When a woman member of the provincial assembly (MPA) in the Punjab wished to speak on an issue pertaining to water, her male colleagues looked aghast, presumably wondering that a woman might have nothing substantial to say on the subject. She pointed out that, as a landowner and elected representative, she was not only qualified, but also entitled to speak. She was not given the opportunity.

This anecdote, related by a key informant interviewed for a study published by the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) in 2020, is likely one of many instances of the sexism entrenched in the legislative assemblies where women are often seen as something to be endured at best—this, despite the report’s finding that women in the Punjab, Sindh and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa outperformed their male colleagues in terms of tabling resolutions. Women’s attendance of legislative proceedings in proportion to their representation was also markedly better in both the National Assembly and Provincial Assemblies. They remained under-represented as standing committee chairpersons.

Fauzia Viqar, a former chairperson of the Punjab Commission on the Status of Women, who conducted the study, pointed out at a seminar held recently in Lahore that political parties are reluctant to award general seat tickets to women. Women who have entered politics without the backing of a political family remain at a distinct disadvantage, although this is not to say that the perceived advantage of a political family with all its attendant baggage makes it any easier to be taken seriously and as an equal. Many women who hail from political families are likely to have entered politics with some sense of tacit permission from fathers, husbands, brothers or clan elders.

In her report, Viqar points out that parties hesitate to allot ‘winnable’ general seats to women. Instead, they are given them tickets for the constituencies where the party lacks a stronghold. Yet, all the women she interviewed had campaigned for their male colleagues at some point, in several cases for high-profile candidates who went on to win in their constituencies. Women are taken on board to canvass—and their access to female voters is used to the party’s advantage—but they are rarely nominated to run for general seats, even though they may have felt confident to win these seats given the party support, opportunity and resources.

The HRCP indicates that families’ reluctance to see female members in politics stems from, among other things, fear that they will be subjected to ‘character assassination’ and ‘public scrutiny.’ Arguably, the sheer act of occupying physical space in public makes women open to intrusive scrutiny. For legislators, the surveillance is constant and unforgiving.

A woman member of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa provincial assembly recalled the day she was to take the oath of office. A journalist interviewing her asked her how much her handbag cost. Another of her colleagues was asked how long it took her to get ready in the morning and where she got her makeup done. “Why don’t they ask men the same questions they ask women legislators?” the MPA said bitterly.

Viqar finds that one reason women legislators are portrayed in this manner is that women on reserved seats are considered “insignificant in the political process”. Much of the toxicity that dogs women legislators is on social media platforms, where many say they are routinely harassed and threatened by supporters or members of rival political parties or by the generally disgruntled. For some women legislators, this has created a sense of fear that has prevented them from using social media more effectively to mobilise voters and campaign on issues that matter to them.

There are practical problems to contend with too, once a woman is elected to office—very much the same problems that working women anywhere face, in particular women from lower-income households who cannot rely on their class privilege to circumvent structural challenges. Their mobility is constrained by the lack of safe and easily accessible public transport. The absence of daycare services in most cases makes it harder. The shortage of women-only toilets alone is enough to make it clear that legislative assemblies designed by women may well have been very different spaces.

In a working environment thick with sexism, women legislators across tiers say they find it difficult to gain access to leadership or decision-making positions. Well aware that they are subjected to greater scrutiny, women elected to office feel that they must work harder than men to prove themselves. Those elected to reserved seats for the first time often have little or no experience of politics before they are inducted into assemblies and sorely feel the lack of administrative or research support when drafting bills, speeches and questions. To be taken seriously, said one informant, women “have to be better prepared than men.” As it stands, the way in which business is conducted in the legislative assemblies does little to facilitate this.

As Fauzia Viqar points out, Pakistan has no gender equality policy—a glaring omission that must be rectified soon. There must be more women on executive committees and the rules of procedure should be amended to facilitate women legislators. In the long term, building ”a critical mass of women on general seats,” as Viqar says, would strengthen their participation in politics. The high calibre of legislation introduced by many women, most recently the Torture and Custodial Death (Prevention and Punishment) Bill presented by Senator Sherry Rehman, should make it patently obvious that women’s capacity to legislate on issues across the board is critical to the health of democracy in Pakistan.

The writer works at the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.