaan Vee, a transman and participant at the event, highlighted the persistent efforts across multiple panels to challenge the rising tide of anti-gender narratives globally. “Today, members of the entire trans community are grappling with multifaceted challenges – ranging from barriers in accessing education to enduring systemic violence and discrimination,” he noted. “Solidarity should not only emerge from a trans-feminist perspective but must also extend to encompass the shared experiences of black trans-masculine individuals and members of Dalit, Bahujan and Adivasi communities in India. Fostering these collective struggles is essential to building an inclusive and intersectional movement.”
The conference also witnessed participants from Manipur, who spoke about the ethnic conflicts within the state, and how that affects trans lives at every juncture.
It became very evident that what the trans and intersex communities truly aspire to is meaningful political representation and the implementation of horizontal reservations within national politics. While the conference celebrated the strength of global solidarity between T&I communities, showcasing their shared intersectionalities, it also underscored a fundamental truth: true empowerment and liberation can only be achieved through access to political power and decision-making spaces.
Just as sex work is often laden with stigma, kink is taboo and deemed to be a product of sexual deviancy. Both communities are thus severely underrepresented in the rights landscape due to the moral judgment endured by them.
On the weekend of September 13-15, 2024, Kinky Collective (a community-funded group raising awareness around kink in India) organised the second edition of Kink Con: A National Convention in Celebration of Kink, Consent, Queerness and Acceptance.
The first panel was a Report launch titled “Conversations on Kink and Sex Work: Consent, Desire, and Power.” The Report was a summary of an Institute (workshop) organised by Kinky Collective (KC), and VAMP (Veshya Anyay Mukti Parishad, a collective of cis and trans women engaged in sex work in Maharashtra and North Karnataka) on 19th of October 2022 at Sangli, Maharashtra. The Institute facilitated a conversation around kink and sex work, and held space for questions, experiences and challenges faced by persons engaged in sex work. At the outset, the purpose of the Institute was to build alliances between the shared experiences of the two communities, and to debunk the idea that kink was an urban, western, capitalist phenomena since the sex workers predominantly experienced requests for kink from clients from villages and small towns.
At the report launch, two participants of the institute were present from SANGRAM, a collective of empowerment groups for sex workers, MSM and transgender individuals. They were Meena Seshu (founder of SANGRAM), and Aarthi Pai (director). Seshu and Pai served as the Marathi translators and intermediaries between members of KC, who predominantly spoke in a mix of English and Hindi. Members of KC shared that it was an interesting experience to find a shared vocabulary to articulate the experience of kink among the participants. The usual English vocabulary could not accurately capture the experiences, feelings and power dynamics of the participants. For example, ‘domination’ in the kink context translates plainly to Hindi as ‘havi,’ which bears a negative connotation of being oppressive or overbearing, thus, lacking the kink essentials of pleasure and consent. The word ‘satta’ ordinarily translates to ‘power,’ and was deemed to be a more suitable representation of the kink dynamic. In other instances, no attempt was made to create a word – instead, space was held to capture and translate the complexity of experience.
The workshop was an important space to build alliances between sexualities that are experienced outside ‘normalcy.’ Sex work is often categorised under the misnomer of ‘trafficking’ and ‘prostitution’ which has invited heavy-handed state surveillance, rescue, and rehabilitation.
Some of the slogans of the sex workers’ movement such as ‘Sex Work is Decent Work,’ ‘Rehabilitation is Redundant, Recognise Rights,’ and ‘Save us from Saviours,’ capture the battle of the community. These slogans were written on red umbrellas which were arranged on the backdrop of the report launch. The hetero-patriarchal Indian state also struggles to accept sex as a commercial service, an act that occurs outside the familial, procreational goal. Sex work is thus often laden with stigma.
Similarly, kink is taboo and deemed to be a product of sexual deviancy, and thus, remains far removed from any mainstream sexual rights activism.
It is notable that both these communities are severely underrepresented in the rights landscape due to the moral judgment endured by them. The report was thus wrapped in red and black ribbon to signify the coming together of the colours of sex work and kink respectively. Seshu and Pai argued for building more underground allied networks for sex workers and kinksters rather than waiting on the approval of the state, whose intentions are not to prioritize the needs and voices of these communities.
