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Waiting in the Wings?: The Experience of Women's Wings of Political Parties in Multiple Regions

Kimberly Cowell-Meyers, American University Scott Patrick, American University

Paper prepared for presentation at the European Conference on Politics and Gender,

Lausanne, Switzerland: June 8-10, 2017

Abstract: Political parties are widely recognized as one of the primary arbiters of women’s representation in a political system. Many political parties organize their women members through women’s wings. But are these structures good or bad for women? A women’s party unit could be a way for women to gain representation, a “safe space” for women to burnish their political skills and work together to pressure the party to address their issues. Or, women’s units may provide a mechanism for parties to limit the participation of women and ghettoize women’s issues. This project considers these issues, building on the work of Childs and Kittilson (2016) and extending their research to political parties outside Europe. Using an original data set of 196 political parties in 79 countries in Latin America, MENA, Africa and Asia, this paper tests the conditions under which women’s wings of parties are more likely to exist and the effects women’s party organizations have on party quota rules and women’s descriptive representation within the party. The paper also examines four different patterns of relationship between women’s movements and political parties in terms of party responsiveness and party women’s structures. The quantitative analysis shows significant and positive relationships between women’s wings and other aspects of women’s representation, including quotas for membership on party NECs, and women’s membership on NECs and among parliamentary delegations. And, because strong, autonomous feminist movements are related to the presence of women’s units of political parties within countries that have them, women’s wings may serve as important linkages between women’s movements and party behavior on women’s representation. The cases reveal that women’s wings are employed in a variety of ways by political parties and underscore the findings of the quantitative analysis that women’s wings can provide a powerful expression of and space for connection between movements and parties.

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Political parties are widely recognized as one of the primary arbiters of women’s representation in a political system (see Caul 2001, 1999 and the 2010 Symposium on the Comparative Politics of Gender in Perspectives on Politics 8(1): 159-240). Parties recruit, train, nominate, position, fund, etc., women as candidates and leaders. They are, thus, central to how and to what extent women participate and engage in politics. Women’s participation in political parties is often channeled through women’s units or wings of parties. In fact, the United Nations, the National Democratic Institute, the Inter-American

Development Bank, the Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, IknowPolitics and others recommend that parties create women’s wings as part of a strategy to promote women’s participation in politics! But the extent of this phenomenon is unknown as there is no large-n, comparative scholarship considering women’s organizations within parties. Furthermore, the utility of women’s units is debatable: a women’s party unit could be a way for women to gain representation, a “safe space” for women to burnish their political skills and

work together to pressure the party to address their issues. Or, women’s units may provide a mechanism for parties to limit the participation of women and ghettoize women’s issues. Because so little research considers this question, we don’t know if women’s wings empower or marginalize women.

This project considers this question by testing the effects of women’s wings on the descriptive and substantive representation of women within political parties. It builds on the excellent recent study by Childs and Kittilson (2016) of women’s wings in European parties. This paper extends their research and applies their framework to examine the presence and experience of women’s wings of parties in other regions. Using an original data set of 196 political parties in 70 countries in Latin America, MENA, Africa and Asia, this paper tests the conditions under which women’s wings of parties are more likely to exist. It also considers whether women’s wings divert women’s engagement or empower them to make claims on their party leadership by considering the relationship between women’s wings and internal party quotas, membership in party executives, numbers of female candidates from the party and females among the party’s elected representatives. We then examine four cases in which the relationship of political parties and women’s movements in terms of the struggle for women’s representation within parties takes on different dynamics. These four cases represent ideal-types of integration, cooptation, blockage and marginalization and present a framework for considering the opportunities for movements and parties, as they relate to women’s units, gender quotas, membership on executive bodies, and party policy toward women more generally. The purpose of the project is to examine the conditions that encourage parties to engage with and respond productively to women’s movements as well as the internal, institutional mechanisms through which they do so. This study of the conditions that produce women’s wings and their effects provides crucial information for scholars and practitioners who seek methods to improve women’s representation in politics. An Impoverished Landscape

Little research has focused on the organization of women within political parties. Though “parties are highly gendered institutions” (Childs and Kittilson 2016, 600) with norms and

