I’m non-binary and used to want an ‘X’ on my passport – but this is why I’ve changed my mind

Sometimes, what we want isn’t necessarily what we need. That’s a phrase usually reserved for fairly minor life moments such as buying an expensive piece of jewellery, or cutting in a fringe. But lately, I’ve realised that one can apply the logic to much larger quandaries, too – such as having one’s gender recognised by officialdom.

A casual thought popped into my head while walking to work. Having a third-gender option to put on my passport – an “X”, rather than an “M” for male or “F” for female – may be something I would like to happen… but do I need it to happen in order to feel validated as a non-binary person in the UK?

I was put in mind of this last week, when I heard that the cost of renewing a new passport was going up, for the second time in 14 months, to just over £100. Luckily, I renewed mine in 2022, and ticked the “M” box, correlating with my assigned sex at birth.

It had also occurred to me a week earlier, when David Blunkett wrote an opinion piece about how illegal immigration would be a fraction of what it is today, and the ongoing small boats crisis non-existent, if only we’d signed up for ID cards when the Labour government first attempted to introduce them in the early 2000s.

These two things got me thinking about the campaigns to have one’s gender identity officially documented that I have been part of, as a vital step towards freedom. But Blunkett’s piece, and faced with the sheer cost of renewing a passport these days, I’ve come to realise that being officially recognised as who I am by the state doesn’t equate to freedom at all. In fact, it could be quite the opposite.

After lobbying the government in 2019 to introduce an X option to the UK’s all-new, post-Brexit “blue” passports, I was adamant that the ability to have a third gender marked in my passport was about individual choice, part of a wider freedom of expression. To be seen by the powers that be as who I really was was surely a human right. But five years on, I now wouldn’t want that option at all.

For me, over time, the possibility of being legally able to identify as non-binary has become sullied by consistent anti-trans vitriol and instead replaced with fear. I realise now, rather than being something of which I should be proud, being non-binary in the eyes of officialdom could be a liability – or even a weapon against me. Why would I trust a government to keep intelligence on who identifies as trans, and not use it in ways that would negatively target my community?

On Friday, Germany passed a landmark gender identity law that will make it easier for transgender, intersex and non-binary people to amend official records with their preferred name and gender. However, many trans citizens are already concerned it will also allow such personal details to transfer automatically to the federal police and intelligence agencies for unspecified “checks”. I wouldn’t put it past the UK government wanting to do the same.

And given the political state of the world right now, this is not the time to be quite so loud and proud about one’s non-binary status. Beyond the legal and administrative technicalities of ID cards and passports, the climate in the UK for trans people is far from sunny. The UK has slumped to 17th in International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association’s (ILGA) official ranking of European countries in terms of LGBTQ+ freedoms – a far cry from 2015, when it ranked first. Since 2018, there has been an 186 per cent increase in hate crimes against trans people, as reported by Stonewall, while the National Centre for Social Research has noted how the percentage of the general public adopting a liberal position towards transgender issues has fallen.

So, no, I don’t want this government to know that I am trans. I don’t need the government to validate my identity in ways that could endanger it. I don’t want them to be able to know that some trans people also live at the intersections of race or class or ability, or that some people seeking asylum happen to also be trans. Why? Because I have lost all faith that such personal information would not be used to punish us.

Based on the evidence of the last five years, there’s nothing that would make me believe that being able to identify as X would make me, or us, feel any safer.

As with Germany’s landmark law change – which will allow people to choose from several gender markers, including “male”, “female”, “diverse’ or no marker at all – legalisation doesn’t necessarily equate to protection. Instead, legal validation acts as a barometer of the government’s attitudes towards trans people, in the hopes that this will trickle down throughout society and contribute to a broader understanding and acceptance of trans and gender-diverse people.

In the UK, surely the future is bright, right? Soon, after the coming general election, we will surely be in a post-Conservative world. Once the dust has settled and the culture wars abated, I hope things will feel calmer for trans people. With the prospect of a Labour administration, even an imperfectly formed one, we will have at least a brief respite from a hard-right agenda. Potentially, we may also gain, in Bristol, a second Green MP; the party has never yet faltered when asked the question: “What is a woman?”

I still hope that, one day, the climate will be such that I, as a trans person, feel comfortable enough to have an X on my passport. But right now, the most important thing for me isn’t the faux freedom conferred by a letter on a travel document. It’s making sure that LGBTQ+ people validate and affirm each other and stay a united, defiant and strong community.