iHEAR TransNet: Intersectional experiences of TFGBV among the trans, non-binary and gender diverse communities in India

Introduction

Across India, as in many parts of the world, transgender, non-binary and gender-diverse (TNBGD) people experience disproportionate levels of online harassment.[1] These digital harms are not random; they amplify the inequalities already faced offline.[2] A survey in India showed a substantial 90% of Indian respondents who identify as LGBTQIA+ have faced online harm.[3] Moreover, 56% of LGBTQIA+ individuals who experienced online harm believe they were targeted due to their gender identity.[4] A growing body of evidence highlights widespread experiences of doxxing, impersonation and sexualised abuse among LGBTQIA+ persons, often escalating to physical assault or threats of death.[5] Such harms undermine mental health, restrict freedom of expression and limit digital participation.[6]

Despite the scale of these challenges, legal and institutional responses remain inadequate. The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, for instance, does not meaningfully address digital violence,[7] while interactions with the police often result in dismissal or secondary victimisation.[8] Globally too, most countries lack effective legal frameworks against technology-facilitated gender-based violence (TFGBV).[9] 

What remains underexplored is how TFGBV intersects with other marginalisations – caste, class, religion, disability, region – within the Indian context. Existing research rarely accounts for the complex ways in which these axes shape online precarity, safety and violence for TNBGD persons.[10]

This study addresses that gap. By adopting an intersectional, participatory approach, the TransNET project[11] examines how TNBGD persons in India experience TFGBV, what strategies they employ to resist and safeguard themselves, and what barriers exist in accessing support. In doing so, it aims to generate knowledge that informs inclusive interventions, platform accountability and structural change for digital justice.

Research question

TransNET was guided by the following research questions:

• What do precarity, safety and violence mean in online communities and spaces for TNBGD persons intersectionally marginalised on other identity axes such as age, caste, religion, region and ability, etc. in India?
• What are the strategies employed in anticipation of or in response to TFGBV?
• What are the intersectional barriers to accessing support mechanisms during and after experiencing TFGBV?

What remains underexplored is how TFGBV intersects with other marginalisations – caste, class, religion, disability, region – within the Indian context.

Method and theoretical framework

This study was grounded in a participatory, community-led approach, designed and implemented in close collaboration with TNBGD persons.[12] The research team and the community advisory board included individuals from diverse backgrounds, many of whom had lived experiences of gender-based violence. This ensured that the process was not only inclusive but also guided by the expertise and priorities of those most affected. Participatory practices included iterative consultations to develop the research questions, interview tools and reflection on the findings with community members.[13] 

We conducted 14 interviews with TNBGD persons across India via Zoom. This was followed by transcribing the interviews, as well as developing and revising themes and sub themes as part of the reflexive thematic analysis.[14]

Our methodological and theoretical choices were informed by four interrelated frameworks:

• Intersectionality theory enabled us to capture how overlapping identities – such as caste, class, gender identity, religion and disability – compound experiences of TFGBV.[15] Rather than treating these categories as separate, intersectionality revealed the layered vulnerabilities and context-specific dynamics faced by TNBGD persons in India.
• Queer theory provided a lens to critically examine how falling outside normative binaries intensifies marginalisation, while also highlighting possibilities for resistance.[16] This helped situate participants’ narratives beyond the confines of rigid identity categories, recognising fluidity and complexity in their experiences.
• The minority stress model offered insight into the psychosocial impacts of systemic stigma and discrimination, showing how stressors rooted in structural inequalities are reproduced in digital spaces.[17] This framework was particularly useful for linking individual accounts of anxiety, fear and self-censorship to broader systems of oppression.
• Feminist standpoint theory emphasised the unique value of knowledge generated from the lived experiences of marginalised communities.[18] 

Taken together, these frameworks do not stand in isolation. Instead, they intersect: intersectionality and queer theory reveal the structural and identity-based dimensions of TFGBV, while the minority stress model and feminist standpoint theory help interpret both the psychological consequences and the epistemic value of centring marginalised voices. The combination of these perspectives created a holistic analytical frame that is both structurally attentive and grounded in lived realities.

Ethical considerations were embedded throughout the methodology. Building on feminist ethics, the team ensured that participants’ agency was respected at every stage, accessibility was prioritised, and confidentiality was safeguarded.[19] Reflexivity was central, with researchers regularly engaging in critical self-examination to minimise power imbalances between the research team and participants.

