Power, Punishment, and Control: Why Equality in Public Life Remains Elusive
Yesterday, we explored how the global economy systematically exploits women’s labor—through pay gaps, unpaid caregiving, migrant exploitation, and the long shadow of COVID-19’s “she-cession.” We saw how even with rising education levels, women are held back by systemic barriers to leadership, workplace discrimination, and the devaluation of care work. Economic crises, instead of advancing equity, often trigger cultural backlash—pushing women further to the margins. These dynamics reveal that gender inequality is not just a social problem, but a core feature of how modern economies are built and maintained.
Today, we turn to power—who holds it, who is punished for seeking it, and how women’s access to public space and political life is still shaped by control, violence, and exclusion. From parliaments to city streets, the fight for equality is not only about representation—it’s about survival, visibility, and the right to belong.
Power, Safety, and the Public Sphere
Women have gained ground in courts, classrooms, and clinics—but when it comes to power, the gap remains glaring.
Despite decades of advocacy, legislative reforms, and symbolic breakthroughs, women remain vastly underrepresented in positions of political and institutional authority. They are often sidelined, harassed, or punished for stepping into public life. And beyond formal leadership roles, their everyday freedom to speak, move, participate, or even exist in public space remains contested—and often policed.
Across the world, gender-based violence, online harassment, restrictive dress codes, and public shaming function not just as social problems, but as political strategies. These tools of control are designed to limit women’s visibility, credibility, and agency in the public sphere.
This isn’t a byproduct of inequality—it is one of its core mechanisms. The political marginalization and public disciplining of women is not incidental to how power operates—it is foundational to maintaining the status quo.
In this section, we explore how women are still denied access to power—not only through laws and institutions, but through surveillance, stigma, and systemic pushback. From parliaments to city streets, the struggle for gender equality is also a struggle for space, safety, and voice.
🏛 Still Not at the Table: Women in Politics
The right to vote and run for office was a historic breakthrough—but formal inclusion has not translated into equal political power. As of 2024, women hold only 27% of seats in national parliaments globally, and just 17 countrieshave women serving as heads of state or government. Even in countries with high overall representation, women are frequently sidelined into “soft” portfolios—education, culture, health, and social affairs—while men dominate ministries of finance, defense, foreign policy, and infrastructure.
This imbalance is not just symbolic. When women are absent from core power structures, policymaking reflects that absence. Budgets, laws, and priorities are shaped without the voices of those most affected by inequality, violence, and exclusion. Political decisions—from military spending to climate strategy—are made in rooms where gender equity is rarely centered.
And when women do ascend to office, they often face resistance that goes far beyond scrutiny. Backlash is systemic, strategic, and increasingly violent.
In Mexico, where women now make up 50% of the national legislature, female politicians face a wave of harassment, threats, and online abuse. So widespread is this hostility that Mexico passed a groundbreaking law criminalizing political violence against women—making it illegal to threaten or obstruct women in political roles.
In Tunisia, women MPs report being deliberately silenced during sessions, heckled for their clothing, and subjected to smear campaigns.
In Kenya, women in politics describe coordinated efforts to intimidate them out of public life—including digital surveillance, public shaming, and threats to their families.
Even in liberal democracies, the patterns are similar. In the United Kingdom, Australia, and the United States, women in public office—especially women of color—are disproportionately targeted with hate speech, misinformation, and security threats.
These attacks are not random—they are meant to send a message: you do not belong here. And without meaningful legal protection, party support, and cultural shift, women in politics remain vulnerable to being not just marginalized—but erased.
True political parity requires more than quotas. It demands a transformation of political culture: one that includes anti-harassment protections, fair media representation, access to campaign finance, and recognition of intersectional barriers that affect women differently depending on race, class, sexuality, and disability.
Political power is not neutral. It has always been gendered. And until that structure changes, inclusion will remain fragile—and incomplete.
🗳 Quotas Work—But Only with Accountability
Quotas are among the most effective tools for increasing women’s representation in politics—but they are only as powerful as the systems that support them. The countries with the highest percentages of women in national legislatures—Rwanda (61%), Mexico (50%), Senegal (43%), and Bolivia (50%)—did not get there by accident. They achieved it through legally mandated gender quotas, often embedded in constitutions or electoral laws.
