In January 2024, a workplace dispute at NHS Fife quickly became central to Scotland’s culture wars. Nurse Sandie Peggie was suspended from Victoria Hospital after filing a complaint about Dr Beth Upton, a transgender woman, using the female changing rooms. What followed was not just an employment tribunal, but a public spectacle that exposed how readily transgender people become the focus of national anxiety.
The 10-day tribunal was held in February 2025; in December, Peggie won her harassment claim against NHS Fife, though her allegations of discrimination and victimisation were dismissed.
Running parallel to this case was the Supreme Court’s April ruling that under the Equality Act 2010, “sex” should be interpreted as biological sex, and that holding a Gender Recognition Certificate does not change a person’s legal sex for the purposes of that Act. The ruling has had sweeping consequences, affecting policies and access to facilities in public institutions from schools to the Scottish Parliament itself.
However, crucially, in the Peggie tribunal, the judgment did not make it unlawful for a transgender woman to use a female changing room at work. Despite the Supreme Court’s clarification on the definition of sex, the tribunal still found in Peggie’s favour on harassment grounds. That nuance has often been lost in the headlines.
As a woman, I understand the visceral fear that underpins many of these debates. I know what it feels like to walk home at night and hear footsteps behind you. I know the group-chat message “Home safe?” and the relief when it’s answered. Women’s safety is not abstract. It is lived, daily, and too often shaped by real experiences of male violence.
But with the prevalence of gender-based violence, why are we not more concerned with the attitudes and behaviour of men that instil such fear in women and girls? Why has so much political and media energy been directed toward transgender women, a tiny minority (that are in fact women), rather than toward tackling the cultural norms that enable harassment and abuse?
For those who refuse to see transgender women as women and cite concerns about female-only spaces, is there not an implicit admission embedded within that argument, that men are the threat? If so, why are we not looking for solutions on the behaviour of men, instead of policing the identities of transgender people?
The Peggie case also forces us to confront another uncomfortable reality: prejudice is not confined to one issue. During proceedings, allegations emerged about Peggie’s past remarks, including reported comments about wanting to post bacon through the letterbox of a mosque in Kirkcaldy, and colleagues claimed she referred to Dr Upton as a “weirdo”, a “freak”, and “it”. Whether or not every allegation is confirmed, the picture painted was of hostility that extended beyond a principled disagreement about policy.
If we are genuinely committed to equality, we cannot selectively apply it. It is not enough to invoke women’s rights while tolerating dehumanising language toward others. Transgender people did not create the epidemic of gender-based violence. They did not design the systems that fail women reporting harassment. And they are not the reason women text their friends to say they got home safely.
The Peggie case is not simply about one nurse, one doctor, or one health board. It is about how quickly society can turn complex legal questions into moral panic, and how easily marginalised people become scapegoats.
We can care about women’s safety. We can demand better from our institutions. But if our feminism is serious, it must be expansive enough to confront misogyny at its roots, and principled enough to resist narrowing its focus to those who are already vulnerable.
“Victoria Hospital, Kirkcaldy – geograph.org.uk – 8232730” by Richard Webb is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.
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In January 2024, a workplace dispute at NHS Fife quickly became central to Scotland’s culture wars. Nurse Sandie Peggie was suspended from Victoria Hospital after filing a complaint about Dr Beth Upton, a transgender woman, using the female changing rooms. What followed was not just an employment tribunal, but a public spectacle that exposed how readily transgender people become the focus of national anxiety.
The 10-day tribunal was held in February 2025; in December, Peggie won her harassment claim against NHS Fife, though her allegations of discrimination and victimisation were dismissed.
Running parallel to this case was the Supreme Court’s April ruling that under the Equality Act 2010, “sex” should be interpreted as biological sex, and that holding a Gender Recognition Certificate does not change a person’s legal sex for the purposes of that Act. The ruling has had sweeping consequences, affecting policies and access to facilities in public institutions from schools to the Scottish Parliament itself.
However, crucially, in the Peggie tribunal, the judgment did not make it unlawful for a transgender woman to use a female changing room at work. Despite the Supreme Court’s clarification on the definition of sex, the tribunal still found in Peggie’s favour on harassment grounds. That nuance has often been lost in the headlines.
As a woman, I understand the visceral fear that underpins many of these debates. I know what it feels like to walk home at night and hear footsteps behind you. I know the group-chat message “Home safe?” and the relief when it’s answered. Women’s safety is not abstract. It is lived, daily, and too often shaped by real experiences of male violence.
But with the prevalence of gender-based violence, why are we not more concerned with the attitudes and behaviour of men that instil such fear in women and girls? Why has so much political and media energy been directed toward transgender women, a tiny minority (that are in fact women), rather than toward tackling the cultural norms that enable harassment and abuse?
For those who refuse to see transgender women as women and cite concerns about female-only spaces, is there not an implicit admission embedded within that argument, that men are the threat? If so, why are we not looking for solutions on the behaviour of men, instead of policing the identities of transgender people?
The Peggie case also forces us to confront another uncomfortable reality: prejudice is not confined to one issue. During proceedings, allegations emerged about Peggie’s past remarks, including reported comments about wanting to post bacon through the letterbox of a mosque in Kirkcaldy, and colleagues claimed she referred to Dr Upton as a “weirdo”, a “freak”, and “it”. Whether or not every allegation is confirmed, the picture painted was of hostility that extended beyond a principled disagreement about policy.
If we are genuinely committed to equality, we cannot selectively apply it. It is not enough to invoke women’s rights while tolerating dehumanising language toward others. Transgender people did not create the epidemic of gender-based violence. They did not design the systems that fail women reporting harassment. And they are not the reason women text their friends to say they got home safely.
The Peggie case is not simply about one nurse, one doctor, or one health board. It is about how quickly society can turn complex legal questions into moral panic, and how easily marginalised people become scapegoats.
We can care about women’s safety. We can demand better from our institutions. But if our feminism is serious, it must be expansive enough to confront misogyny at its roots, and principled enough to resist narrowing its focus to those who are already vulnerable.
“Victoria Hospital, Kirkcaldy – geograph.org.uk – 8232730” by Richard Webb is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.
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