Discussion of research findings

Forms of TFGBV encountered

The TNBGD persons we interviewed had navigated myriad and pervasive forms of violence when using technology and accessing digital platforms. Whether the violence they experienced was directly and explicitly targeted at them or experienced vicariously or implicitly, participants were affected by and actively responded to hostility and unsafety in these spaces.

The forms of TFGBV encountered by TNBGD persons in our study largely aligned with existing literature and the forms of TFGBV described in previous studies.[20]

Monitoring, surveillance and control

Nearly all the participants interviewed experienced some form of monitoring and surveillance of their use of technology with the intent to control them, which often led to stalking, doxxing, nonconsensual image recording, sharing and generating, as well as incidents of dating violence, sexual harassment and queerphobia.

The natal families of P01, P07 and P11 (a non-binary person) monitored their use of technology and their online presence. P01’s family tracked his number, and he shared that, “Every aspect of my tech usage is monitored by my natal family.” P07 said, “Even if I liked a page supporting LGBTQI issues with my birth name, there would have been backlash from my family, friends and my community.”

Stalking

Stalking for some participants started online through information shared online, which occasionally led to offline stalking at their home, hostel or workplace. P10, a non-binary person, shared “experiences where people tracked me down and confronted me at work.” For other participants, the stalking began offline through their family or work, and then moved online.

Surveillance technologies replicate the “male gaze” and reinforce hierarchies and norms of gender and patriarchal violence.

Doxxing

Being doxxed or even the threat of being doxxed affected several participants in the study. Some had their names, profiles and other personal information like bank details and their location leaked by right-wing groups for expressing their political views online. P13 (an Adivasi non-binary activist with disabilities) disclosed, “They somehow found my sister’s contact info, the fact that she has a child, her phone number and email, and posted it on a big page [...] that has thousands of followers.”

Sexual harassment and dating violence

Many instances of monitoring and stalking resulted in participants experiencing sexual harassment or dating violence. P08 was often harassed by college-going boys, who would ask to see pictures of her privates, demanding, “What do you have down there? Show me. Show me your breasts.” She felt unsafe and struggled to leave her house for fear of meeting these people.

P10’s stalker was “incredibly misogynistic and homophobic,” and seemed to enjoy provoking a reaction out of them through his homophobic remarks, even though they “never explicitly came out to him.” P10 shared, “I always felt like this was a personal attack on my gender and orientation” that stemmed from his obsession with “wanting to know [...] who I’m with, who I’m dating.”

Surveillance technologies replicate the “male gaze” and reinforce hierarchies and norms of gender and patriarchal violence, in these cases controlling and limiting participants’ freedom to be queer and connect with their communities.[21]

Non-consensual image and video recording, generating and sharing

Participants shared experiences of having images and videos recorded and shared without their consent. The stalking P02 experienced involved pictures taken of them at their workplace and posted online, “using that imagery of, okay, this is a wild transperson, and they are, you know, not supposed to be giving therapy to normal people.” Unsolicited images and videos, some of which were explicitly pornographic, were sent to Ritash, an older gender-fluid person, as well as P07 and P11 on online platforms, like Facebook, and via Bluetooth.

Misuse and misrepresentation of personal information

In addition to their private information being used to surveil them, participants discussed incidents where their personal details and information were taken out of context or weaponised against them to defame them. Another threat participants reported was the misrepresentation and misappropriation of identities and information by malicious actors in online spaces. P11 was impersonated online – “Multiple fake profiles of me were created, on Instagram and Tinder, using my pictures,” – which made them wary of putting their information online.

Spam calls and messages

A major form of TFGBV reported by participants involved repeated unsolicited attempts to contact them through various means. P08 was messaged and called so frequently by people soliciting her for sex work that she had to “keep my phone on from 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., and then I turn it off because I get too many calls in the evening.” The harassment forced her to go offline and barred her from accessing and participating in digital spaces, and it deeply affected her mental health. “In the past, I've been in a very dark place. I've had suicidal tendencies, overwhelming feelings of self-harm.”

Networked harassment

Every participant interviewed had experienced a concerted online attack from a wider group of people, ranging from classmates and neighbours to right-wing groups, religious groups and other LGBTQIA+ community members.

Trolling, hate speech and threats to safety

Most of the trolling or hate speech that participants reported were targeted at their most visible identities or at their political views. The use of TFGBV to suppress political expression and protest has been documented in other contexts as well.[22]

Non-binary Muslim participant P03 received Islamophobic attacks and death threats after screenshots of an Instagram story they shared supporting a nationwide protest were forwarded by a queer follower to right-wing Hindu nationalist groups: “The messages included extreme threats, saying things like, 'We will cut you into pieces.’” This incident severely affected their well-being and their freedom of expression, as they shared: “It can impact your mental health, safety and public presence. Even now, I carry the trauma from that event.”

