Being Non-Binary in Iraq: An Identity Under Siege

In a society that still treats gender as a closed binary—“man” or “woman”—existing outside this system becomes an unspoken act of rebellion. Non-binary individuals—those whose gender identity does not fall within the traditional binary—live in Iraq between two worlds, without legal recognition, social protection, or meaningful representation in public discourse.
For many non-binary people, their struggle doesn’t begin in public spaces, but within private ones. The family—supposedly a source of safety—often becomes the first source of pressure. Individuals are expected to “perform” their gender according to strict norms that begin with clothing and extend to speech, friendships, ambitions, and even dreams for the future. Those who don’t conform to these standards face reprimand, violence, threats of ostracism, or attempts to “correct” their identity through religion, medicine, or force.
Iraqi institutions—whether educational, medical, legal, or religious—also operate on a biological and binary understanding of gender. There are no official options that recognize non-binary identities, creating a legal and humanitarian gap that places non-binary people in vulnerable positions. Their official documents do not reflect who they are, and they may be forced to lie about themselves just to access basic services such as education, healthcare, or employment. In some cases, this disconnection between self-identity and legal identity leads to severe psychological crises, especially in the absence of community support or professionals trained to offer gender-sensitive help.
Many testimonies reveal that non-binary people are subjected to verbal and physical violence—in the streets, within institutions, or even by family members. In the absence of legal recognition, perpetrators are rarely held accountable. In fact, reporting violence can turn into an even more traumatic experience, where victims are mishandled and re-traumatized—mentally or physically—by the very authorities meant to protect them. This forced silence creates a sense of isolation and deepens the fear and lack of safety.
Even within some feminist or human rights circles in Iraq, non-binary individuals are sometimes viewed as “confused” or “unclear,” and are repeatedly asked to explain themselves, as if their right to exist depends on their ability to justify themselves within a dominant discourse that recognizes only binaries. Yet gender identity should be accepted as it is: a personal truth that requires no justification.
Despite all this, non-binary individuals cannot only be spoken of from a victimhood perspective. They are also voices reshaping gender and cultural discourse, questioning societal norms, and opening new horizons for thinking about freedom and the self. Many express themselves through art, poetry, music, or social media platforms, despite the risks and restrictions. In these spaces, resistance comes alive—the body becomes a battleground, the voice a tool for survival, and mere existence a defiant act.
Ultimately, supporting non-binary people must go beyond symbolic solidarity. It requires a deep review of the social, legal, and cultural structures that suppress anything that does not align with their standards. True solidarity begins with listening, self-education, using inclusive language, and defending the right of others to be themselves—without fear, shame, or the need to explain.
Being non-binary in Iraq is a significant challenge—but it is also a living testament to human resilience in the face of erasure and denial. These individuals exist, are real, and deserve recognition, protection, and space.