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Being trans in law

Old Square Chambers’ Robin Moira White looks back at her journey to coming out as transgender and offers advice to other lawyers fearful of being their true selves

Anyone who has taken a rollercoaster ride will know that gut-wrenching moment as you go over the first drop and your internal organs become weightless. It’s the closest way I can describe that feeling in the summer of 2011 when I went up chambers’ front steps for the first time as my true, female self.

From my early teens I knew I was transgender, but waited until I was established in a career before thinking seriously about male to female transition. That had been back in the 1980s when I was a graduate-entry operations manager with British Railways (and a good one, my performance assessments had said). However, that all ended when my promotion was blocked because I was transgender.

‘It’s OK for the odd (emphasis added) train driver or signalman, but not for high-profile managers,’ I was told. When I wouldn’t take the backroom job where ‘no one will see you’, a trumped-up disciplinary charge was used to get rid of me. It’s very different in the rail industry now but back in 1990 gender reassignment wasn’t a protected characteristic. After a forced resignation there followed three months of depression, so severe I have no clear memory of the period, before I reinvented myself as an employment and discrimination barrister.

That experience knocked me back. I hid in my apparently successful male carapace until 2010 when the strain of being a fundamentally honest person, lying by conduct in every social interaction, was becoming too much. Oh, and a little thinning of my head hair had me in a panic. For the third time in my life, I seriously contemplated suicide.

Sixteen years into legal practice, with an established set of clients, at a leading set of chambers, and well recognised in the directories, all at the ripe old age of 48, it was time to make a go of transition. Facial surgery was far better developed than 20 years before, and I could now afford to make choices. So, I emailed my head of chambers and asked to speak to her privately.

She was a bit shocked, having assumed I had come to tell her that I had a terminal illness. ‘It has to be better than that!’ she said, helpfully. And do you know what, it has been. I suggest that anyone at a similar point in life declare themselves early to their head of chambers, senior, or staff partner as appropriate; it is both the step that brings legal protection under the Equality Act and allows your employer or organisation to manage matters appropriately (some enhancement of equality training for staff may be needed, for example).

I was plainly pretty nervous, but chambers adopted a sympathetic, business-like approach, planning how and when announcements would be made. All very reassuring and scarier for chambers than me allowing me to be in control of what and when, which is important.

A couple of members picked up on slightly longer hair (and a first round of hair transplants) and were told in advance, as were close friends in the legal profession, my chambers’ roommates, and, of course, my clerk. Social transition followed in the summer of 2011, facial surgery that autumn, and confirmation surgery (in Thailand) the following Christmas. That needed two months out of practice and a third paperwork-only month (think hysterectomy or serious hernia).

Colleagues and clerks were universally supportive. In fact, the clerks were so careful not to react to my changed appearance; some stared at blank computer screens, not reacting (emphasis added) so hard it appeared to be hurting. You had to laugh. If I have one regret, it was arriving at chambers on that first day back in a sober black two-piece, making my best attempt to look like any other female barrister. I wish I had come in dressed as Carmen Miranda, complete with bowl-of-fruit headgear.

Professional clients have said that post-transition I have appeared to be much more relaxed and ‘comfortable in my skin’ in a way I wasn’t before. It is true that I am a happier person all round. My practice is the same as it ever was, although these days I often advise employers or organisations about trans matters. There is a minefield of pressure groups, particularly on the anti-trans side of the argument, and separating what the law provides from campaigning rhetoric (on either side of the debate) can be tricky at times.

Some elements of society, including so-called ‘gender critical’ feminists, would have trans rights rolled back or restricted. This is just silly. Sure, there are a few troublesome trans individuals, just as there are folk who ‘use’ other protected characteristics to make trouble for their employers. That is an argument for dealing with that rare abuse, not removing the rights that make our workplaces and high streets fairer and more diverse.

I am particularly pleased (if a little embarrassed) to have been described as one of the group of trans pioneers in the legal profession. If I have made things easier for those who come after me, then I am content. I have always been open about my transition and, to date, have spoken more than 100 times about trans issues.

The human condition is essentially ridiculous, and I wouldn’t wish being trans on anyone, but I appreciate all the help and support my chambers, colleagues, and profession have provided, allowing me to be a female barrister who happens to be transgender.