Another meeting point between sex work and kink is the clear negotiation of sexual acts, and therefore, the priority placed on consent as a central tenet to their relationalities. Seshu and Pai shared that their interaction with members of VAMP and SANGRAM revealed that they had very advanced approaches to consent, identity, and relationships due to their forthright and non-judgmental articulations with clients. Like the kink community, sex workers self-regulate around violations of consent, such as to end sessions when pain thresholds were crossed. When clients were aggressive, sex workers raised an alarm in their chambers, for example, some transgender participants shared the strategy of clapping loudly to call out for help. Similarly, in the kink space, munches (safe, social spaces) often serve as a space for raising concerns of consent violations in the community. It is important to note that due to their stigmatised nature, these communities don’t usually rely upon police support in fear of harassment and threat to their livelihoods and identities.
Seshu and Pai shared that one of the needs to have an Institute with KC arose due to the sense of intrigue and curiosity sex workers felt when clients would approach them with kinky desires and fetishes to offer larger than usual sums of money. They shared on behalf of the sex workers that because they were the primary act in the exchange, and penetrative sex was ancillary; for instance, one client only wished to oil, braid and smell the hair of a sex worker.
Members of KC shared that the affective atmosphere of the Institute was replete with laughter and teasing, and the reciprocity of sharing experiences without judgment, shame, but rather, curiosity and erotic fulfillment. This cheeky and arousing atmosphere among both communities foregrounded that their preoccupation with activism sidelined a discussion of their personal desires in daily dialogues. Seshu and Pai shared that while sex workers were completely non-judgmental about their clients’ kinky desires, most were not able to connect yet with kink due to their everyday experience of violence. KC shared that they would organise a joint workshop with SANGRAM in the future to create an avenue for sex workers to safely explore their own desires too. Some trans women sex workers shared that they had enjoyed spanking and hitting while engaging with kinky clients.
The kink terminology of ‘aftercare’ (acts of intimacy to wind down after the intensity experienced) also seemed relevant where kink and pleasure were aligned, especially when there were consent accidents/ incidents of excess; clients would offer cajoling, massages, and thereby support in the recovery.
Seshu and Pai also shared that the desires and pleasures of sex workers too, were ‘not mainstream,’ for instance, they would prioritise pleasure over physical appearance of clients. Similarly, in kink exchanges, identity and orientation often has very little to do with the exchange of kink, pleasure is the central endeavor. For instance, a gay male submissive and a lesbian female dominant both might engage in a play of spanking and flogging and both give and receive optimum pleasure in the act without being sexual
The convergences between kink and sex work thus reveals the importance of bringing together sexually marginalised groups to engage in productive and joyous camaraderie. As an audience member at Kink Con 2024, it was powerful to witness the importance of a safe space for members of the kink community to come together. Community provided by platforms like VAMP and SANGRAM have been critical for the empowerment of sex workers. The kink community urgently needs the strength of each other and that of allies to battle with silence and stigma that surrounds their desires. Kinky Collective’s efforts to create a platform like Kink Con provided an affirmative space around consent and negotiation, through the values of safety and communitarian care, in an atmosphere of joy, erotic energy and unabashed pride.
Katyayani Sinha is a PhD student at Melbourne Law School. Her project examines negotiation, informal contracts, and dispute resolution in the kink and polyamory communities in India.
An investigation through RTIs, first-hand narratives from various transgender welfare board members, trans/queer rights activists, and judicial observations, reveals compelling reasons for India to shift away from nominal representations, and demand transformative reforms.
These margins remind us of the “Lakshman Rekha” or circle of protection, and in turn of the predicament of Sita, in the Hindu mythological epic Ramayana. Sita was asked to trust the protection of men against the violence of other men. But for transgender persons in India, neither side of the margin seems to offer a dignified life.
On one hand, 19 states and Union Territories across India still don’t have a welfare body for transgender persons, as legally stipulated. Of these, four are UTs controlled by the Union government, and eight states have the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) as the party in power or as an alliance partner in the government. The 17 states and UTs that do have a welfare board for trans persons are mostly running rudderless without a policy framework, compliance mechanism, or any power.
These non-transparent, non-accountable and in some cases, non-existent bureaucratic bodies are turning into phantom forums that act as a countermeasure to diffuse people’s movements that rise to hold governments accountable to their legislative promises.
On the other hand, only 5.6% of transgender persons (as per the 2011 census) in the country have applied for a transgender identity card — revealing the inaccessible nature of identity card application and the futility of such a document for a marginalised transgender person when the state doesn’t actually provide rights or welfare measures that benefit them.
