India has enacted the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, that will reshape the country’s legal approach to gender identity. 

Both houses of parliament approved the legislation last month, and it received presidential approval on March 28. 

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, narrows the definition of a trans person, removes the provision for self-perceived gender identity, and requires medical certification for legal recognition. These changes mark a shift from the framework established under a 2019 law.

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, replaces the earlier definition of a trans person — previously framed as someone whose gender does not align with the gender assigned at birth — with a set of specified categories. It further provides that the term does not include, and is deemed never to have included, people defined solely by their sexual orientation or by self-perceived gender identity.

The bill retains certain categories within its definition, including people with socio-cultural identities such as kinner, hijra, aravani, or jogta. It also includes people with variations in sex characteristics at birth, such as differences in primary sexual characteristics, external genitalia, chromosomes or hormones from the normative standards of male or female bodies.

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, removes certain categories from the definition, including a trans man or trans woman, irrespective of whether such a person has undergone sex reassignment surgery, hormone therapy, laser procedures, or other forms of medical intervention. It also excludes genderqueer people — a category that had been recognized under the earlier framework. The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, however, includes eunuchs, as well as people compelled to assume a trans identity through mutilation, emasculation, castration, or other surgical, chemical or hormonal interventions.

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, also revises the process for legal recognition, requiring a trans person to apply to a district magistrate for a certificate of identity, which can now be issued only after the recommendation of a designated medical board. The law specifies that the board will be headed by a senior medical officer and may include other experts. It further provides that individuals issued such a certificate will be entitled to change their first name in official documents, including birth records and other government-issued identification.

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, also introduces stricter penalties for certain offences, including cases in which a person is forced to assume a trans identity through kidnapping, coercion or physical harm. Such offenses may attract imprisonment ranging from 10 years to life in prison, along with fines, depending on the severity and whether the victim is an adult or a child. The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, further requires medical institutions to report gender-affirming surgeries to the district magistrate, and mandates that individuals obtain a revised certificate of identity following such procedures.

India’s 2011 Census recorded 487,803 trans persons, yet only 5.6 percent had applied for a trans identity card, according to the Washington Blade’s previous reporting. These identity cards, required to access government welfare programs, have remained difficult to obtain, with delays and administrative barriers limiting uptake. 

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, revised the certification process, which introduces additional requirements for legal recognition. This change is against this backdrop of uneven access to identity documentation.

India’s Election Commission in 2009 directed states to modify voter registration forms to include an “other” category, allowing individuals who did not identify as male or female to register accordingly. The Supreme Court in National Legal Services Authority v. Union of India in 2014 recognized trans persons as a “third gender” and affirmed their right to self-identification. 

Justice Kalavamkodath Sivasankara Radhakrishna Panicker said that “recognition of transgenders as a third gender is not a social or medical issue, but a human rights issue.” Parliament in 2019 approved the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Bill, 2019.

An advisory committee the Supreme Court created that former Delhi High Court Justice Asha Menon has urged the government to withdraw the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026. The panel said the proposal to deny self-identification of gender is inconsistent with theNational Legal Services Authority v. Union of India ruling.

Menon on March 25 wrote to Social Justice Minister Virendra Kumar conveying the panel’s resolution. According to the Hindu newspaper, the committee described the amendment as a “great shock” and a “tremendous setback” to efforts to mainstream trans communities.

The Queer Hindu Alliance, an advocacy group that seeks to uphold the dignity of LGBTQ people within India’s cultural and constitutional framework, expressed concern over the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026.

“We write not in the spirit of opposition, but in the spirit of samvad — dialogue — and with a sincere call for community consultation before this legislation proceeds further,” the group said in a statement. “The Supreme Court of India recognized the concerns of the transgender community in 2014. The National Legal Services Authority v. Union of India judgment affirmed that a person knows who they are. This bill seeks to reverse that. The Queer Hindu Alliance finds this troubling as a question of basic human dignity.”