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practices that have differential impact on women and men (Celis, Childs, and Kantola 2016), the mainstream literature on parties rarely recognizes or studies gendered dynamics. The literature on parties and gender has tended to study practices of recruitment or quota policies,

more than party women’s organizations (see, inter alia, Franceschet, Krook, and Piscopo 2012, Krook 2009, Murray 2010, Dahlerup 2006). We know from this literature, however, that party behavior towards women is competitive, with parties adopting policies, institutional mechanisms and practices to court female voters (see, inter alia, Lovenduski and Norris 1993, Kittilson 2006, Young 2000). This means, first, that parties, under some conditions, respond to

external pressure from women’s movements and feminist activists. Parties, particularly those on the left, can become vehicles for women’s representation and feminist advance when strong, autonomous feminist movements cultivate relationships with parties and parties respond by increasing women’s representation within the party, adopting the movement’s policy agenda and lending it attitudinal supports (Beckwith 2000, Young 2000, Erzeel and Celis 2015). In this regard, ideology, the structure of civil society, the nature of women’s movements

and the internal cohesiveness of parties may matter in terms of the party’s responsiveness to women as a group.

That party behavior towards women is competitive also means that parties respond to adaptations made by other, competitor parties. For example, when one party in a system

increases its proportion of female candidates, introduces a gender quota for candidates, or directs more attention to women’s substantive concerns in its platform, other parties are more likely to do so as well (see Davis 1997, Matland and Studlar 1996, Matland 1993, Kolinsky 1991, Cowell-Meyers 2011, Baldez 2002, Caul 2001, Studlar and Moncrief 1999). How parties compete with and relate to one another is structured in part by the electoral environment in

which they operate: parties in two party systems may overlap more with each other than those with proportional elections, which may alter their responsiveness (see Kunovich and Paxton 2005). Thus, the opportunities for women within a party and the party’s organizational architecture can derive from external pressures and dynamics.

But the question of how internal party organizations of women evolve and how they affect

outcomes remains an open and interesting one. As the women’s movements in many countries shifted from a policy of separatism to one of engagement with political parties, women have gained “greater power, resources and opportunities to directly pressure for representation at the highest level of the party” (Kittilson 2006, 23). And, in many well-documented cases, such as that of the ANC in South Africa (Hassim 2002) and the Social Democrats in Sweden (see

Sainsbury 2004), women’s activism within the party has had profound effects on party behavior. As Joni Lovenduski noted about parties in the UK and Germany, “the strongest effects [in terms of increases in women’s representation] were in parties in which women organized to pressure the parties from within” (Lovenduski 1997, 202).

Dahlerup and Gulli (1985, 19) contend that women's organizations within parties have five purposes: 1) to encourage women to support the party, 2) to recruit women members to the party, 3) to recruit and train women for party posts, 4) to shape party policy, and 5) to link the

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party to women in other groups. Seen in an auspicious light, women’s units as enclaves may be useful spaces for women to identify, articulate and define their collective interests and strategize about avenues for promoting them. They may also be “safe spaces” for women to hone their political skills and support one another (Celis et al. 2014). If provided funding, access and power, they could provide an institutionalized opportunity to ensure that women’s voices are heard within the party’s governing structure. These would likely be the reasons that so many practitioners recommend that parties create women’s wings. But the functions that Dahlerup and Gulli identify are all oriented primarily to serving party interests vis-à-vis women, rather than women’s interests vis-à-vis the party. For example, as Clark and Schwedler observe about women’s party organizations in many Islamic states, women’s participation in politics occurs almost entirely through the women’s units of the parties, whose primary goal is to increase the membership of the party (see Clark and Schwedler 2003). The dark side of enclaves may mean that women’s wings serve as ways for party leadership to advance the party without advancing women, or they may be ways for party leaders to shunt women and concerns about equality off to the margins, relegating women and women’s issues to a ghetto outside the central leadership structures. There is almost no large-scale comparative work of women’s party organizations, with the exceptions of Kittilson (2006) and the recent study by Childs and Kittilson (2016) on European parties. Kittilson uses approximately 50 parties in 10 countries in Western Europe to consider the relationship of opportunity structures in the party and the party system on women’s representation. She tests the effect of a women’s wing on the number of women in party leadership and finds that they have no positive or negative relationship. Childs and Kittilson use data from the Political Party Database Project compiled by Scarrow and Webb (2013), on 106 parties in 17 nation-states in Europe. They find that women’s wings occur in approximately half of all the 106 parties in their study and are equally distributed across ideological families, though they are less common in newer and marginal parties. They also test the effect of women’s wings on party quota rules and membership in party leadership. As in Kittilson’s earlier study, Childs and Kittilson “do not find any evidence that women’s organizations marginalize women from the power centres within parties” (p. 603). Women’s wings do not make parties less likely to have gender quotas for candidates and parties with women’s wings do not have fewer women on their national executive committees. In fact, women’s organizations have no statistically significant effect whatsoever on either the percent of female candidates or female representation on the executives. However, “parties with women’s organizations are more likely to have gender quota rules for the top party leadership body” (p. 604) and thus, they have an indirect effect on women’s representation. In sum, Childs and Kittilson determine that women’s party organizations are a common way for parties in Europe to organize themselves institutionally and that they do not seem to advantage or disadvantage women within parties consistently. This project borrows Childs and Kittilson’s approach and extends their work beyond the parties of Europe and to a wider range of party behaviors. We proceed in two ways. First, we run a series of quantitative tests on a unique dataset including parties in democratic systems in Latin America, Africa, the Middle East and Asia to consider how parties relate to women’s