This investigation through RTIs, first-hand narratives from various transgender welfare board members, trans/queer rights activists, and judicial observations, reveals compelling reasons for India to shift away from its tendency to celebrate nominal representations, and demand transformative reforms to right the historical wrongs carried out against transgender and gender non-conforming persons.
Boards exist, but only on paper
Rule 10(1) of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act 2020 which states, “The appropriate Government shall constitute a welfare board for the transgender persons for the purpose of protecting their rights and interests of, and facilitating access to schemes and welfare measures framed by the Government.”.
Presently, 17 states and Union Territories have notified a Transgender Welfare/Justice/Development board under the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act 2019 and rules 2020. This includes Assam, Bihar, Chandigarh, Chattisgarh, Gujarat, Jammu & Kashmir, Kerala, Maharashtra, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Rajasthan, Tamil Nadu, Telangana, Tripura, Uttar Pradesh and West Bengal.
We took a closer look at these notified boards, and this is what we found.
The majority of the states which have notified a transgender welfare board have held less than one meeting per year since their creation.
The functioning of welfare boards in Gujarat, Jammu and Kashmir, Chhattisgarh, Manipur and Tripura remains undisclosed till today.
Gujarat had notified a transgender welfare board in 2019 in collaboration with UNAIDS. According to its members, the board did not hold a single meeting until October 14 this year – five years after the board was formed.
Of the remaining 12 states and UTs, only four held meetings in 2023 – namely, Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Chandigarh, and Maharashtra.
In Mizoram not a single meeting of the board has been convened since its creation.
In states like Manipur, since 2017, the welfare board remains practically defunct. Last year, the Governor of Manipur reconstituted the 17-member board with only one transgender woman and one transgender man represented in the body.
This year, Punjab and Haryana high court in a PIL filed by Yashika, a transgender student, observed that the Chandigarh Transgender Welfare Board has been acting as a cosmetic feature for the government and did not meet sufficiently to discharge its duties.
The Amicus Curiae (an impartial adviser to a court of law), appointed by the Kerala high court in Kabeer v. State of Kerala 2021, noted in their report that the Kerala State Transgender Justice Board had not convened a single meeting in the reported year.
The National Council for Transgender Persons constituted under the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment has just held two meetings in the last four years since its creation.
State/UT
Year of Board Formation
Total Number of Meetings
Meetings held in 2023
Average Meetings (per year)
Tamil Nadu
2008
28*
3
1.8*
Kerala
2015
6
1
0.7
West Bengal
2015
7*
0
0.8*
Bihar
2015
3
0
0.3
Rajasthan
2016
3
0
0.4
Manipur
2016
2*
0
0.3*
Chandigarh
2017
11
3
1.6
Gujarat
2019
1
0
0.2
Assam
2020
3
0
0.8
Maharashtra
2020
3
3
0.8
Uttar Pradesh
2021
2
0
0.7
Mizoram
2021
0
0
0
Telangana
2022
1
0
0.5
Meghalaya
2023
7
0
7
Centre
2020
2
0
0.5
Chattisgarh
2017
No Data
No Data
No Data
Tripura
2021
No Data
No Data
No Data
Jammu & Kashmir
2022
No Data
No Data
No Data
Source: RTI(s) and board members.
Note: Approximate numbers of meetings estimated from statements given by various welfare board members.
Only five states have developed a state-level transgender policy, namely, Kerala, Karnataka, Assam, Odisha, and Maharashtra. Assam is the only state in India which has extended quasi-judicial powers to its welfare board. It is a form of delegated authority to ensure compliance with its recommendations under various provisions of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act 2019.
These boards are also not immune to political abandonment when there is a change of ruling party in the state. For instance, the Maharashtra transgender welfare board was a brainchild of the Maha Vikas Aghadi (MVA) – an alliance of the Shiv Sena (Uddhav faction), NCP (Sharad Pawar faction) and Congress – and was allocated Rs 5 crore in the 2020 Maharashtra Budget. In 2022, when the MVA government was dislodged from power by the Mahayuti alliance of the BJP, Shiv Sena (Shinde faction), and NCP (Ajit Pawar faction), no subsequent budgetary allocations were made for the welfare of transgender communities in the following fiscal years.
The trips and traps of representation
In 2014, in the NALSA vs Union of India case, the Supreme Court of India accorded constitutional recognition to a transgender person’s right to self identity their gender, and judicial directives were given to appropriate governments (Union and state) to assist their lives.
