In many parts of the world, filling out a passport application still begins with a question that assumes your gender is either male or female. For those who identify outside this binary—hijra in India, waria in Indonesia, bakla in the Philippines, or non-binary individuals in Europe—such a small box can carry a loud message: You are not officially recognized, and perhaps, not fully protected.
Over the last decade, “feminist foreign policy” (FFP) has gained traction as a progressive framework in global diplomacy. Sweden pioneered the concept in 2014, centering its foreign engagements on gender equality, human rights, and peace. Since then, Canada, Mexico, Spain, France, Germany, and recently Chile have followed suit, each promoting foreign policies that claim to foreground the experiences of marginalized groups, particularly women. But what happens when the term woman becomes the endpoint of inclusivity?
Feminist foreign policy emerged as a counter-narrative to traditional, often militarized diplomacy. Instead of privileging national security in a narrow sense, it places human security—especially for women and girls—at its core. Scholars like Claire Hutchings and Jacqui True emphasize that FFP challenges the patriarchal assumptions embedded in international relations and opens new possibilities for peacebuilding and protection (True, 2020).
Yet, despite its transformative intentions, FFP tends to fall short when it comes to recognizing and addressing the lived experiences of those outside the gender binary. The framework often conflates gender with women, implicitly erasing identities that do not fit neatly into this category. As Raewyn Connell (2012) has argued, “gender justice must extend beyond the male-female dichotomy if it is to be truly just.”
Who Counts as ‘Vulnerable’?
Gender-diverse individuals, particularly those identifying as third gender or non-binary, often face a double exclusion: invisibility in domestic policies and marginality in international human rights frameworks. The concept of “vulnerability” in feminist diplomacy often centers on women and girls—but who decides which lives are included in this protection, and which are not?
A closer look reveals that vulnerability is not just about statistical disadvantage, but about structural neglect. For instance, in India, despite the 2014 Supreme Court ruling that recognized hijras and other gender-diverse individuals as a legal third gender (NALSA v. Union of India), implementation has been uneven. Many trans and hijra people continue to face discrimination in healthcare, employment, and housing, and have limited access to the protections promised on paper (UNDP India, 2018).
In Indonesia, waria—trans feminine individuals often labeled as third gender—have a visible cultural presence but are subject to harsh socio-legal realities. A report by OutRight Action International (2016) documented how waria communities were increasingly targeted by morality-based raids, especially in conservative regions like Aceh. Despite Indonesia’s rhetorical commitment to human rights in ASEAN dialogues, no specific legal protections exist for gender-diverse people domestically.
Even in countries with FFPs, the protection gap persists. In Germany, while trans rights have advanced, non-binary individuals still struggle with recognition in state institutions. Feminist diplomacy documents proudly declare commitments to “diversity and inclusion,” yet these policies rarely disaggregate data or action plans beyond the binary gender spectrum.
The question, then, is not just about visibility, but about who is counted as deserving of diplomatic concern. As sociologist Talia Mae Bettcher notes, “Being vulnerable does not mean one is weak; it means that systems have failed to account for your existence” (Bettcher, 2007).
Global Appearances, Domestic Silences
There is a growing disconnect between how Asian states present themselves globally and how they treat gender-diverse populations at home. Japan, for instance, has not legalized same-sex marriage, yet continues to enjoy its status as “Asia’s liberal democracy”—a label reinforced by its cultural exports like anime and J-pop, which increasingly include non-binary characters. Meanwhile, Indonesia often positions itself as a leader in regional human rights diplomacy, yet domestically advances a criminal code (RKUHP) that enforces morality clauses prone to targeting LGBTQ groups (Human Rights Watch, 2022).
This dichotomy illustrates a troubling pattern: LGBTQ-friendly images are useful in diplomacy, but protection on the ground remains minimal. As queer theorist Jasbir Puar (2007) writes, nations often selectively adopt liberal tolerance to project modernity, while simultaneously maintaining violent exclusions at home.
Diasporic communities, particularly third-gender individuals from Asia living in Europe, often become informal diplomats of survival—navigating the freedom of expression in host countries while grappling with exile from their homelands. Their stories are rarely included in policy documents, but their existence exposes the limits of state-centric diplomacy.
What Feminist Diplomacy Can Learn from Queer Theory
Queer theory challenges the idea that legal or diplomatic categories can ever fully capture the diversity of human identity. Scholars like Judith Butler and José Esteban Muñoz have long argued that identity is not fixed, and protection must move beyond recognition toward transformation.
Feminist diplomacy, if it is to remain relevant, must begin to queer itself. This means interrogating the categories it relies on—who is “a woman,” who counts as “vulnerable,” and whose rights are being fought for. It also requires institutions to expand their metrics of success: not just in terms of treaties signed or funds allocated, but in how lived realities of third-gender people are impacted on the ground. As Sarah Schulman (2016) notes, the politics of inclusion cannot stop at representation. It must extend to redistribution, recognition, and radical care.
From Recognition to Protection
The first steps can begin with simple yet significant shifts: the use of inclusive language in international documents, the presentation of gender data that goes beyond the male/female binary, funding for grassroots organizations led by non-binary and trans individuals, and pressuring partner states to repeal discriminatory laws—even when they are close allies.
However, genuine protection cannot occur through symbolic statements alone. It requires a living structure—one that reaches out to those who have long been invited in but never truly considered part of the whole. To this end, countries that have adopted feminist foreign policies must begin to integrate queer perspectives into diplomacy, including in bilateral cooperation, consular support, and foreign aid programs.
For example, issuing emergency visas or providing diplomatic protection to third-gender activists facing threats in their home countries could be one concrete step. Similarly, establishing inclusive units in embassies that are sensitive to the needs of gender minorities in their host countries could make a meaningful difference. Countries like Canada and the Netherlands have begun this work in certain forms, yet it has not become a widespread or institutionalized global practice (Krook & True, 2022).
Furthermore, evaluations of foreign policy must include indicators that can measure tangible impacts on the lives of third-gender individuals. Do these policies improve access to legal aid, healthcare, and equal employment opportunities? Do LGBTQIA+ communities—especially those outside major cities—feel more protected?
Without such efforts, feminist diplomacy risks becoming merely a project of representation—showing progress while allowing inequality to persist. In contrast, a truly just diplomacy will ensure that every identity, even the most marginalized, is seen as worthy of protection, care, and advocacy.