But quotas are not magic. They work only when:
Political parties are required to implement them, with penalties for non-compliance.
Women are supported after being elected, through leadership development, mentorship, and safe work environments.
Backlash is taken seriously—including harassment, intimidation, and political violence, which are too often treated as “just part of the job.”
Without enforcement and accountability, quotas can backfire. Women may be recruited as tokens, denied meaningful roles, or left isolated in hostile political environments. In some cases, they are targeted more aggressively because they are seen as intruders in male-dominated spaces.
Quotas are a necessary intervention in unjust systems—but they must be backed by broader reforms to protect women, redistribute power, and normalize female leadership.
⚠️ The Ongoing Epidemic of Gender-Based Violence
It is impossible to talk about women’s political participation—or public participation at all—without acknowledging the scale of violence they face simply for being visible.
Globally, 1 in 3 women experiences physical or sexual violence in her lifetime.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, domestic violence surged so dramatically that the United Nations called it a “shadow pandemic.”
Many countries still do not criminalize marital rape—including India, Pakistan, and numerous nations in the Middle East and sub-Saharan Africa.
This violence doesn’t stay behind closed doors. It follows women into schools, workplaces, public transportation, and online platforms. It keeps them from running for office, attending protests, leading movements, or even walking safely in their own neighborhoods.
In some cases, the state itself becomes the perpetrator:
In Iran, women are beaten, arrested, or killed for violating compulsory hijab laws.
In Afghanistan, the Taliban regime has systematically erased women from public life—banning them from education, work, and public spaces.
In countries facing authoritarian consolidation, women activists are often the first to be surveilled, discredited, or imprisoned.
Violence is not just a symptom of gender inequality—it is one of its most enduring tools. It disciplines women who dare to speak, lead, or demand space. And unless it is addressed as a structural and political issue, not just a private one, no amount of formal equality can guarantee real freedom.
The presence of women in parliaments, on ballots, or in movements must be matched by laws that protect them, cultures that support them, and systems that hold perpetrators accountable. Without this, representation is a fragile victory—easily undermined by fear, silence, and impunity.
📵 Online Harassment and Digital Silencing
The internet was once celebrated as a new frontier for democratic participation and free expression. But for many women—especially those who speak publicly, challenge authority, or hold positions of influence—it has become a battleground.
Female journalists, politicians, and activists face disproportionate levels of online abuse, including sexual threats, doxxing, deepfake pornography, and coordinated harassment campaigns.
Women of color, LGBTQ+ women, and Muslim women are especially targeted, experiencing both gendered and racialized abuse.
In some countries, state-sponsored trolls and bots are deployed to intimidate and silence women who are critical of the regime—turning digital spaces into extensions of authoritarian control.
This isn’t just virtual bullying. Digital violence has material consequences. It drives women offline. It discourages them from running for office, writing op-eds, leading movements, or even commenting publicly on social media. Many women self-censor to avoid being targeted. Others leave their fields entirely.
And it doesn’t end there. The digital landscape is also fueling the growth of a new, global misogyny movement—one that merges economic anxiety, racial resentment, and gender backlash into a potent ideological force.
🤖 The Rise of Pro-Male, Anti-Feminist Radicalization
A growing wave of pro-male “manosphere” influencers—from Andrew Tate to TikTok “alpha male” gurus—have built massive followings by turning misogyny into content. They frame feminism not as a movement for equality, but as a threat to men’s rightful dominance.
Their messages are simple, seductive, and algorithmically amplified:
Women are biologically inferior, overly emotional, or unworthy of respect.
Men are entitled to dominance—in relationships, in politics, in the workplace.
“Real men” must reject feminism, reclaim control, and return society to “traditional” gender roles.
Their audiences are disproportionately young men, many of whom feel dislocated by economic insecurity, cultural change, or social isolation. Platforms like YouTube, Instagram, X (formerly Twitter), and TikTok funnel them into echo chambers where misogyny is normalized—and monetized.
This is not harmless online banter. It’s a pipeline to real-world violence:
Several recent mass shooters in the U.S. and Canada cited misogynistic ideologies as motivation.
The FBI and EU counterterrorism agencies have flagged gender-based hate as a growing form of extremism.
Women who challenge this rhetoric face coordinated campaigns to discredit and threaten them—including attempts to deplatform or financially harm them.