The messages included extreme threats, saying things like, 'We will cut you into pieces.’

As an Indigenous political artist who was often outspoken about Hindu nationalist politics and casteism, P13 once had an advertising vehicle with a loudspeaker sent to their house. “It just parked there and played a violent song on loop [...] which means, ‘If you don’t chant Ram’s name, we’ll cut off your head.’ [...] I got a panic attack just sitting at home, listening to it all day.”

Cancelling and social exclusion

Within LGBTQIA+ communities, cancel culture was often weaponised against vulnerable TNBGD persons. P06, a transman, was outspoken about transmasc erasure in the media coverage of an event organised by the trans community in their city. However, they were ostracised by major non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and community members as a result:

Many of them were also my good friends. But because of this situation [...] they completely boycotted me. [...] I started experiencing anxiety, even getting anxiety attacks. I developed anger issues, so I completely distanced myself – I stopped going there and cut off communication with people.

This exemplified how cancel culture, which originated in Black digital spaces as a tool of accountability against those with structural power, has since escaped its context and is now being used within marginalised communities to exile community members who are perceived to cause harm.[23]

Erasure of TNBGD identities

A unique aspect of the violence encountered by TNBGD persons through technology was the policing and erasure of their gender identities and expression.

P04 discussed how their modelling career erased their non-binary identity, explaining, “I recognise that in some ways, I was also propagating an idea of femininity through my work [...] even though it wasn't necessarily my personal ideology or identity.”

Within TNBGD communities, “transmasc negativity” was highlighted by P01 in the way transmen were often invisibilised or excluded from queer spaces. In a similar vein, P09 found other members of the queer community dismissing their non-binary identity, sharing, “When they see me – a hijabi person – they assume I don’t belong. They question why I’m there. In their eyes, I don’t ‘look queer’.” P14, a trans woman, highlighted how trans content creators have “created a benchmark image of what it means to be a 'real' or 'original' trans person, making others feel like they're fake.”

For many transpersons, transitioning or being trans was associated with sex work or wanting a sex life. In fact, non-binary participant P11 was stalked and solicited for sex by an auto rickshaw driver who “had mistaken me for a transwoman or transman and assumed I was a sex worker”.

Vicarious and implicit violence

Not all forms of violence were explicit or directly experienced. Participants opened up about the impact of violence they witnessed other people going through – vicarious violence – and they also talked about more subtle, implicit forms of violence that were often seen in acts of omission or changes in behaviour toward them.

After P09 openly shared their involvement in the Queer Muslim Project on their Instagram account, they noticed, “Some people who used to engage with me distanced themselves afterward. It was subtle, but I noticed it.”

Cancel culture, which originated in Black digital spaces as a tool of accountability against those with structural power, has since escaped its context and is now being used within marginalised communities to exile community members who are perceived to cause harm.

Internet shutdowns

The state’s decision-making power over digital infrastructure was also pointed out as TFGBV, particularly by P12. They described how frequent internet shutdowns[24] in their state, a region with ongoing conflict, felt like targeted violence that was directed at already vulnerable communities. This disrupted the communities’ ability to seek help in crises or to share or receive critical information for movement and resistance.

Other factors involved in TFGBV

In many cases, the violence did not always originate or stay online, and it moved fluidly between online and offline spaces, confirming observations from a previous study on how violence can shift between these spaces.[25] Some participants were monitored or harassed online by family members or acquaintances they met in person, and some were stalked or targeted in person due to details about their contact information, physical appearance, or their workplace that were available online. P14, a transwoman, had neighbours in her village bring up her profile pictures with her parents to “stir up trouble.” It got to the point where “it became unbearable for my parents to live there.”

The violence was often targeted at TNBGD persons’ most visible forms of marginalisation or difference, whether this was their gender identity, as seen in previous reports,[26] or their religious beliefs, caste background, disability, profession, ethnicity or political affiliation. Those who perpetrated the violence included members of dominant religious and caste groups, family members, other LGBTQIA+ community members, people on dating apps, professional acquaintances and more.

