Srimathi VenkatachariFor many transgender persons in India, life is a long negotiation between identity and invisibility. You may walk past them on a street, share a bus seat, or smile at them briefly in an office corridor. But too often, society either stares with ridicule or looks away in silence. Very few see the human behind the label — someone seeking nothing more than dignity, respect and a chance to live as they truly are.In June 2024, the Madras high court made history by becoming one of the first in India to install three gender-neutral toilets on its campus. A LinkedIn post by transgender advocate Kanmani R (verified in June 2024) confirms the high court has installed three new gender neutral washrooms on its premises, marking a meaningful step toward inclusive facilities.This infrastructural change, while seemingly small, is a profound act of institutional empathy — a recognition of the rights and dignity of transgender and gender-nonconforming persons.In a legal landscape where detachment is often valorized, Justice Anand Venkatesh stood apart and more recently, so did the bench of Justice G R Swaminathan and Justice V Lakshminarayanan when approached by a same-sex couple seeking protection from their disapproving parents.Justice Anand Venkatesh paused the hearing, stating that he needed time to “understand same-sex relationships” before delivering a judgment. He wrote to psychologists, read scientific literature, and interacted with LGBTQIA+ individuals. “I am trying to break my preconceived notions about this issue. I have no hesitation in admitting that I am not fully ‘woke’ to this subject. I am willing to understand,” he said.That journey translated into a series of bold, progressive directives such as the ban on conversion therapy in Tamil Nadu; directions to revise school and college curricula to include LGBTQIA+ issues; a mandate for sensitisation of police and government officials; a push for gender-neutral restrooms in public and institutional spaces; and monitoring of implementation through status reports.It is from this context that the gender-neutral washrooms in the Madras High Court campus must be seen, not just as construction projects, but as judicially seeded symbols of change.Toilets might seem mundane, but for transgender persons, the lack of safe, affirming restrooms can lead to harassment, violence, or complete avoidance of public life. Recognising this, in the Sushma case, Justice Venkatesh urged the Union and state govts to ensure provision of gender-neutral restrooms, especially in public institutions such as courts, colleges and govt offices. His orders made it clear that dignity begins with access.Following his directions and subsequent PILs in 2023-24, the Madras HC’s campus became the first to act on these ideals, completing the installation of three gender-neutral toilets by June 2024.Even as courts such as Madras HC move toward inclusion, India’s primary transgender law —the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 — lags behind. Justice Venkatesh had flagged issues with the law, notably the requirement of certification for gender identity, a direct contradiction of the NALSA judgment (2014); the absence of provisions for reservations, marriage, adoption, and inheritance; and tokenistic punishment for violence and abuse against transgender persons.He echoed the demand that LGBTQIA+ rights in India must not come with red tape, nor be made conditional upon medical procedures or administrative approval.The Madras HC’s move symbolises judicial responsibility not just to interpret the law, but to humanise it. It aligns with Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution, guaranteeing equality and dignity. It responds to community-led demands, acknowledging that legal victories must be followed by institutional change.Building on this vision, the road ahead must include amending the 2019 Act to fully honour self-identification, introduce reservations, and grant family rights; enacting a national anti-discrimination law covering gender, caste, class, disability, and sexuality; public funding for gender-affirming healthcare, and psychological support tailored to transgender needs; mandatory training for police, teachers, and judges on gender identity and inclusion; and a curriculum changes at school and university levels to foster respect and awareness from a young age.Justice Indu Malhotra said it best: “History owes an apology to the LGBTQ community.” But an apology is not enough. The transgender community does not need charity. They deserve citizenship, not conditional sympathy. It’s time India matched its legal promises with social and institutional will.When the judiciary listenedIndia has known and embraced gender diversity for centuries. Communities such as the hijras have been part of festivals, births and blessings. But colonial rule brought with it a rigid gender binary and criminalisation, casting the transgender identity into the shadows. The Criminal Tribes Act, 1871, reduced Hijras to a stereotype, criminal by default. This stigma, though the law is long gone, survives in whispered judgments and silent exclusions.Change didn’t begin in Parliament — it started in courtrooms.1.NALSA v. Union of India (2014)A historic verdict that recognised the right to self-identify one’s gender. For the first time, India’s highest court said: You exist. You matter. You are equal. Transgender persons were granted constitutional rights under Articles 14, 15, 16, 19(1)(a), and 21.2.Puttaswamy v. Union of India (2017)A landmark ruling on privacy, affirming that one’s gender identity is deeply personal and fundamentally protected.3.Navtej Singh Johar vs Union of India (2018)With the striking down of Section 377, the court did more than decriminalise love — it restored the humanity of millions.4.Arun Kumar vs IG of Registration (2019)The Madras High Court reminded us that the law must evolve with empathy — recognising that a transwoman can be a bride under Hindu marriage laws.5.S Sushma vs Commissioner of Police (2021)A rare moment of judicial humility where a judge chose to unlearn and relearn by listening to LGBTQ+ voices. The court ordered safeguards, called out police excesses and banned conversion therapy.Law with good intentions, but glaring gapsThe Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, tried to put NALSA into law. It made discrimination illegal. It defined transgender broadly. However, it fell short because it required certificates for self-identity, which undermines the very core of NALSA. It ignored reservations, despite clear directions. It kept family rights such as marriage, adoption and inheritance out of reach. And its punishments for abuse were tokenistic. Today, this law is under challenge in the Supreme Court.Beyond law: A daily struggle for survivalEven with progressive judgments and half-baked legislation, most transgender persons live on the margins:92% remain unemployed in the formal sectorMore than 60% are pushed into begging or sex workMore than 50% drop out of school due to bullying and abuse(The writer is an advocate in Madras high court)ALSO READ: LGBTIQA+ couples have right to find a family: Madras high court