The Queer Hindu Alliance added that India “is not a young civilization fumbling for answers on how to understand human identity.”

“This culture has contemplated the nature of the self more deeply, and for longer, than any legal system that has existed. This is not a foreign conversation imported from the West. It is a conversation Bharat (India) has always been capable of having, on its own terms,” the Queer Hindu Alliance said.

Harish Iyer, an LGBTQ rights activist who was among those who fought for marriage equality in the Supreme Court, told the Blade that the amendment is “not just a rollback, but a blatant, arrogant insult” to the Supreme Court. 

“The NALSA judgment gave us the fundamental dignity of self-determination — the right to look in the mirror and say, ‘This is who I am.’ This amendment drags us right back into the dark ages, handing over our bodily autonomy to a bunch of sarkari babus (government officers) and medical boards,” said Iyer. “But here is the most absurd part: you simply cannot define if someone is trans through any physical test. How exactly are you going to diagnose a human mind? Are they only going to regard those who have had gender affirmation surgery as trans? Because that is fundamentally not the definition of being transgender; transition is a choice and a privilege, not a prerequisite for identity. Or are they going to look at someone born with ambiguous genitalia and label them trans? Because that is intersex, which is a completely different reality.” 

“Forcing a trans person to undergo degrading physical scrutiny based on the government’s spectacular ignorance of basic gender science isn’t a legal process; it’s state-sponsored trauma,” he added. “We fought too hard for our dignity to let a bureaucratic tribunal demand that we strip down to prove our humanity.”

Iyer said the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, goes beyond protection and instead imposes control. 

“You don’t ‘protect’ a community by criminalizing the chosen families and allies who offer safe haven to trans youth fleeing abusive homes,” he said, referring to provisions in the law. “This bill is about regulation, policing and control. By gatekeeping who gets to be trans and punishing those who support us, the government isn’t acting as a guardian — it’s acting as a warden. It is a calculated attack on our existence.”

Iyer said the revised definition could exclude individuals who do not fall within the listed categories. 

“It effectively writes them out of existence,” he said.

Iyer added the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Act, 2026, could create an administrative “black hole” for gender-fluid individuals and nonbinary people who do not fit into the government’s rigid categories.

“If you are legally invisible, you don’t get access to gender-affirming healthcare, you don’t get legal protection, and you are entirely cut off from participating in society,” said Iyer. “They are trying to legislate us into non-existence because they are too lazy to understand us.”

Tensions between the U.S. and Cuba are rising again. This is not new, but the current moment feels different. Recent measures from Washington aim to further restrict the Cuban government’s financial channels, limit its sources of revenue, and apply pressure to key sectors of the economy. This is not symbolic. It is a deliberate policy.

From the U.S. perspective, the message is clear. The goal is to force change that has not happened in more than six decades. There is also a domestic political dimension, shaped by sectors of the Cuban exile community that have long demanded a tougher stance. All of this is part of the landscape.

But that is only one side.

On the Cuban side, the response follows a familiar script. The government speaks of external aggression, economic warfare, and a tightening embargo. Each new measure becomes an opportunity to reinforce that narrative and close ranks. There is no room for public self-criticism. The blame always points outward.

Meanwhile, life on the island follows a different logic.

The energy crisis Cuba is facing today did not begin with these recent measures. It has been building for years. The electrical system is deteriorated, poorly maintained, and increasingly unreliable. Blackouts are not new. What has changed is how severe and how constant they have become.

For years, oil entered Cuba, especially from Venezuela. There were supply agreements. There were resources. And yet, the daily life of ordinary Cubans did not improve. Electricity remained unstable. Fuel was rationed. Transportation was still a daily struggle.

So the question is not new.

If the oil was there, why didn’t anything change?

Where did those resources go?

Where is the money that was generated?

Today, restrictions on oil are often presented as the main cause of the current crisis. They are not. They make an already fragile situation worse, but they do not fully explain it.

There is a deeper, longer story that cannot be ignored.