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movements and organize themselves institutionally in other parts of the world. We test a series of variables to consider what kinds of parties and conditions are more likely to produce women’s units. We also analyze whether parties with women’s wings are more or less likely to adopt other mechanisms to increase women’s representation within the party. The purpose of this section is to answer some of the same questions as Childs and Kittilson in that we are interested in how parties structure themselves with regard to women, and whether women’s wings help or hinder women’s representation in parties. Second, we consider how women’s movements and parties can intersect in terms of party responsiveness to women and the extent of women’s representation in parties with four case studies. The purpose of this section is to reach beyond the quantitative analysis to provide a more in-depth consideration of the relationship of women’s organization outside of and within parties. This section asks when parties are more likely to respond to demands for women’s inclusion and how. This section presents four different patterns for movement/party interaction, ranging from integration to marginalization, and considers the existence and role of women’s organizations within parties. Data and Methods for the Quantitative Analysis In order to examine the prevalence and effects of women’s wings of political parties beyond Europe, we constructed an original dataset of 196 parties in 70 democratic countries from around the world. These numbers reflect the decision to include only parties with at least 4% of the popular vote, which is the common standard for parties with potential to influence outcomes in parliament (Sartori 1976) from countries in which parties were meaningful components of the governing process (i.e., electoral democracies -- please see definitions in the Appendix). To complete the dataset we consulted a wide-variety of sources, including Wikipedia, party websites, party statutes and constitutions, candidate lists from electoral commissions, lists of members of parliament, refereed sources and newspapers, and direct communications with parties. We also made use of the Gender and Political Parties in Latin America Database (GEPPAL), completed with data collected by the Inter-American Development Bank and the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance, the IDEA report, “Political Parties in Africa through a Gendered Lens” and The Association of Religion Data Archives’ survey of parties in the Muslim World, entitled “Party Variation in Religiosity and Women’s Leadership.” Collection dates range from 2008 in the THEARDA surveys to 2015. One significant limitation is that the dataset only includes the information that we could collect without significant fieldwork. In some countries, such as Ecuador, we could obtain no information for any parties and in others, such as Nepal, Senegal, Namibia, Niger, Sri Lanka, we were able to find information on only one or a few parties. This limitation reflects the fact that political parties and even elected officials in some contexts are not accessible to the public in ways entirely consistent with democracy. And, we were not able to collect information for all variables for all cases (percent female candidates and party quota for the national executive committee was the most difficult information to uncover). We also excluded states with unstable party systems such as Madagascar and Haiti and unstable states such as Iraq.

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To determine where and under which conditions party women’s organizations occur, we first ran simple bivariate tests of the presence of women’s wings against region, the presence or absence of a strong, feminist movement in the country and other characteristics of parties that are seen to have an effect in Childs and Kittilson’s study (party ideology, size and age of party), using either chi-square or t-tests, as appropriate. Our next set of hypotheses considers whether women’s party organizations effect party policy on women’s presence (quota rules) and women’s descriptive representation within the political parties. Thus, we tested whether women’s wings were significantly related to party voluntary quotas for candidates, party quotas for the national executive committee, female membership on the national executive committee, female representation in the party’s delegation in the lower house and the percent of female candidates from the party in the last election in bivariate analyses, using either chi-square or t-tests, as appropriate. Our final quantitative analyses involved regression (logistical or OLS, as appropriate) of women’s wings and the other significant variables from bivariate tests (party ideology, size of party and women’s descriptive representation in the lower house) on party voluntary quotas for candidates, party quotas for the national executive committee, female membership on the national executive committee, female representation in the party’s delegation in the lower house and the percent of female candidates from the party in the last election. In these analyses, women’s descriptive representation in the house is used as an operational measure of the climate women encounter in politics, and the receptivity of parties and voters to women in politics in the state as a whole. Results & Analysis Of the 196 parties in the dataset, 141 or 72% had women’s wings. Whereas Childs and Kittilson do not consider parties in different regions, the results of the initial bivariate tests across regions both confirm and contradict their findings (see Table 1). In both their study and this one, parties across the ideological spectrum were equally likely to adopt the mechanism of a women’s party, meaning that party women’s organizations are not the province of the left alone. Whereas they found that newer and smaller parties were less likely to create women’s wings, in the comparative data of this study, the age of the party is not significantly related to its likelihood of having a women’s party, though the size was, with smaller parties more likely to have them than larger ones. Though there are discrepancies in the raw frequency of women’s wings across the regions (see Fig 1), region turns out not to be significant in predicting whether parties will create them. Table 1: Party Women’s Organizations