In 2019, the parliament passed the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act (TG Act), which envisioned a two-pronged approach to reach out to transgender persons – an inclusive approach by formulating a transgender identity card to ‘quantify’ what transness means for the state; and a convergent approach by constituting a nodal body (the welfare board) as a forum comprising of transgender persons and bureaucrats from various in-line ministries/departments at the Union or state level. This nodal body has to protect the rights and interests of transgender persons and facilitate their access to schemes and welfare measures framed by the government.
Both these approaches are riddled with flaws.
Representation of transgender persons in the governance apparatus constructed around the TG Act has two issues – the trip and the trap.
First, the government of India, like British colonisers, lumped various indigenous and gender non-conforming identities under the single label of “transgender”. This oversimplifies the diversity of gender-nonconforming experiences and identities in India.
In states where boards do exist, it is trans women who have had gender affirmation surgeries who are represented most. Trans men, non-binary persons, and intersex persons barely get a seat.
Ani Dutta, a professor at the University of Iowa, in their research, notes the tendency of the Indian bureaucracy to create complicated regulatory rules around judiciary ordained recognitions. In the context of India’s stark socio-economic disparity, only those with resources, community networks, and relative social privilege can navigate these bureaucratic processes to get a transgender identity card.
There are intricate social divisions within the transgender communities. Trans women who have undergone gender affirmation surgeries enjoy a higher social status than trans women who have not undergone nirvana (ritualised castration) or gender affirmation surgeries. This understanding of gender “authenticity” is implicitly replicated in the TG Act Rules 2020. Section 6 and Section 7 create two class groups – Section 6 enables someone to self-identify as transgender but Section 7 adds a condition to the principle of self-identification that requires medical intervention to identify as a man or woman. This classification undermines the spectrum of gender fluidity endemic to India.
Trans women who can undergo nirvana or gender affirmation surgeries and identify as “female” are the most dominant, visible and debated narrative of India’s story on the principle of self-identification. The predicament of kothis (a term used for trans women who have not had gender affirmation surgeries, and for gay or bisexual men in some contexts), trans men, intersex persons and genderqueer persons, remain sidelined. It is why the possession of a government-issued transgender ID card under its current provisions is becoming a “representation (power) trip” for some on the margins of our society.
For instance, in 2023, when the Hyderabad North Zone police arrested 19 transgender women, “the community mobilisation to resist these illegal arrests was impeded by discussions on how ‘men dress up as a transgender persons’ to run begging rackets in the city and bring a bad name to the trans community,” a genderqueer activist (who prefers to be unnamed) privy to discussions on a trans-queer forum says. In the backdrop of this “authentic us versus imposter them” politics, 19 gender nonconforming persons were stripped naked by the police to examine their genitals.
There is also little diversity in who gets represented in welfare boards, where they are constituted. Kanmani Ray, a lawyer and a transgender woman, says, “Not all transgender persons live in gharanas/jamaats, not all transgender persons can separate from their natal families, forms of violence experienced by transgender persons are different. What we see in welfare boards is that intersex persons and trans men are sidelined in discussions. Like any other marginalised social group, we face intra-community violence and unequal power relations.” The bureaucracy of welfare boards ignores these realities.
The fact that these boards have transgender persons in them is a “representation trap” – they offer public visibility to marginalised persons but also make them appear politically complicit in the government’s apathy. While trans and gender non-conforming persons look up to the members of the welfare boards to effect change in their material conditions, the representatives themselves have little power to change policy – or even call meetings, as is evidenced by the number of sittings of these boards in most states and UTs.
In 2023, when a group of transgender members of the Telangana Transgender Welfare Board wrote to the Additional Director General of Telangana Police seeking action against a gang of men who were routinely robbing and assaulting trans persons across Hyderabad. The police department ignored these petitions, according to activists. The members of the welfare board could do little as the body has no quasi judicial powers to investigate the issue or take any action — unlike the national and state human rights commissions, women’s commissions, and child welfare bodies.
Vyjayanti Vasanta Mogli, an RTI activist, says, “My nominated tenure to the transgender welfare board of my state started and ended without the nodal ministry or its officials outlining the policy framework and power of the board.”
The truth about trans ‘rights’
In the 10 years since the NALSA judgement, the needle of social equality hasn’t moved in the “rights” direction in India. This truth is most apparent in the returning figure of a trans person to the judicial corridors to plead for promised but undelivered rights.