The same applies to Cuba’s international medical missions.

For years, they were presented as acts of solidarity. And in many cases, they were. Cuban doctors worked in difficult conditions, saving lives and supporting health systems abroad. That is real.

But they also functioned as one of the Cuban state’s main sources of income.

Many of these professionals did not receive the full salary for their work. A significant portion was retained by the government. In some cases, they had little or no control over the money they generated.

And there is a harsher reality.

If a doctor chose not to return to Cuba, that income often did not reach their family. It was withheld.

Today, several countries are reevaluating or canceling these agreements. Once again, the official response is to point outward. But the same question remains.

Is this the loss of international cooperation, or the collapse of a system built on control over its own professionals?

Inside Cuba, the conversation sounds very different.

People are not speaking in geopolitical terms. They are talking about survival. About getting through the day. About blackouts, food shortages, transportation problems, and a life that keeps getting harder.

Some see the new U.S. measures as a form of pressure that could lead to change. Not because they want more hardship, but because they feel the system does not change on its own. There is a deep sense of stagnation.

But that sense of expectation exists alongside a harsh reality.

Sanctions do not hit decision-makers first. They hit ordinary people. The ones standing in line. The ones losing food during power outages. The ones who cannot move because there is no fuel.

That is the contradiction.

The Cuban government calls for international solidarity. And it receives it. Countries send aid. Organizations mobilize. Public voices defend the island.

But another question is also present.

Does that aid actually reach the people?

The lack of transparency in how resources are distributed is part of the problem. Because this is not only about what enters the country, but about what actually reaches those who need it.

Reducing Cuba’s reality to a dispute between two governments avoids the core issue.

There are shared responsibilities, but they are not equal.

The U.S. exerts external pressure with real economic consequences. That cannot be denied. But inside Cuba, there is a system that has had decades to reform, to respond, to open, and it has not done so.

That part cannot continue to be ignored.

I write this as a Cuban. From what I lived. From what I know. From the people who are still there trying to make it through each day.

Because at the end of the day, beyond what governments say or decide, the reality is something else.

Cuba today is under more pressure, yes. But it has also spent years carrying problems that no one has seriously confronted.

And as long as that remains the case, it does not matter what comes from outside. The problem is still inside.

When Scott Silverii began his career as a police officer, he faced daily exposure to traumatic incidents with little guidance or support, particularly in distressed neighborhoods where officers were expected to respond decisively under pressure.

“When I started, the only thing they offered was to suck it up and get over it,” Silverii said. “Any indication that you were hurt meant that you were weak, and if you were weak, it meant you could not be trusted.”

Years later, when Silverii became a police chief, he chose a different approach. Rather than reinforcing silence around trauma, he made mental health support a visible part of his leadership.

“In every critical incident that we had, I would bring the critical incident stress debriefing team in — and I would participate in it,” Silverii said. “I wanted to promote it from the top. That’s what it’s going to continue to take to change the culture.”

Silverii’s experience reflects a broader reality in law enforcement. Across the country, police officers face ongoing mental health challenges linked to repeated exposure to violent crime scenes, fatal accidents, and human suffering — experiences that most civilians never encounter. Long shifts and the responsibility of protecting the public have long been documented to further intensify emotional strain, particularly when officers fear making mistakes with serious consequences. 

Silverii, former Thibodaux, La., chief of police and current National Law Enforcement Initiative Manager at Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD), said coping mechanisms in the past were often unhealthy. 

“A lot of officers, they would drink — sometimes prescription drug use, just different ways,” of coping, he said. Today, he said, the trauma can linger long after an incident: “…you become affected by the trauma. It doesn’t have to happen to you. But when officers respond to a crash, you’re involved… You carry this trauma.” 

In some cases, he says, the impact resurfaces every year. “My body begins to manifest physically, through depression, through stress… once I realize it’s the anniversary, I can start dealing with it,” he said.