Chi-Square N Region 4.74 195

Autonomous Feminist Movement

5.38** 93

Ideology 2.95 166

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T-Score N Age of Party 0.65 185

Size of Party -1.44* 184

*p<0.10, **p<0.05, ***p<0.01 Figure 1

Interestingly, this study finds that women’s wings are more likely in states where there is a strong, autonomous feminist movement (p=0.03). This does not attest to whether parties use their women’s organizations to benefit women but it does suggest that parties create women’s wings where they are pressured by movements. However, in bivariate logistical regression, the presence of a strong, autonomous feminist movement increases the odds ratio of a women’s unit by 1.45 and the pseudo R-square for the model is only 0.05, suggesting that the model only explains 5% of the variance in party choice to create women’s wings.1 Bivariate tests of the effects of women’s parties on party’s quota rules indicate that women’s wings are significantly and positively related to the party quotas both for candidates and for membership of the party’s national executive committee (NEC) (see Table 2). Only 10.9% of

1 Curiously, the presence of a strong, autonomous feminist movement is not significantly related to any of the party practices, either quota rules or descriptive representation, and thus, we left it out of the later regressions.

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parties without women’s wings had voluntary quotas for women candidates, whereas 22.31% of parties with them did. And, only 12.9% of parties without women’s wings had quotas for their NEC, whereas 46% of those with women’s wings had them. Table 2: Party Women’s Organizations and Party Policy on Women’s Representation/Quota Rules, bivariate analyses

Quota for Female Candidates

Quota for NEC

No Yes Total No Yes Total

w/o WW 49 (89.09)

6 (10.91)

55 (100)

27 (87.10)

4 (12.90)

31 (100)

w/WW 101 (77.69)

29 (22.31)

130 (100)

47 (54.02)

40 (45.98)

87 (100)

Total 150 (81.08)

35 (18.92)

185 (100)

74 (62.71)

44 (37.29)

118 (100)

Chi-square

3.27* 10.69***

N 185 118 *p<0.10, **p<0.05, ***p<0.01 Bivariate tests of the effects of women’s wings on women’s representation within the party show significant relationships with all three dependent variables with parties with women’s wings having higher women’s representation on their NEC, their parliamentary delegations and their candidate lists than parties without (see Table 3). Though parties with women’s organizations have greater representation in all three areas, the most sizeable difference between parties with and without women’s wings in mean percentages is for women on the NEC. This finding differs from Childs and Kittilson’s results, which while affirming the use of quotas for the NECs by parties with women’s wings, do not find that party women’s organizations offer “a springboard for women to ascend to party leadership,” such as within the party’s executive (p. 604). Table 3: Party Women’s Organizations and Women’s Descriptive Representation in the Party, bivariate analyses using two-sample t-tests

% Women on the NEC

% Women in the Party’s Delegation in Parliament

% Female Candidates

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Mean w/o WW

14.03 16.00 21.09

Mean w/WW 22.86 22.46 26.92

T-Score -2.65*** -2.20** -1.85**

N 121 136 109 *p<0.10, **p<0.05, ***p<0.01 Finally, running regression analyses using women’s wings and controlling for other variables that might explain variance in party behavior towards women’s representation shows that women’s wings are still significantly related to a party’s use of a quota for women on the NEC, the percent of women on the NEC and the percent of women among a party’s delegation in parliament, though they are not significantly related to either variable pertaining to candidates (see Tables 4&5). The coefficients are worth noting here as having a women’s wing increases a party’s average percent of women on the NECs by almost 6% and the percent of women in the party’s delegation in the lower house by almost 5. R-squares for the models related to women’s descriptive representation are relatively high, underscoring the power of the model in explaining these phenomena. Table 4: The Influence of Party Women’s Organizations on Quota Rules

Quota for Female Candidates

Quota for NEC

Women’s Wing

1.10 2.33**

Region 0.29 0.58 Ideology -2.30** -2.147**

Popular Vote -0.75 -2.03** Women in Parliament

0.36 0.84

N 139 97 Pseudo R2 .07 .15

Table entries represent coefficients from the logistical regressions. *p<0.10, **p<0.05, ***p<0.01 Table 5: The Influence of Party Women’s Organization on Women’s Descriptive Representation in the Party

