What the election manifestos tell us about future prospects for Pakistani women
On July 9, 2018, about two weeks before Pakistan’s upcoming general elections, Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf (PTI) released its manifesto. The document, available in English and Urdu, is a hefty one by Pakistani standards, spanning more than 60 pages. Every page contains promises, collectively adding up to several hundred in total.
The vast majority do not involve women or make any reference to them. The only specific reference appears on page 23, where PTI promises to “promote gender parity.” The concern for women lasts only for a single page. On it, the party promises to: provide more opportunities for micro-finance (economic improvement); establish residential and caretaking facilities for women in urban areas; establish gender-violence courts; ensure inheritance rights; and provide a greater number of maternity-care health centers.
The promises, presented in polished language, sound good for the most part. Who could dispute the value of gender-violence courts, the introduction of quotas to increase women’s participation in the public sphere, or the availability of health facilities? What gives us pause is when one reads the promises a second time, in light of PTI chairman Imran Khan’s recent comments that declared feminism inimical to motherhood. Read in the context of these comments, the PTI promises raise some questions. For example, would it not be better to establish health centers for women that cater to all the health needs of women, not only childbearing? Similarly, does the establishment of caretaker centers suggest that women coming to urban areas must live in these facilities so that they can be monitored by the state?
No effort is made to respond to the possible effects of other promises, the change of language of post-secondary education from English to Urdu, or even Khan’s deliberate and continuing emphasis on satisfying the right-wing agendas of Islamist and extremist parties and the effects this will have on women.
PTI is not alone in making dubious promises to women. The Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) — one of the leaders of which, Maryam Nawaz, is a woman — does not get to the women’s agenda until the last few pages of its manifesto. Here, too, there is an emphasis on childbearing, with specific attention given to expanding maternity leave to six months. Other pledges, such as family-planning initiatives and to “ensure all children get access to primary and secondary education,” are vague while some, such as “expanding paternal leave,” do not really apply to women at all.
Nor do they explain away the misogynistic statements made by party leaders such as Rana Sanaullah, who suggested that women attending political rallies "are not from honorable families," a comment for which PTI party members tried to get him to resign from his position as law minister.
As is the case before any election, a lot of promises are being made to Pakistani women. If manifestos were a measure of the future, then Pakistani women would have plenty of reasons to revel and rejoice.
Rafia Zakaria
PML-N’s slogan, “vote ko izzat do — khidmat ko vote do” (honor the vote — vote for those who have served) is, however, glib enough to point to the fact that the party, which rules Punjab province, has taken steps to improve the condition of women. This is a clever tactic in relation to the woman’s vote because, unlike PTI, PML-N did manage to pass the Punjab Women’s Protection Bill and is implementing many of its provisions.
Even though PTI has controlled the government in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, it cannot point to any significant successes in that province or improvement in the condition of women there. Maternal mortality in PTI-controlled KP is high, while participation by women in the public arena continues to be the lowest in the country. Pakistan as a whole lags behind most other countries in these statistics.
The Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), the first to put forth a female candidate for prime minister of Pakistan, has the most detailed manifesto in terms of women’s issues. Unveiled at the end of June by Bilawal Bhutto, son of slain Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, it recognizes that the situation of the Pakistani woman is not a good one. Instead of making blanket and meaningless promises, the manifesto stresses that it is not simply the case that quotas need to be increased, but funds must be allocated such that women can contest and win seats as well. In other sections, there are provisions for an increase in the number of women in law enforcement, the implementation of an affirmative-action program in government employment, and expanding the role of women’s entrepreneurship.
Like the other two parties, PPP talks a good game, which therefore needs to be taken with a pinch of salt. It is true that the party does have more women in its ranks than the others and has a better record of putting women in high-profile, powerful positions, which is always a risky proposition in a male-dominated country. At the same time, one wonders why some of these pledges, such as the implementation of an affirmative-action program, have not already been deployed in the Sindh province, the government of which has been in the hands of the PPP for many years.
As is the case before any election, a lot of promises are being made to Pakistani women. If manifestos — the ones produced for this election and the ones for previous polls — were a measure of the future, then Pakistani women would have plenty of reasons to revel and rejoice. Alas, not only do none of Pakistan’s political parties provide a comprehensive plan devoted mainly to the welfare and empowerment of women, the promises they do make seem largely to be the same old things — and the same old things, Pakistani women know, have never been very good.
• Rafia Zakaria is the author of The Upstairs Wife: An Intimate History of Pakistan (Beacon 2015) and Veil (Bloomsbury 2017). She writes regularly for The Guardian, Boston Review, The New Republic, The New York Times Book Review, and many other publications. Twitter: @rafiazakaria