Sangama and Nisha Gulur, on behalf of Jeeva – an organisation working for the upliftment of transgender persons – had to file a PIL with the Karnataka high court in 2020 for horizontal reservation for trans persons in public employment opportunities. In 2021, Vyjayanti Vasanta Mogli and others in Telangana had to knock on the Telangana High Court’s doors for life-supporting amenities during COVID-19. Kantaro Kondagiri had to petition the Orissa high court in 2022 to seek a trans woman’s right to inherit the pension of a parent, which in law is made available to the unmarried daughters of any deceased pensioner. Zena Sagar, a Dalit transgender student of the Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute had to move to the Calcutta high court in 2023 after being denied hostel accommodation because of her gender identity.
Transgender persons struggling for livelihood and resources are still viewed as a public nuisance by the state. Earlier this year, the Pune police commissioner Amitesh Kumar imposed a begging ban against transgender persons in the city – with absolute disregard to the 2021 advisory circular issued by the Union Ministry of Home Affairs which said that obstructing a transgender person’s access to public space would be a violation of section 18 of the TG Act.
Contrary to PM Modi’s resounding claim that the government has given transgender persons an identity, the latest data from the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment confirm only 5.6% of the enumerated transgender persons in 2011 have applied for a TG identity card. Why would trans and gender non-conforming persons enlist themselves on the state’s registers without the Indian government proactively working on various dimensions of citizenship like equal and dignified access to family, property, housing, healthcare, social security, education, and employment?
A cursory look at the Union government’s budget allocations and actual expenditure on trans welfare explains why transgender persons continue to exist on the margins in a welfare-centric polity like India. In 2021-22, the government allocated Rs 20 crore for the Comprehensive Rehabilitation for Welfare of Transgender Persons – however, only Rs 1.91 crore was spent. In 2022-23, the allocation increased to Rs 30 crore, but the actual amount spent was only 0.4% of this allocation – a paltry Rs 12 lakh.
Budget Head
Fiscal Year
Budget Estimates
Revised Budget
Actual Expenditure
Utilisation Rate
Comprehensive Rehabilitation for Welfare of Transgender Persons
FY 2021-22
20 Cr
20 Cr
1.91 Cr
9.55%
FY 2022-23
30 Cr
30 Cr
0.12 Cr
0.40%
FY 2023-24
52.91 Cr
22.82 Cr
TBD
TBD
Source: Union Budget 2024.
During the last interim budget presentation, Union finance minister Nirmala Sitharaman claimed that providing more people access to existing government welfare schemes is the welfare story of PM Modi’s ten years of governance. However, the exclusion of transgender persons from the Gender Budget Statement and the systematic refusal to mainstream their access to government programmes and schemes beyond the Ministry of Social Justice and Empowerment shred these high claims.
Raghavi, a lawyer and trans rights activist from Delhi, says, “The insufficient investment in gender-inclusive infrastructure across public institutions and scattered sensitisation programmes for various in-line departments discredits the government’s much-touted saturation-approach.”
Reform or reimagine?
The reform sought by trans activists we spoke to has three urgent demands – power redistribution, inclusive representation and decentralisation.
Grace Banu, a Dalit trans rights activist from Tamil Nadu, points out a fundamental flaw in the design of transgender welfare boards: “The majority of decision-makers on the boards are cisgender men or women, the staff aiding the functioning of these boards are cisgender. Transgender persons are a nominated minority in the composition of a board constituted in their name.”
Vyjayanti adds, “The design of the transgender welfare board does not meaningfully redistribute power to transgender persons, who hold representation on these boards. The power to convene a meeting rests with a bureaucrat, the power to publish the deliberations of these meetings remains with the nodal ministry/department, and the implementation of actionable points remains dependent on the goodwill of various department officials.”
The nominal representation of trans persons on the board without any power makes them a rubber duck to face pushback from trans-queer communities on the government’s inaction. “We get a seat, not say,” remarks Vyjayanti.
Rituparna Neog, associate vice chairperson of the Assam Transgender Welfare Board, explains the material limitations of these boards. “The lack of annual allocation of funds for the functioning of the welfare board impairs the ability of its transgender members to intervene in any emergency situations related to the community.” The notion that social work is a self-financed undertaking restricts the participation of working-class and unemployed community organisers in these nominated roles. No welfare board in India offers its members a nominal salary to carry out the board’s work. Except for Tamil Nadu, various welfare boards in India do not even provide travel allowance to their transgender members to attend board meetings.
