India is currently witnessing a large-scale verification of its electoral rolls under the Special Intensive Revision (SIR), provided under Article 324 of the Constitution and Section 21 of the Representation of the People Act, 1950. The aim is legitimate: strengthen the voter list by eliminating fraudulent entries and those who are no longer alive. However, in the process of purifying democracy, a grave injustice is unfolding at the margins of society where people who were historically denied identity are now at risk of being denied their right to vote for the same reason. For the first time, even existing voters including those enrolled after 2003 have been asked to produce documentary proof of their date and place of birth. SIR may be a necessity, but it now hinges on documents that many Indians do not possess, especially those who were pushed out of ordinary life long ago. To demand old records, parental certificates, and proof of long-term residence from communities that have been socially abandoned is unrealistic.
Take the transgender community. For decades, they were ridiculed, beaten, excluded from homes, denied education, and forced to survive through begging and sex work. Their existence itself was treated as illegitimate. It was only in NALSA v. Union of India (2014) 5 SCC 438, that the Supreme Court finally recognised them as the “third gender”, affirming dignity and the right to self-identity. Parliament subsequently enacted the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, enabling them to obtain a transgender certificate, the first legal recognition many ever had. Yet, shockingly, this certificate is not considered a valid document by the Election Commission during SIR. Aadhaar, the most widely used identity document in the country is also excluded. So is the ration card, despite being a lifeline for many in these communities. When the State itself has only recently acknowledged a person's identity, how can it now demand that same person prove it through documents that never existed?
Sex workers face an equally brutal dilemma. Many were trafficked, abandoned by their families, and trapped for years in brothels with no paperwork, no birth certificates, and no “permanent address”. Society looked away until today, when suddenly their identity must be verified. They are now being asked about parents they no longer know, homes they were thrown out of, and pasts they are still trying to heal from. The Supreme Court, in Budhadev Karmaskar v. State of West Bengal (2022) 20 SCC 220, held that sex workers are entitled to all constitutional protections and must not be harassed because of their profession. The Court specifically insisted on issuing Aadhaar without violating confidentiality. Yet, when Aadhaar itself is rejected for electoral enrolment, constitutional guarantees remain merely words on paper. What makes this even more concerning is the ground-level reality. Many among these marginalised groups are not literate. Booth Level Officers (BLOs) often fill forms on their behalf, sometimes incorrectly, leading to future complications that the voter will not even understand. Meanwhile, BLOs themselves are breaking under pressure, with reports of distress and suicides, a troubling sign of an overburdened system that is attempting too much, too fast, without adequate safeguards.
The question that must be asked is simple: If the nation never gave someone an identity, how can it now punish them for lacking one? If democracy is built on the principle of universal adult franchise, then the right to vote cannot depend on privileges one was never given.
This identity-verification exercise can be conducted without exclusion or humiliation. The Election Commission can allow flexible documentation, including Aadhaar, PAN, Voter ID, ration cards, and transgender certificates. For sex workers and transgender persons, community verification and local inquiry should be a primary method of establishing identity not a last resort. Facilitating centres must be established in transgender settlements, shelter homes, and red-light areas with trained and sensitised officials who do not treat identity as a privilege but as a basic human entitlement.
The right to vote is not just a procedural tick-box it is the most fundamental affirmation that a person belongs to a nation. When the first act of the world's largest democracy is to question the existence of its most marginalized citizens, it creates a danger. These communities have fought for decades to be recognised as human beings. Their struggle has been long, painful, and relentless. Now that they finally stand up to participate in democracy, the country must not shut the door in their face again.
Author is an advocate.
Views Are Personal.