[ Sawang Wangchha ]
The blatant exclusion of indigenous tribal transgender communities from the recently proposed Transgender Persons (Amendment) Bill 2026, tabled by the union ministry of social justice and empowerment, reveals a troubling truth about the government’s understanding of diversity and inclusion in India.
At this point, the LGBTQ+ community is not even asking for inclusion anymore. We are demanding complete scrapping of this ignorant, half-baked bill, drafted without meaningful consultation with the very community it claims to represent. This is not just wrong; it is inhuman. No law about us should be made without us.
The NALSA vs Union of India judgement of 2014, a landmark decision by the Supreme Court, affirmed the right of transgender persons to self-identify their gender with dignity. For many of us, this was a moment of recognition, freedom, and hope. Today, that freedom is being directly threatened.
By attempting to narrow the definition of transgender identities into limited socio-cultural categories such as hijra, kinnar, jogta, and others, the bill exposes its lack of understanding of India’s vast diversity. These identities may hold cultural significance in certain parts of the country, but they do not represent all of us, especially the indigenous tribal queer-trans communities of the Northeast.
This bill must also be understood through the lens of structural and racial marginalisation. People from the Northeast have long faced racism across the country, at times escalating into violence, discrimination, and social exclusion. For indigenous tribal queer-trans persons, this reality is even more layered and dangerous.
A law that refuses to recognise our identities and imposes mainland-centric definitions of gender does not exist in isolation. It deepens existing hierarchies of race, culture, and power. By erasing our lived realities, the bill reinforces the idea that certain identities, cultures, and bodies are more ‘valid’ than others. In doing so, it marginalises us not only as queer-trans individuals, but also as indigenous people, making us even more vulnerable in a society where we are already too often seen as outsiders.
As queer-trans individuals from indigenous tribal communities, we must ask: What informed this bill? Who was it written for?
In the Northeast, terms like mumbal, mumbar, lapi, shokho, and many more exist. Several of these identities are still being rediscovered and reclaimed by our people. By imposing a narrow framework, the law risks erasing identities that are already marginalised within marginalised spaces. Are lawmakers attempting to homogenise gender across a country as diverse as India? Are they choosing to erase voices that do not fit into their limited understanding?
In effect, this bill is racist, as it imposes mainland-centric definitions of gender while erasing indigenous identities from the Northeast, reinforcing existing hierarchies of race, gender, culture, and power.
Equally concerning is the bill’s shift towardsincreased bureaucratic and medical control over identity. By introducing stricter certification processes, it risks turning gender identity from a matter of self-determination into one of state approval, reducing identity to paperwork, scrutiny, and gatekeeping.
This directly undermines the fundamental rights guaranteed under Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution, including equality before the law and the right to life with dignity. A law that takes away autonomy over one’s own identity cannot claim to uphold constitutional values. Our communities are already vulnerable. Already invisible. This bill threatens to make our existence even more precarious.
Equally alarming is the vague and dangerous language around ‘coercion’, ‘forcing’, ‘alluring’, and even terms like ‘deceit’ and ‘undue influence’ in relation to transgender identity. While framed as protection, such broad and unclear terms are open to misuse and misinterpretation. When terms like ‘deceit’, ‘allurement’, and ‘undue influence’ are used without clear boundaries, the law risks criminalising not abuse, but identity, support, and community itself.
While protection from abuse is necessary, the absence of clear definitions creates fear. It feeds into the harmful and unscientific belief that being queer or transgender is something that can be ‘influenced’.
As a gay man who has grown up in a deeply heteronormative society, I ask: if decades of living in a cisgender, heterosexual world could not change who I am, how can anyone claim that queerness can be ‘forced’ or ‘induced’?
This provision does not protect. It threatens. It places activists, community leaders, and support systems at risk of criminalisation. People like me, who are working to build visibility, provide support, and create safer spaces, could be targeted simply for existing and helping others.
Through nearly five years of work with AP QueerStation, we have met individuals across the spectrum, gender-fluid persons, non-binary individuals, mumbal identities, and many more from indigenous tribal communities. Many have already undergone gender-affirming procedures, accessed counselling, or begun their transition journeys with courage and hope.
What happens to them now? What happens to their identities, their documents, their dignity?
The bill remains silent on those who have already transitioned or obtained identity documents. This legal uncertainty could invalidate existing identities and push individuals into further uncertainty. Have policymakers considered the lives they are about to disrupt?
Instead of ensuring access to education, employment, healthcare, and housing, the bill focuses on regulation and punishment, failing to address the real, everyday challenges faced by transgender persons across the country.
Importantly, even mental health professionals from the state have formally raised concerns about the implications of this bill. In a letter addressed to union minister Kiren Rijiju, the All Arunachal Pradesh Psychological Association (AAPPA) emphasised that the right to self-identification is not merely a legal principle but a fundamental determinant of psychological wellbeing. It noted that affirming one’s gender identity is closely linked to reduced levels of depression, anxiety, and distress, while subjecting individuals to external validation and certification can lead to stigma, invalidation, and long-term psychological harm. The association further highlighted that in Arunachal Pradesh and across the Northeast, understandings of gender are deeply rooted in indigenous cultural contexts, often fluid and community-based. Any attempt to impose rigid, external definitions risks not only cultural erasure but also serious psychological consequences, including alienation and identity dissonance among already vulnerable individuals.
We speak of privacy, dignity, consent, and respect. Yet this bill stands in direct contradiction to all of these values. By increasing control while reducing support, it reduces already vulnerable individuals to subjects of regulation rather than citizens with rights.
This is not reform. This is regression. India prides itself on diversity. But diversity cannot exist where identities are controlled, erased, or forced into narrow definitions.
We are not asking for permission to exist. We are asserting our right to exist, with dignity, autonomy, and respect.
A law that refuses to see us cannot govern us.
Scrap this bill! (The contributor is the founder of AP QueerStation)