From princesses to politicians

A great deal has been made of famous women in power in South Asian countries. Bright-eyed – if somewhat misguided – patriots have claimed that the systematic cultural, political and professional forces arrayed against women are overstated. They point enthusiastically to Benazir Bhutto of Pakistan, Indira and Sonia Gandhi of India and Sheikh Hasina of Bangladesh, smugly pointing out that these apparently backward states have elected women to power even before the supposedly feminist US.

First of all, the US is far from a feminist utopia. It is astounding that they have never yet elected a female president, nor even had one in the running for the highest office in the land (Hillary Clinton did not win the primaries).

Second, saying that female prime ministers are evidence against systematic sexism is like saying that Obama’s election is evidence against systematic racism in the US. At best, it is a hopeful symbol, at worst a harmful distraction from the real struggle at worst.

Third, and most pertinently, Benazir, Sonia and Hasina came to power not because of some groundswell of feminist sympathies, but because South Asian sexism was overpowered by the even more pernicious South Asian royalism. Benazir Bhutto and Sheikh Hasina were the daughters of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Sheikh Mujibur Rahman respectively.

Sonia Gandhi, conversely, was not born into a political dynasty but very sensibly married into it – she is the widow of Rajiv Gandhi, who was himself the son of prime minister Indira Gandhi, who was herself the daughter of the first Indian PM Jawaharlal Nehru. Whew!

These three are political princesses and, while they did encourage women in South Asia simply by being, they are no more signs of progressiveness in modern South Asia than, say, the reign of Elizabeth the 1st was of progressiveness in 16th century England.

So in their place, I would like to look at three new names: Mussarat Shaheen, Badam Zari and Nusrat Begum. All three have no particular political connections, no grand name to leverage into a slogan, no famous fathers or husbands. They are merely women who gazed upon the state and society that surrounded them and decided that it would not do, that it was not good enough. Women who, against all odds, had the courage of their convictions and decided – in the most real and direct way – to step forward to make a change. They are passionate citizens who saw a need and chose to run for office to fill it.

What are they to Pakistan? They are not the precious fruits of the Great Tree of democracy – not yet – but the roots of its sapling.

Mussarat Shaheen is a former Pashto actress contesting from Dera Ismail Khan with an appropriate flair for the dramatic; running against Maulana Fazlur Rehman, amongst others, she was outspoken in dismissing her opponents as “waderas, looteras and thekedars of Islam”. She has shrugged off death threats which have apparently only whetted her appetite for a fight: Ms Shaheen has approached Fazlur Rehman in specific and all ‘mullahs’ in general with mockery and genuine criticism, questioning their commitment and service to religion, and openly wondering why they “(roam) around in Pajeros and Land Cruisers” rather than “sitting in the mosque”.

Far from being intimidated by the ‘respectable’ Old Guard, she has seemingly reduced self-crowned conservative authorities to figures of fun – an attack that the Old Guard is famously defenceless against.

Badam Zari has become the first woman in Pakistan’s tribal region to ever run for political office. If she is less flamboyant than the aforementioned Ms Shaheen, she is no less passionate, and certainly no less impressive. Her straightforward and noble mandate is clearly borne of her personal experiences: to better the lives of women (particularly through equal education) who have suffered under the tribal system, and to promote a softer image of her region which, despite its flaws, she clearly loves.

This makes her the truest form of patriot: one who loves, but not blindly, and works towards positive change. Aside from her husband and some scattered supporters – mostly men – she has earned the respect of powerful tribal leader Khan Bahadur, who claims he and his people are proud that a woman from their area has taken the lead.

This is unlikely to be an isolated incident: almost immediately, Zari’s fearless step inspired another woman from the tribal areas (Dir) – Nusrat Begum – to file nomination papers. She went one step further and appeared unveiled in the courthouse. This from a region that officially stripped women of their right to vote less than five years ago.

One more name for the road: the fourth of three, like D’artagnan of the musketeers, may be even more impressive than the others. Veero Kolhi is a Hindu woman who used to be the serf of a landlord. In Pakistan, this is the ultimate trifecta handicap, a combination of descriptors to conjure up an absurdly, even unrealistically disadvantaged individual. And yet this 50-plus grandmother, with banked life savings of less than Rs3000, has risen to represent the working rural class. If Veero Kolhi was the protagonist of a novel, you would roll your eyes at the author for trying too hard.

You may argue with dull and deadly accuracy that these women stand little chance of victory. But how many of you truly expected to see this? When we bemoan the lack of viable choices in democracy, we forget one of its true virtues: the promotion of people and viewpoints that can breathe fresh life into the free marketplace of ideas, grown stale with old notions and the bad.

Find the main parties leaders singularly uninspiring? Don’t worry about it: this – these women, their voices – is what democracy looks like when it’s beginning to work.

The writer is a freelance contributor based in Lahore. Email: zaairhussain@gmail.com