For decades, police culture discouraged officers from seeking mental health support, often treating emotional distress as a weakness rather than an occupational hazard. In recent years, however, departments have begun expanding access to counseling, peer-support programs, and crisis-intervention training.

In Baltimore, a shift in police culture is tackling the long-standing “shrug it off” mentality toward officer mental health. The Baltimore Police Department’s Officer Safety and Wellness Section, started in 2018, changed how the agency handles trauma, depression, and substance abuse by treating these issues as medical needs rather than disciplinary failures. 

A core component of the program is its confidential alcohol addiction treatment, which has seen more than 250 officers voluntarily sign themselves in without fear of termination. This proactive approach has led to a dramatic drop in internal interventions — falling from 250 in 2018 to 48 in 2024 — alongside a decrease in citizen complaints and use-of-force incidents. 

The need for such programs is underscored by national data from the Police1 2024 State of the Industry report, which found that 76% of officers cite a lack of time due to heavy workloads as the primary barrier to maintaining their health.  More than 50% of respondents report that a significant stigma still surrounds seeking mental health services. Perhaps most telling — 12% of officers nationwide report having no access to mental health resources at all, and 33% have considered calling themselves out of service due to emotional distress or exhaustion.

Chris Asplen, executive director of the National Criminal Justice Association, is a former Washington prosecutor who handled child abuse and other high-stakes cases. He said the emotional weight of the work eventually led him to step away after becoming a parent.

“It became too mentally and emotionally difficult after I had my own child,” Asplen said.

Asplen said his understanding of trauma was also shaped in part by his upbringing. Raised by a parent who struggled with mental illness, he described growing up feeling overlooked. “My father’s mental health issues made me essentially invisible to him,” he said — an experience that later informed how he approached victims in the justice system.

Asplen also pointed to disparities in how mental health crises are handled. His family’s middle-class background, he said, afforded protections and support not available to many others. “Mental health issues for people who are not white and middle class are often treated as criminal matters,” he said.

Experts warn that when mental health challenges go unaddressed, they can affect officers’ judgment, job performance, and interactions with the public. In response, lawmakers and communities have begun exploring preventive approaches. In 2023, Congress passed the De-escalation Act, providing funding for training focused on crisis response, de-escalation, and officer wellness.

In addition to legislative efforts, some communities are turning to violence intervention programs aimed at reducing harm before police are required to respond. One such organization, Roca, was founded in Massachusetts in 1988 and has operated in Baltimore since 2018.  According to the organization’s impact data, 87% of its participants have had no new incarcerations after entering the program for at least 24 months. 

Police officers in Baltimore and several other cities have been trained by Roca’s nonprofit coaching arm, the Roca Impact Institute, to use cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) to regulate their emotions and understand the impact of trauma on officers and community members. The training reduced stress, loss of temper and use of force incidents, according to the institute.  

A 2024 report by the D.C. Office of the Attorney General showed the city’s violence intervention program’s efforts contributed to an 18% decrease in shootings and a 26% decrease in gun homicides across its target neighborhoods in 2023. Based on the national Cure Violence Global model, the programs treat violence as a public health epidemic through the use of what it calls “credible messengers” to de-escalate conflicts.

But a Washington Post investigation published Feb. 3 found excessive spending that City Administrator Kevin Donahue called a “completely inappropriate use of public money.” A week later, the publication reported that two DC violence interrupters were charged with murder in the death of a Baltimore man in a DC nightclub in 2023.  

When done correctly, these programs can offer a secondary benefit by reducing the volume of high-stress calls handled by law enforcement. Advocates say such approaches can lessen the emotional toll on officers by preventing traumatic encounters altogether. 

“If we can reduce the amount of trauma that occurs at the scene,” Asplen said, “then we’re a lot further along.”

(Carl Barbett is a senior at Bard High School Early College DC, one of Youthcast Media Group’s journalism class partners. This story was produced under the mentorship of Edith Mwangi, a Kenyan multimedia journalist based in D.C. with a background in international reporting and politics.)