Impact of TFGBV on TNBGD persons

The impact of TFGBV encompassed several aspects of TNBGD persons’ lives, corroborating findings from existing studies[27] and frameworks.[28] One participant lost access to housing and education, and a few others were financially impacted or faced a loss of livelihood and professional opportunities. Many felt socially isolated from their family members, friends and communities, and also felt that their access to digital spaces and online communities and freedom to express themselves there were limited. Fear was a predominant effect of the violence, whether this was fear of being recognised in person, fear of being doxed or stalked, fear of expressing one’s opinions or beliefs, or fear of violent threats being carried out. TNBGD persons also experienced depression, hopelessness, self-loathing, and self-harm or suicidal thoughts as a result of the violence. For example, P04 was quite affected by the doxxing they experienced, sharing that, “[I] feel scared to step out of my house. I become hyper-vigilant, checking my surroundings if I go for a walk, go to the market or even just step outside my door.”

Resistance by TNBGD persons against TFGBV

Participants’ experiences of using technology and being online were rooted in a range of practices to remain safe on a day-to-day basis, resist and respond to violence when it occurs and build community-based structures and platforms to tackle TFGBV in the long term.

Anonymity is critical to safeguarding queer-feminist voices and creating spaces for self-paced exploration of identity and community.

Everyday safeguarding practices included being selective, conscious and strategic about what they share online. Participants utilised privacy features like “close friend” stories, private accounts to find spaces for private expression. Particularly, in the Indian context where many participants straddle the complexities of coming out and staying closeted in order to manage safety in different social contexts, creating anonymous accounts with chosen names allowed a closeted transwoman to evade family surveillance, connect with other queer-trans people and explore her identity. Anonymity is critical to safeguarding queer-feminist voices and creating spaces for self-paced exploration of identity and community. Participants also shared how knowledge and experiences of TFGBV, has led them to “double check” what they share online, recognise signs of escalation and act early and keep support systems in the know. For instance, participants shared the inherent risks of being politically vocal online as queer-trans people, especially queer-trans Muslim, Adivasi and Dalit individuals who are at the receiving end of extremely coordinated and targeted right-wing networked harassment campaigns that involve death threats, threats of physical violence to the individual and their family, doxxing, mass reporting and in-person stalking and intimidation. While many participants have shared that they are more selective about what they speak about due to these experiences, some have shared how they use metaphors and codes to criticise right-wing ethnonationalist ideas. One indigenous non-binary participant shared:

Through experience, I’ve learned to recognise patterns of hate speech – which ones escalate and how to stop them. Now I know, if someone starts tagging someone else who has a DP [with Hindu nationalist symbols and colours], I can tell, “Okay, this is going to escalate.” So I immediately switch off comments from non-followers, things like that.

Participants have shared an increased preference for private digital spaces with trusted and known people, conscious and selective political speech in public platforms, and being aware of social networks they can activate for support or redressal. In addition, participants used two-factor authentication, avoided clicking on random links and utilised cash on delivery options to avoid financial scams and safeguard the privacy of their data.

Some participants who experienced TFGBV, used their lived experiences to collectivise and innovate tools to combat different forms of TFGBV. One non-binary participant developed an AI tool to combat intersectional and code-mixed forms of hate-speech.[29] Another participant developed a chatbot that could help survivors navigate experiences of online harassment and a tool that could help survivors and creators adjust “toxicity” of comments. They also worked with journalists to uncover online tools that were exacerbating Islamophobic hate speech online. In addition to innovation, participants developed resources and platforms where people from marginalised communities can come together and co-develop community-driven solutions to TFGBV. Thus, collective forms of resistance, through innovation and coalition building, challenge dominant algorithms and allow for queer-feminist imaginations of platforms, technology and the future.[30]

Finally, in response to incidences of TFGBV, participants employed a blend of platform-based negotiations like reporting (individual and mass reporting), blocking and temporary deactivation and reaching out for psychosocial and economic support to friends, community members, siblings, therapists, mental health facilities, peer support groups and NGOs and CBOs. People experiencing community estrangement due to cancelling campaigns noted that they had to rebuild from its effects without peer or community support, primarily relying on travelling, hobbies and exploring spirituality. One participant also used AI platforms like ChatGPT to think through her experience of TFGBV and possible ways of mitigating the same. While ChatGPT is increasingly becoming a source for advice and support for many young people, the potential harms have also resurfaced.[31] Future research can focus on how users view privacy issues on ChatGPT.

Participants underlined that processes and guidelines of platforms like Meta, Twitter and LinkedIn have been ineffective in responding to violence. Particularly, they point to instances of delay and inaction, lack of transparency in the reporting process and inadequately defined and implemented community guidelines that perpetrators find new ways of bypassing. While in the past Meta’s trusted partner[32] initiative has helped a participant protect their account from being a target of a mass reporting campaign, Meta’s recent move of rolling back content moderation and specifically permitting online speech associating mental illness or abnormality with gender or sexual orientation has been alarming and has left participants vulnerable and distressed.[33] 

Collective forms of resistance, through innovation and coalition building, challenge dominant algorithms and allow for queer-feminist imaginations of platforms, technology and the future.