What we are witnessing is the normalization of anti-women ideology as political speech, cultural critique, and even lifestyle branding. And it’s happening on platforms that profit from engagement—even when that engagement is rooted in hate.
Online spaces have become a new front in the battle for gender equality. If they are left unregulated and unaccountable, they risk becoming sites of radicalization that undermine democracy, fuel violence, and silence a generation of women.
🧕 Cultural Control and Surveillance of Women’s Bodies
In many parts of the world, a woman’s presence in public is still treated as a provocation—something to be managed, punished, or erased. What she wears, where she goes, and who she speaks to are not simply matters of personal choice, but sites of surveillance and contestation. This control comes not only from the state, but also from families, communities, and cultural institutions.
In Iran, the death of Mahsa Amini in 2022, after being detained by the “morality police” for allegedly wearing her hijab improperly, ignited a nationwide uprising. The regime responded with a brutal crackdown—arrests, executions, and forced disappearances. But the courage of the women who burned their headscarves in public inspired a global wave of solidarity, under the rallying cry: “Woman, Life, Freedom.”
In Afghanistan, the Taliban have reinstated one of the most draconian systems of gender apartheid in the world. Women are required to wear full-body coverings, banned from higher education, forbidden from most jobs, and barred from traveling long distances without a male escort. Parks, gyms, and public spaces are off-limits. Many women now live under effective house arrest.
In South Asia, especially in conservative regions of India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, women are routinely harassed, threatened, or attacked for walking alone, staying out after dark, or using public transport. Fear, shame, and social punishment keep them indoors—limiting their access to work, school, and community.
In France and parts of Western Europe, the state imposes control in different ways—often under the guise of secularism. Bans on hijabs and other forms of religious dress in schools and public institutions target Muslim women in particular, framing their visibility as a threat to national identity. These laws are a reminder that control over women’s dress can come from both religious mandates and secular regulations.
Whether enforced by authoritarian governments or liberal democracies, dress codes function as a mechanism of control. They signal who belongs in public space, who must justify their presence, and who is seen as a threat simply for existing.
At the root of these policies is a shared logic: that a woman’s body must be governed—either to protect cultural values, preserve male honor, or enforce uniformity. And that her autonomy must always be made conditional.
💪 Male Allyship and Cultural Transformation
Change is not only possible—it is already underway. And it is being driven not just by women and girls, but by communities working together to reshape the norms that limit them.
In regions long defined by patriarchal control, men are beginning to step into new roles—as allies, educators, and co-conspirators in gender justice:
In Kenya, entire villages have declared themselves “FGM-free zones” after years of community dialogue involving elders, mothers, and boys. These decisions reflect a shift in collective values, not just individual behavior.
In Ethiopia, Bangladesh, and parts of the Middle East, programs are training men and boys to challenge traditional masculinity, support women’s reproductive rights, and stand against intimate partner violence. These initiatives are often led by local activists—not imposed from above—making them more sustainable and culturally grounded.
In Latin America, men’s groups are engaging in conversations about machismo, fatherhood, and emotional literacy, pushing back on norms that harm not only women, but men themselves.
These examples show that culture is not fixed. It is constantly made—and remade—by those who live it. When men understand that gender equality benefits entire communities—not just women—they become powerful agents of change.
Real transformation happens at the level of norms and relationships. It’s in who speaks up at the dinner table, who walks beside women at protests, and who calls out abuse in locker rooms, workplaces, and mosques.
Because undoing the control of women’s bodies isn’t just about dismantling laws—it’s about rebuilding trust, empathy, and solidarity from the ground up.
🧭 Where We Go from Here
Violence, exclusion, and harassment aren’t just obstacles—they are strategies of control. From the parliament floor to the comment section, every effort to silence women is about more than discomfort. It’s about power.
But every protest, every woman who speaks out, every ally who intervenes—these are cracks in the system. They are reminders that public life does not belong to the few. It belongs to all of us.
And women are taking it back—on the streets, on screens, in legislatures, and in the cultural imagination.
In the final part of this series, we turn to the role of the United States—how internal regression on gender rights has sent global shockwaves, and how U.S. leadership (or lack thereof) continues to shape the fight for gender justice far beyond its borders