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% Women on the NEC

% Women in the Party’s Delegation in Parliament

% Female Candidates

Women’s Wing

5.78* 4.65** 2.58

Region -0.77 -1.78** -1.66* Ideology -1.33 -2.85** -1.18

Popular Vote -0.02 0.05 -0.13 Women in Parliament

0.66*** 0.57*** 0.70***

N 101 114 91 Adjusted R2 .26 .39 .37

Table entries represent coefficients from the OLS regressions. *p<0.10, **p<0.05, ***p<0.01 These results suggest that women’s party organizations outside of Europe are not incompatible with other mechanisms of party’s responsiveness. Instead, they appear to be part of a package that parties use to address women’s representation, alongside quota rules, and higher levels of women’s descriptive representation. There is, thus, no evidence that they are used by parties to undermine or marginalize women’s participation or preclude their inclusion in the central business of parties. Moreover, even when controlling for many of the other factors that contribute to parties adopting favorable or inclusive practices, women’s wings themselves remain significant, suggesting that party women’s organizations in the aggregate have their own effect on these forms of party responsiveness and women’s representation. And, given that strong, autonomous feminists movements are not significantly related to party responsiveness but women’s wings are, these findings point to the fact that women’s wings may be an important link between movements and parties. Case Studies The results of the quantitative analysis of women’s wings clearly suggest that they have some relationship with the promotion of gender equality in parties but it less apparent how they act as vehicles for the advancement of greater descriptive and substantive representation of women. We can’t know from the data, for example, whether women’s wings precede or follow party adoption of quota rules or whether they precede increases in women’s descriptive representation or flow from them as women in the party seek structures to support their leadership. Left open is the assessment of the extent of the power, accountability and institutionalization (Childs and Kittilson 2016) of the women’s wings or their connections to outside organizations. Thus, we present four case studies, selected on the dependent variable (the outcomes of the relationships) to consider in more depth how parties respond to women’s movements in terms of their internal organization. Doing so sets the stage for considering how and under what conditions party women’s organizations contribute to the meaningful achievement of women’s representation in party politics.

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The four ideal types represent the four possible relationships of political parties with the gender equality movement and the struggle for women’s representation within their parties. The first type is integration, where parties have generally integrated women’s issues and adopted policies that ensure women’s representation within the party and in elections (such as quotas). There is an autonomous, resourced women’s wing that is able to influence party policies and regards itself as mobilizing for women rather than simply on behalf of the party. South Africa represents this ideal type. The second type is cooptation, where parties have absorbed a strong, previously independent women’s movement, internal and/or external to the parties, and then subordinated it to their own interests. The parties decide to what degree they will pursue women’s issues and representation, if at all. Women’s wings are infrequent and those that do exist are unempowered. Chile represents this type. The third type is blockage, where there may be an active movement for gender equality, internal and/or external to parties, but authoritarianism impedes their ability to shape legislation and government policy. Morocco represents this type. The fourth and final type is marginalization, where parties exclude women from political participation and enable systems and values that prevent women from reaching greater representation or incorporating gender equality as a political goal. In this case, women’s wings are present but not empowered or resourced. They are more like shell companies, or function solely to advance the party’s interest. Japan represents this case. Factors considered in the case studies are selected based on those suggested by Childs and Kittilson (2016), Kittilson (2006) and Young (2000), with some modification. The first dimension considers the institutional nature of parties and their internal workings. Is the party leadership centralized and cohesive, with a clear hierarchy and formal power, or decentralized, fragmented into competing factions, or localized? Is the party organized horizontally, with rank-and-file members or local groups able to influence its direction, or vertically, with decisions made at the top and imposed on the membership? Of course, this could work in two ways, either as decentralized and grassroots-oriented parties may be more susceptible to change (see Kitschelt 1994) or because centralized parties may have greater ability to direct party behavior and ensure opportunities for women (Kenny and Verge 2013, Bjarnegard and Zetterberg 2016). Is the party permeable to outside groups and does it have ties to them (see Young 2000, Kittilson 2006)? And, acknowledging that ideology may not or may no longer be a suitable explanation for party responsiveness to women’s movements (Erzeel and Celis 2015, see Kittilson 2006), it still seems relevant to take into account whether the party is ideologically primed to integrate equality claims into their agenda, which may include how left of center it is.