Grace, Vyjayanti, and Rituparna agree on the fact that most welfare boards do not have prescribed policy guidelines for their nominated members to push for an actionable agenda, nor are these bodies accorded quasi-judicial authority like various human or women’s rights commissions to enforce compliance. These boards need to be converted into statutory independent commissions with legal permits to oversee compliance with the government agenda, and take cognisance of human rights violations being committed against trans and gender non-conforming persons within their administrative jurisdiction.
Regarding inclusive representation, Arun Karthik (he/him), a member of the Tamil Nadu Transgender Welfare Board and a trans man, explains the structural inequality within these representative boards. “Currently in Tamil Nadu whenever a trans man wants to report an incident in the TG welfare board meetings, other members (bureaucrats and trans women) do not provide them equal space or attention,” he says.
He adds, “The schemes and benefits being provided by the Tamil Nadu government are disproportionately offered to trans women. Till 2023, the Government Orders (GO) released by the Social Welfare Department of Tamil Nadu (the nodal body for the Transgender Welfare Board) used to only mention the term Thirunangai (the Tamil word for transgender women) as beneficiaries. It was a term popularised by the former chief minister of Tamil Nadu, the late K. Karunanidhi, for trans women in the state. The government officials repeatedly reject the applications of trans men under these schemes as these circulars do not mention the term ‘trans man’ or thirunambi (nambi denotes man).” It is a telling reality of the popular imagination that remains hinged on the idea that transgender means trans women.
Further, there is a need for decentralisation. Tashi Choedup, a trans-feminine Buddhist monastic and a nominated member of the Telangana Transgender Welfare Board, suggests, “The government needs to decentralise its work of actualising trans rights. Local transgender persons, with a more situated awareness of local politics and conditions, need to be involved and employed at a district level to enable the transfer of welfare schemes and opportunities to transgender constituents.”
Don Hasar, a trans/queer rights activist and community organiser from Himachal Pradesh says, “I live in a mountainous terrain, where even to beg the government to enact the provisions of the TG Act or access the TG ID card, is a time-consuming and expensive ordeal. One has to travel eight hours from the mountains to the valley to furnish a representation to the designated department and further wait for a bureaucrat to entertain our query. For a lot of unemployed and working-class trans persons, it is not feasible in terms of time, money and access.”
Disha Pinki Sheikh, the state spokesperson of Vanchit Bahujan Aghadi and a trans woman, says problems need to be seen within their context. “Transgender persons living in Mumbai have different issues from the ones in Pune or Vidarbha. Our capacity to collectivise as a bargaining group also differs. For a community which has been historically discriminated against, there is a greater need for local participation than nominal representation. The government needs to involve transgender persons in different regions of the state to make and implement a policy in a participatory sense,” she says.
“For instance, when the government announces an entrepreneurial or start-up scheme at a state level and does not notify its eligibility rules and application process to its various districts, a transgender person from a rural area in Nagpur would not have the capacity to follow up on the opportunity like a person who has the support of CBOs/NGOs concentrated in cities,” Disha explains, “In urban localities, there is greater collaboration between different civil society actors – human rights groups, lawyer networks, and media professionals. Hence, the work of holding the government accountable is shared. In less affluent regions, it is a lonely battle. The transgender applicant has to carry the burden of informing the local government offices of such a scheme, and then await its implementation at a district level. If it does not come through, they must again carry the burden of summoning the appropriate government to a court of law or give up opportunities in silence.”
There is a constitutional urgency to these demands. However, the entire framework of transgender welfare boards carries one caveat with no easy answers. The welfare boards – which presently act in an advisory capacity – have transgender persons as members who are appointed by the government, rather than elected through any democratic means or communitarian consensus. Thus, it becomes difficult to ascertain whether one privileges the government’s will which appoints them, or the community with which they share their identity.
Moreover, the consensus across the political aisle on restricting transgender and gender non-conforming persons’ direct access to the power of law-making and limiting it to welfare boards is symptomatic of India’s pervasive transphobia and the reluctance of various governments and political parties to invest in changing prevailing social attitudes among its population.
Vaivab Das is a PhD student at the Indian Institute of Technology Delhi and a Fulbright Fellow at the University of California Berkeley. They research at intersections of gender, sexuality and law.
This story was produced as part of the InQlusive Newsrooms Media Fellowship 2023. InQlusive Newsrooms is a collaborative project by The News Minute and Queer Chennai Chronicles, supported by Google News Initiative, and is working on making the Indian media more LGBTQIA+ sensitive.
