The Quiet Codification of Control: Trans People and the Infrastructure of Forced Visibility
- Transiness Admin
- Mar 29
- 5 min read
This week, the UK government confirmed what many of us feared: a centralised, non-consensual tracking system for transgender people is not only underway - it is being rationalised as a matter of public safety.
In response to a government-commissioned review led by Professor Alice Sullivan, the Health Secretary has instructed the NHS to halt any changes to NHS numbers and gender markers for under-18s. In practice, this means trans youth, already among the most vulnerable patients, are barred from aligning their official records with their gender identity. The stated rationale? “Safeguarding.” Safeguarding whom? To most informed trans people, the word "safeguarding" presents a red flag; it is "safeguarding" that denied trans children their transition, and it denies transitioned women the safety of refuge from domestic and sexual violence. It is a word that is weaponised against us, and these new systems of profiling are no different.
Let’s be clear: this is not safeguarding. This is institutionalised suspicion and surveillance of trans lives.
Under the pretence of neutrality, the report implies that simply respecting a trans person’s identity poses a risk. It insinuates that administrative records must reflect one’s birth-assigned sex lest we become dangerous, lest someone not “know what we really are.” This push for “accurate,” unchanging documentation is not about delivering better healthcare. It is about exerting control. If it truly aimed at clinical safety or more precise screening, the NHS already has the technological capacity to implement discreet flags and nuanced processes that protect patient privacy. Instead, these proposals ensure that trans people remain permanently tagged and constantly visible.
No other demographic group is singled out in this way. We do not compel intersex individuals to repeatedly disclose their chromosomal makeup. We do not keep permanent tags on survivors of domestic abuse, nor do we force those who have changed their names for religious or cultural reasons to retain a “true” name on official records. When it comes to trans people, however, the right to privacy and dignity suddenly becomes negotiable.
The language of the report may be measured, but its goal is unambiguous: trans identities are provisional. You may be addressed by the name and pronouns you use in daily life but the state reserves the right to reveal an “original” identity at any moment. Even adults -those who have fully transitioned, including individuals with Gender Recognition Certificates will be forced into this new framework of dual identity: one for day-to-day interactions, another for official tracking.
This is not care. This is not safety. This is a digital architecture of marginalisation, and it is being constructed right before our eyes.
For years, trans communities have been reassured that progress is coming, that fairer policies are in sight. But what we see now is the opposite of fairness: it redefines what it means to be trans from “a person deserving of equal rights” to “a variable to be managed, a risk to be mitigated.” It is a mandate to inscribe our identities permanently in state databases, disregarding our autonomy.
We must label this for what it is: systemic erasure through enforced visibility.
To be clear, we are not seeking invisibility. We want the same rights every other person is afforded: the ability to control our own records, to access appropriate care, and to live free from the looming threat that our identities will be weaponised against us.
What this policy structure ignores, perhaps by design, is the profound emotional toll it exacts on trans people. Living under constant scrutiny and the possibility of exposure is draining in ways that defy straightforward metrics. That grinding sense of being flagged, challenged, and deemed suspect across healthcare, education, employment and in any setting where documents are checked corrodes one’s well-being. We are cast not merely as different, but as inherently dangerous. Every power-holder knows precisely how to find us, how to question us, and how to police us. Oppression thrives in these dynamics of imbalance, of forced visibility without adequate protection.
It is crucial to place this policy within its wider social context. In a political and media landscape where anti-trans rhetoric is normalised, often amplified, no system designed to track and flag trans identities will remain neutral. Built within a climate of moral panic and a rallying cry for “biological truth,” such data becomes a ready-made tool for prejudice, further discrimination, and future policy assaults. A “technical safeguard” quickly becomes a weapon when deployed in a culture predisposed to see trans existence as controversial, suspect, or unworthy.
Trans people already endure a hostile environment in healthcare, employment, housing, and public spaces. Now we are told that even the records meant to guide our care must be turned against us. Throughout history, forced identification systems have often been a prelude to deeper oppression. In Nazi Germany, Jewish people were required to wear identifying badges, a measure that facilitated persecution by rendering them perpetually visible to authorities. During apartheid in South Africa, pass laws restricted the movement of Black citizens, embedding discrimination into everyday life. While today’s debates differ in context, they repeat a dangerous pattern: once a government or institution believes it has cause to systematically track and tag a marginalised community, that label can be weaponised for generations. What begins as an alleged “safeguard” frequently transforms into a tool of social control and stigmatization.
Returning to our present moment, these historical echoes serve as a warning: enshrining trans identities as data points to be monitored or flagged sets the stage for more severe forms of marginalisation down the line.
Moreover, these measures contravene principles enshrined in international human rights law. Article 12 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) declares that no one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with their privacy. Article 17 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) echoes this, reinforcing the individual’s right against unjust surveillance. In a European context, the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) explicitly guarantees the right to respect for private and family life (Article 8). Additionally, the Yogyakarta Principles, which set out how international human rights law applies to sexual orientation and gender identity, assert that states must respect and legally recognise the self-defined gender identity of each individual.
When viewed through this lens, policies that forcibly track trans people, treating them as risks to be tagged rather than people to be supported stand in direct opposition to widely recognised human rights standards. They abandon the foundational premise that people themselves should have final say over how their identities are recorded, especially when such records can be used against them. In an era when personal information can be shared, sold, or repurposed, it is far from guaranteed that NHS medical records will remain secure. The NHS has partnered with private companies and research institutions under various data-sharing agreements, sometimes granting partial or direct access to large sets of patient data. Even when records are “anonymised,” the unique nature of trans healthcare can make it easier to re-identify individuals, effectively outing them. This is especially concerning against a backdrop where anti-trans sentiment is on the rise. Once sensitive medical data is accessible, legally or otherwise, it can be misused to discriminate, harass, or otherwise endanger trans people who rely on the confidentiality of their records for personal safety.
Consequently, the policy shift toward forced “true” data markers does more than undermine privacy in theory; it creates real-world risks of exposure and harm in a healthcare system that has historically struggled to keep data fully protected from misuse or breach.
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