The second dimension considers the electoral environment. How do parties in this system relate to each other? What is the structure and nature of their competition? Does the electoral system favor gender diversity (proportional representation), disfavors it (majoritarian systems) or a mixture of both (see Norris 2006, Rule 1987, Matland 2005)?

The third dimension pertains to the women’s movement and here the focus is on whether there are strong, automous women’s organizations that engage and pressure parties to take up issues of gender equality and inclusion. The independence of these organizations is crucial, as

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Weldon and Htun note, because they are able to “set their own goals, and decide their own forms of organization and struggle” in their own right without being sidelined by other party agendas or more general concerns (Weldon and Htun 2012, 553-4).

Lastly, the dependent variable of responsiveness can be conceived in terms of party behavior towards women and their representation. We can rely here on the way Childs and Kittilson have conceptualized an empowered women’s wing, as being resourced, institutionalized, and positioned to exercise independent power within the party. But we would include in this notion of responsiveness party policy on women’s representation as well, such as its quota rules and the degree of inclusiveness of its NEC, its delegation in parliament and its candidate lists. Integration: South Africa When it comes to the inclusion of women in politics, South Africa is a worldwide leader, not just in regional or continental terms. In 2017, the country ranked 9th overall with 42 percent of lower house seats in parliament held by women (tied with Finland) as well as 9th overall in percentage of women in ministerial positions, with 15 out of 36 ministers being women (Inter-Parliamentary Union 2017). These statistics illustrate the long, arduous efforts of feminist activists within the African National Congress (ANC), the movement that proved instrumental in ending white minority rule in South Africa and the country’s ruling party since the end of apartheid. Initially, the male-dominated ANC leadership treated women supporters as auxiliary members, despite their involvement in the grassroots elements of the party. This remained the status quo until 1943, when the ANC granted women equal rights to women, permitting them to participate in deliberations (Molyneux 1998, 227). The ANC hoped to recruit women in a drive for larger membership, but it resisted granting women autonomy within the party structure. The women’s wing of the ANC, the African National Congress Women's League (ANCWL), received official sanction in 1948, but faced organizational obstacles on the basis that it would undermine a rigid focus on advancing the rights of black Africans (Ginwala 1991, 90). As a result, the ANCWL pursued the creation of the Federation of South African Women (FEDSAW) as a non-racial lobby group of affiliate organizations pressuring for women’s rights. Although supported by the other groups opposed to the apartheid government, like the South African Communist Party and trade unions, the ANCWL made up the bulk of FEDSAW membership and deferred to decisions handed down from the ANC leadership. Nonetheless, FEDSAW’s existence outside the ANC endowed it with the freedom to actively advocate on women’s issues. It emphasized that “the struggle against women’s oppression was not simply parallel to the struggle for the rights of black people but was also a challenge to the deeply entrenched gender hierarchies within black (and other) communities” (Hassim 2006, 25). FEDSAW organized several large protests against pass laws, which required black Africans to carry identity documents when outside their designated areas. Still, this did little to draw greater support from the ANC leadership for women’s mobilization as an extension of its struggle.

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In the midst of increasing tensions around apartheid in the early 1960s, the government banned the ANC, sending the group underground and into exile. The ANC disbanded the ANCWL, adopting an even more centralized orientation while in exile, and although a Women’s Section did come into being in 1969, its interests centered on social rather than political work: offering child care services, managing food donations, and so on (Hassim 2006, 86). The ANC also shifted its strategy, setting up an armed wing to fight the government, but it barred women from combat roles. In 1976, the Soweto uprising radicalized the anti-apartheid movement and younger women who joined the movement pushed for a more democratic party structure that recognized gender equality as a vital component of a post-apartheid democracy. The struggle of ANC women activists during these tumultuous years for the party heavily influenced events in the party’s post-apartheid future. In 1990, due to acute political pressure inside and outside the country, the South African government unbanned the ANC and began negotiations to end apartheid. Women in the ANC immediately set about resurrecting the ANCWL, but this time as an independent women’s movement within the larger ANC apparatus. Revived in 1991, the ANCWL sought concrete expression of women’s representation, proposing a 30 percent gender quota for the party’s National Executive Committee. The proposal failed, which supporters attributed to a failure to garner grassroots support. The ANCWL remained a subordinate group and thus required a larger movement to place pressure on the ANC and other parties (Ginwala 1991, 69). Feminist outrage deepened when the parties involved in the transitional talks sent all-male teams to the bargaining table, sparking talk of a coalition of women’s groups. In 1992, an effort started by the ANCWL to form a national entity that cut across race and ideology culminated in the establishment of the Women’s National Coalition (WNC). The WNC sought not just the extension of equal rights to women, with women merely brought into the fold of existing institutions, but instead to redefine entirely the “substantive content of citizenship” – that is, reshaping political spaces to encompass the broad array of social interests, women included (Hassim 2006, 139). An alliance of women politicians, academics and activists influenced the drafting of the new constitution and the inclusion of Section Nine, which guarantees social equality. This constitutional equality clause acknowledges gender equality as a basic principle and value, supplying a base for keeping women’s rights a part of political discourse up to the present day (Waylen 2014, 511). With women’s issues a cornerstone of the political culture following the end of apartheid, it has become conventional for political parties to include women’s issues in their platforms. In addition to the inclusion of their rights in the Constitution, the ANCWL and the WNC successfully campaigned for the creation of government institutions to implement gender equality policies, collectively known as the National Gender Machinery (NGM). This includes the Office on the Status of Women (OSW), which works with the executive branch to coordinate directives on women’s issues, as well as the National Commission on Gender Equality, founded in 1997 to advocate for gender equality and audit government efforts around women’s issues. While these groups have suffered from competition between agencies as well as a lack of adequate funding, their work on women’s issues (especially in combating gender-based violence) has been remarkable compared to other countries in Sub-Saharan Africa (see Gouws

