Smiley Interview: “This is Not Just a Trans Issue; It Is A Human Rights Issue”

Self-identification is different from having proof of identity. When someone is born, their birth certificate assigns them male or female based on genitalia. Similarly, for education, jobs, or reservations, we rely on certificates and documentation.

So, for me, having medical proof is not the issue. That’s not what self-identification is about. The real problem with this law is that it goes beyond documentation—it effectively questions our existence. In many countries that recognise transgender identities, there is a proper system: counselling, psychological support, and a process that helps individuals understand their gender journey, including whether they want surgery or not.

But this law ignores all that. Instead, it requires a medical board, then a judge, and then a district magistrate to certify your identity. How are they evaluating us? Is there counselling? Are they trying to understand our experiences? Why should a judge decide who I am? And why involve a district collector who already has administrative burdens?

Even if I go through all these processes and “prove” myself to multiple authorities—what do I get in return? Do I get a job? Education? Reservation? Social security? Nothing. This is called a “Trans Protection Bill”, but there is no real protection in it.

When you say kinship, I assume you mean the Jamaat system within the community. There has been long-standing false propaganda that transgender people kidnap young boys and force them into surgeries. This is simply not true. These claims often come from families who refuse to accept their children’s identity and misrepresent the situation. There is no data to support these accusations.

In reality, people join such systems voluntarily—often because they have no other choice. Many of us are rejected by our families. Once inside, yes, there is exploitation—economic exploitation—but it exists because survival options are limited.

I’ve lived in that system. I’ve been a beggar. And I can tell you—I don’t want that life. I want to live with my own family, like anyone else. Even criminals in our society often receive family support—rapists, murderers, paedophiles. But transgender people are abandoned, disowned, even killed by their own families.

So, if the government wants to eliminate exploitative systems like Jamaat, I agree—but only if they also protect us from family violence, ensure our basic rights and provide real alternatives for survival. Otherwise, how are we supposed to live?

For trans men and lesbian individuals, the situation is even worse. Many face forced marriages, “corrective rape”, or violence. Some NGOs are now helping, but support systems are still very limited. If you remove existing kinship structures without building safe alternatives, you are not protecting us—you are erasing us.

I wouldn’t say there was no consultation at all. This Bill has been in discussion for nearly a decade, and the NCTP has been involved. I was never consulted.

In Tamil Nadu, we use respectful terms like Thirunangai (trans women), Thirunambi (trans men), and Thirunar (transgender persons). I was the one who initiated this terminology. It was

later officially recognised. Before that, the term Aravani was commonly used, which many consider outdated and offensive.

Yet, despite this progress, outdated terminology is still being used in official contexts. This reflects a deeper issue: the people representing us are not always advocating for rights-based approaches. Many are influenced by religious or ideological perspectives rather than focusing on real, lived issues. So, when people say they were not consulted, I question that. Some were—but did they represent us properly? Genuine consultation would mean: including diverse voices from the community, listening to lived experiences, prioritising rights, dignity, and welfare—not ideology

That number is actually an underestimation. In reality, almost every transgender person I know has, at some point in their life, thought about or attempted suicide—often more than once. I myself have attempted multiple times. This happens because of family rejection, social stigma, lack of opportunities and violence and discrimination. When society denies your identity and strips away your support systems, it pushes people into extreme distress.

Mental health will be severely affected. It already is. There is almost no proper documentation of violence against trans people in India—murders within families, violence in sex work,

or within the community itself often go unrecorded. But suicide rates are very real, and they are high.

Personally, my mental health has been deeply impacted. I was so disturbed by everything happening that I felt like burning myself. I am against suicide and I am on medication, trying to manage these feelings. Instead, I burned my documents as a form of release—it helped me cope.

Access to mental health support is extremely limited. Unless you are privileged—financially stable or supported by family—most trans people in India cannot access care. There are very few professionals trained to address transgender mental health. If this law comes into effect, life will become even more unbearable. Mental health will become the least of our concerns when basic survival itself is under threat.

I may not be the right person to answer this fully because I no longer live in India. I am an asylum seeker abroad, and I have no intention of returning. Even if I were deported, I would rather end my life than go back under such conditions.

I don’t understand what they mean by “real”. Transgender identity includes trans men, trans women, non-binary, and gender-fluid people. But their understanding is limited to certain traditional identities that align with their ideology.

They are completely disconnected from our lived realities. They don’t understand our struggles or how we survive.

Lawmakers should be ashamed. India, which calls itself the world’s largest democracy, has normalised forcing trans women into begging. This is not seen in many neighbouring countries. From the moment a person comes out as trans, everything is taken away—family, identity, education, opportunities. We are fighting for dignity, and instead of supporting us, they are trying to erase us.

The focus should first be on basic human rights—education and employment. We need—reservation in education and jobs (horizontal reservation); legal protection from family violence; laws against discrimination based on gender identity and sexual orientation and government awareness campaigns that encourage families to accept their queer children. There should also be incentives for families that support their transgender members. This could help shift societal attitudes.

I appreciate some steps taken by states like Tamil Nadu—free education, scholarships, and housing support for trans individuals. These are the kinds of policies we need more of. Ultimately, education and employment are key. Without them, people are pushed into begging or sex work—not by choice, but by lack of opportunity.

My protest has been symbolic—I burned my documents because they no longer serve me in a system that denies me dignity. I cannot legally challenge the law from outside India, but there are people working on it. Legal teams are preparing challenges and consulting with activists and experts. I am contributing in whatever limited way I can, through suggestions and support.

This is not just a trans issue—it is a human rights issue. If society stays silent, it becomes complicit. Everyone has a responsibility to stand with marginalised communities in their worst times.