India’s first transgender football team is only just getting started
Challenging the archaic theory of binaries in sport, India’s first transgender football team from Manipur is firmly putting the north-east and trans rights on the country’s map
It’s a balmy weekend in Manipur. A group of young boys is kitted out in matching jerseys, fluorescent bibs and knee-length socks, chasing after an elusive ball that seems to have a mind of its own. One of them finally traps the slippery orb between his feet and proceeds to send it sailing across the goalpost. The other players gather around their champion, slapping his back and breaking into a chorus of cheers. The scene itself isn’t all that exceptional; each of us has witnessed a soccer match in progress at least once in our lives, either on TV or at the many public spaces around our homes. But what sets these players apart is a simple yet powerful distinction: together, they comprise India’s first transgender football team.
This spirited squad was formed by Sadam Hanjabam when he attended the sporting events held in tandem with Manipur’s annual five-day-long Yaoshang festival in 2018 and noticed the locals mechanically segregating themselves into two rigid rows of male and female players, ignoring the possibility of someone identifying as a third gender. Hanjabam, also the founder of Ya-All (Manipuri for ‘revolution’), an inclusive and intersectional youth network recognised by the United Nations, sought to rectify this oversight by conducting a special sports event exclusively for Manipur’s queer folks. The ensuing six-a-side friendly football match organised between trans men and trans women in Imphal was an out-and-out success that served two purposes: it expanded the gender vocabulary of the state’s residents and awarded members of the queer community an opportunity to present themselves in public without the fear of being ridiculed.
Hanjabam’s idea of using soccer to raise awareness around representation and inclusivity was a stroke of genius. North-east Indians are known to have a predilection for sports, with the region having produced a host of noteworthy athletes over the years. Boxing icons Mary Kom and Lovlina Borgohain, weightlifting virtuoso Saikhom Mirabai Chanu, hockey stalwart Sushila Chanu and soccer legend Bhaichung Bhutia are but a few of the many sportspersons from the north-east who have brought fame and accolades to their respective home towns as well as to our nation. The road paved by their achievements on the international stage has allowed young queer athletes back home to take refuge in the sanctum of sport, bequeathing them with the power to stand their ground even when they are scoffed at in public.
For many north-east Indians, sport also serves as a medium to tether themselves to a homeland that insists on othering them. Despite boasting some of the most breathtaking natural beauty in the country and nurturing a thriving arts and culture scene, the north-east is often looked upon with aversion or ignored altogether because of its refugee and climate crises, underdeveloped infrastructure, environmental disasters and political strife. The most persistent differentiator, however, continues to be its residents’ distinctive facial features, the same lineaments that caused them to become the target of racial slurs when COVID-19 entered India two years ago.
Chaoba Wahengbam, vice-captain and de- fender of Ya-All’s trans football team, knows the feeling all too well. “Often, when we go to play matches outside of Manipur, we hear people whispering among themselves, ‘Where have these chinkis come from?’” Captain and defender Miller Khuman echoes his teammate’s sentiments. “I began my schooling in Shillong and then moved to Chennai. In the beginning, the students would stare at me wide-eyed and ask questions like where I was from or where Manipur was. We eventually became good friends but the memory of feeling completely alienated is still fresh in my mind.” When Wahengbam and Khuman joined Ya-All F.C. and became acquainted with the rest of the team, they felt like they finally found the sense of belonging they had been searching for all their lives.
Although their nimble dribbles, clean tackles and overall nifty footwork may give the impression that they spend the bulk of their day training, the players actually have full-time jobs working in salons or tutoring students and often only find the time to practise on weekends. Being a part of Ya-All F.C. has empowered them to command the kind of respect and approval they have always sought from society. For midfielder Suma, a security guard at a three-star hotel in Imphal, acceptance arrived in the form of his superiors finally showing interest in his sporting talent. “Initially, people weren’t really interested in knowing about what Ya-All does for inclusivity and representation. But ever since we became famous as India’s first transgender football team, my co-workers and superiors have become more curious about what I do. My supervisor even grants me leave when practice sessions are unexpectedly scheduled,” he beams.
India took a giant stride for the queer community in 2018, when the Supreme Court struck down Section 377 which criminalised homosexuality, but retreated back several steps by passing the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) bill just a year later. According to this bill, all trans individuals have to compulsorily register with a district magistrate if they want to be officially recognised as transgender. Additionally, in order to legally identify as a trans man or trans woman, they need to submit proof of gender-confirmation surgery to the government—leading them to become further embroiled in bureaucracy and red tape. Such systemic bias against the trans community, on top of the existing societal discrimination, does little to quell the fear that has taken up permanent residence in the hearts of the parents of the players regarding the safety of their children. “My parents were initially furious when I told them about our objective of forming this team. My mother would scold me and order me to concentrate on my studies rather than focusing on such useless ideas,” says goalkeeper Silheibi W. But seeing Ya-All’s earnest efforts to tackle transphobia and social ostracisation, in addition to linking the players up with youth employment programmes that guarantee a steady livelihood, is encouraging some of them to keep an open mind, even if most of them continue to bemoan their kids’ queerness.
“I can’t be myself at home or outside because I constantly feel like I need to live up to people’s expectations and that I’m letting them down by choosing myself and my happiness,” confesses midfielder Anao Phanjaobam. “But when I’m with my team, I can be my true self. The only thing they expect of me is that I improve my playing technique and win us some games,” he says, grinning. In a way, the most important service that Ya-All has done these young men is given them the gift of family. Often experiencing mental suffocation from their birth families, the players find themselves breathing easier on-field among each other, even as they get winded engaging in strenuous physical exercise. Observe carefully and you’ll notice a discernible spring in their step as they cross the sidelines and step onto the turf, the weight of social bigotry smoothly gliding off their shoulders as they stash their duffel bags, the thud of the ball dulling any nagging thoughts in their heads. Having attended mental health workshops and sessions on sexual and reproductive health and rights together, the boys are also fast friends off the field, evident from their refreshingly honest locker-room talk, the exchange of warm hugs and homemade food, and a steady stream of shared laughter in each other’s company. Khuman succinctly summarises his emotions about being a part of this record-breaking team: “I joined Ya-All out of curiosity, but I wasn’t sure whether it would sustain. Yet, I continue to endure, as does the team. It’s definitely a sign of something bigger than me.”
Courtesy : VOGUE
Note: This news piece was originally published in vogue.com and used purely for non-profit/non-commercial purposes exclusively for Human Rights .