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2006). The existence of these state institutions, whose sole purpose is advancing women’s issues, represent the concrete commitments the ANCWL and other feminist activists were able to extract from the parties through their political engagement and the tireless promotion of their interests. The ANCWL has also been successful in advancing women’s representation in public office. In 2009, the ANC adopted a 50 percent gender quota in national elections, and in the election that year, 49.2 percent of the ANC members elected to the National Assembly were women. Despite the electoral dominance of the ANC, this responsiveness has had a contagious effect on the other parties in the system. The number of women representing other political parties in parliament jumped from 14.2 percent in 1994 to 31 percent in 2009. The primary opposition party to the ANC, the Democratic Alliance, has more than doubled its female representation (Ravi and Sandhu 2014, 9-10). The current third largest party in the Assembly, the Economic Freedom Fighters, only came into existence in 2013, but has adopted a gender quota and in the 2016 municipal elections, fielded party lists containing 48.5 percent women (Teagle 2016). Before 2007, the ANC Constitution required that “at least one-third” of its internal groups consist of women. In 2007, the party amended the quota, raising it to 50-50 parity. Consequently, 50 percent of the members elected to the NEC were women as were the members of the National Working Committee. The EFF has also adopted an internal quota for its NEC though the Democratic Alliance has only had two women out of its eight national leaders in 2009 (EISA South Africa 2009) as well as in 2017. This suggests that the spillover effect that occurred with the ANC running more women as candidates has not occurred with the ANC’s internal 50-50 gender parity quota. Since this is a matter of internal party politics rather than national politics, where there is public consensus around gender equality, it is possible that internal quotas are more dependent on autonomous, active women’s wings than candidate quotas are. Accordingly, opposition parties may have felt pressure to emulate the ANC on women candidates, but not to change its internal processes to promote women leaders. This observation is consistent with the findings of the statistical analysis that women’s wings correlate with internal party quotas that ensure women have a place in decision-making bodies and higher representation of women in parliament and the party’s NEC. For all its historical resistance to the participation of women in its internal politics, there were qualities of the ANC that favored the tenacious feminist activists. The ideology of the ANC grew out of African socialism, a deviation of European socialism that highlighted the tribal and communal practices of indigenous African cultures (Friedland and Rosberg 1964, 3-5). Unlike other nationalisms (included those found elsewhere in Africa) that espoused idealized nation states with traditional and highly stratified gender roles, the egalitarian aspect of African socialism underlined and lauded the deliberative, democratic nature of traditional African communities. Therefore, when activists within the ANC made the case for more democratic practices that granted women greater representation and independence to pursue their goals, there was an ideological basis for accepting those proposals. By appealing to democratic values, feminists found receptive male leaders, such as Tambo, who were not feminists themselves.