In cases of stalking and spamming, blocking was used by many to limit further interaction. However, in many cases, participants shared that they were concerned about blocking possibly escalating the violence and had to strategically appease perpetrators by “manipulating the abuser to make him feel like he’s a good person so he won’t hurt me.” In some instances, blocking was not only ineffective but led to multimedia and multi-profile harassment, where perpetrators continued to make new accounts and continued spam messaging and calling from different numbers to bypass blocking.

Finally, temporary deactivation as a strategy, also limits the digital participation of queer-trans people which is increasingly linked to livelihood. Thus, platforms cannot be viewed as merely inadequate; their inaction, delays and active dismantling of protections make them complicit in the violence experienced by queer-trans individuals and communities.

Gaps in platform action led some to reach out to other forms of institutional redressal. While some found safety in having access to legal networks and advice if needed, only one trans masculine participant filed and won a legal case against an institution for misusing their private data to manufacture grounds for expulsion. In the case of a networked harassment campaign, the support of a local minister facilitated community members to conduct a pride event with police protection. Most participants, however, distrusted the police, anticipating inaction, stigma or escalation of violence by the perpetrators.[34] 

Many had direct negative experiences with the police. For instance, a transwoman who was also engaged in sex work at the time visited the police station and was told, “Don’t come to the station, people will see, and it will harm our reputation.” In a region with ongoing ethnic conflict, a non-binary participant shared that the breakdown of law and order has also eroded any hope for redressal by police or state intervention.

Our findings highlight that in the absence of platform accountability and structural support, the onus of navigating TFGBV has been shifted to survivors who continue to experience the immense psychosocial, health and economic costs of this violence. Despite this, trans individuals and communities are constantly reinventing resistance, solidarity and safety in the socio-technological every day.

Recommendations

For community spaces and organisations

• Compile and regularly update a directory of queer-trans affirmative therapists, legal aid services and allied NGOs that survivors can contact for psychosocial, economic and legal support.
• Use in-person and online community spaces to talk about strategies to respond to TFGBV like safeguarding measures, documenting evidence, navigating reporting systems and reaching out for support.
• Establish grant programmes specifically for queer-trans individuals in India who are developing community-based tech solutions, such as the AI hate speech detectors and survivor support chatbots etc.
• Use research and journalism to understand nuances of TFGBV and use this evidence for public advocacy campaigns and direct engagement with tech companies.
• Promote digital literacy among TNBGD persons, especially about their rights and laws related to TFGBV to help them navigate the legal systems effectively.

For platforms and tech funders

• Upgrade the “block” feature to automatically hide the blocker's content from new accounts created by the blocked user and limit their ability to send messages from different numbers or profiles.
• Provide users with a private dashboard to track the real-time status of their reports, including the specific policy violation identified, the action taken and a clear process for appeal if they disagree with the outcome.
• Reverse the rollback of content moderation support and strengthen trusted partner programmes, ensuring queer-trans community organisations in India have a direct and expedited channel to address severe threats to safety.
• Community guidelines should tap into context-specific forms of TFGBV in local languages.
• Tech funders should create specific funding streams dedicated to startups and non-profits led by queer-trans individuals that are building platforms focused on building safety by design.

For government and law enforcement agencies

• The police force and law enforcement agencies need to be sensitised to handle and respond to complaints from the TNBGD communities in a timely manner.
• Law enforcement needs to work with the TNBGD communities to address fear and mistrust of the police and reporting mechanisms.
• Apps and platforms need to be legally enforced to be accountable for TFGBV.
• Build or strengthen a national registry, 24/7 helpline, or verified platform to assist those dealing with online harassment and violence.
• Establish clear legal frameworks that recognise and address TFGBV, including penalties for doxing and harassment.
• Policies that address rapid response need to be in place, since incidents can escalate within hours.

For other stakeholders

• Sensitise mental health professionals, staff in educational institutes, employees at workplaces and other allies and stakeholders to create awareness about marginalisation on the basis of gender identity and expression.
• Establish workplace policies to support employees facing threats and doxing through work and to support grievance redressal mechanisms.

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Acknowledgements

We would like to thank Harikeerthan Raghuram and Anant Bhan for their support through the project and the research participants, community consultation participants and community advisors of the TransNET study for making this possible.