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Also, women in the ANC had two major opportunities to interact with the leadership and make demands when the party reached critical points. In both cases – the party’s ban in 1960 and its invitation to negotiate the end of apartheid in 1990 – feminists in the ANC exploited the situations to amplify their voices, even if they did not satisfy all their ambitions. In both instances, the ANC leadership initially marginalized its women members, such as by confining them to social work or shutting them out of negotiations with the government. Also in both cases, women did not passively accept this; they continued to debate with the party leadership and push for change rather than adopt silence for the sake of “unity” or “solidarity.” In so doing, they first set the stage for making gender equality a national interest, and then formalized it. Cooptation: Chile According to 2017 data collected by the Inter-Parliamentary Union, Chile ranked 128th out of 193 countries in percentage of women in national parliaments. Women only held 15.8 percent of seats in both the lower and upper chambers, well below the 28.1 percent average for the Americas. This is despite women having long participated in Chilean politics. After the transition to democracy in Chile, political parties coopted the women’s movement that had appeared under the military junta. The preeminence of parties at the expense of an autonomous feminist movement has left women beholden to institutions that do not provide them with effective support to pursue political careers. Also, a patriarchal political culture makes defying and overturning these obstacles difficult, as it places restrictions on what change is possible. In Chile, the entry of women into political life started to gain traction in the early 20th century. Political parties aimed to attract women as supporters, even if they were not yet voters. In the 1930s, the Socialist Party and Radical Party created women’s wings, and the Conservative Party did so the following decade (Chaney 1979, 93-95). Women, however, remained on the fringes, involved in outreach and public relations but unable to run for office or participate in decision-making bodies. It was not until 1948 that the National Congress passed a bill granting their full suffrage, largely because Chile had entered numerous international agreements concerned with equal rights for women, and because several countries had, after World War II, already passed universal suffrage (Franceschet 2005, 45). Non-party feminist groups such as the Movement for the Emancipation of Chilean Women (MEMCh) and Chilean Federation of Feminine Institutions (FECHIF) had been the main domestic proponents for suffrage, using a highly-gendered discourse. As one Chilean feminist put it, “Men disagree because of ideas; women unite because of their feelings” (cited in Antezana-Pernet 1994, 177). This fit into a cultural belief that women, associated with the family and home, were “too pure” for politics. “Chaste” women, suffragists claimed, would encourage accountability and honesty. Despite a successful campaign to elect María de la Cruz, founder of the Feminine Party of Chile to the Senate in 1953, women’s groups demobilized shortly afterwards (Baldez 2002, 29-30). Subsequently, women turned to existing political parties as a means for participation, but found their issues received little attention. In the Cold War period, class relations and international alliances received more attention from the male-dominated party leaderships than women’s issues (Kirkwood 1986-163). Even the main left-wing alliance of this time, the Popular Unity

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(UP) coalition, focused on anti-capitalist and anti-imperialist policies rather than social issues. It did not devote much consideration to how economic or security issues intersected with the experiences and interests of women, nor did it seek to mobilize them. When the UP candidate, Salvador Allende, won the 1970 Chilean presidential election, Chilean politics became intensely polarized. No parties, however, sought to catalyze women to enter the charged political arena. In fact, the UP used its women’s wing to marginalize its female supporters (Shayne 2004-86). Independent women’s groups became the leaders of anti-UP protests in 1971 (Franceschet 2005, 52-53). Many women who marched in the famous “March of the Empty Pots,” clanging empty pots to symbolize food scarcity under the UP government, were party members, but they intentionally softened their political associations and underscored their identities as women, mothers, and caretakers (Power 2000, 296). Thus, Chilean women found a way to send a political message outside of the parties that discounted them. After a military coup overthrew Allende in 1973, the new government of Augusto Pinochet declared the UP illegal and suspended the other political parties; intense political repression immediately followed the coup. In this radically different environment, women’s groups assembled around major issues born from the crisis, such as human rights abuses and the rapid dismantling of the welfare state. With political parties forced underground, civil society became the de facto space for political activity. This distance from institutions gave women the freedom to critique not just the dictatorship but conventional politics in Chile overall. The conception of citizenship advanced by these groups remained gendered, framing members as “militant mothers,” but it nevertheless insisted on progressive policies favoring greater equality. They wanted a return to democracy, but one that empowered women (Franceschet 2005-73). Feminist activists focused on popular mobilization, but it became clear by the 1980s that there would not be a grassroots revolution to overthrow the regime. Instead, there would have to be negotiations between the government and reformers, represented by moderate political parties. Feminist activists split between those who embraced the negotiation process and those who eschewed the strategy of negotiation and compromise, preferring to preserve their independence. Feminist activists who accepted negotiation gravitated to the Concertación, the coalition of left-wing parties that formed during the transition. The social democratic Party for Democracy (PPD), founded in 1987, adopted a 20 percent quota for internal elections in 1989. The quota increased to 40 percent in 1998 and extended to selecting candidates for popular elections (Moltedo 1998-31). The Socialist Party of Chile (PS) also adopted a 20 percent quota for internal offices in 1989. In 1996, the party raised the quota to 30 percent in internal party elections and to 40 percent in the internal elections of 1999 and 2001 (Hinojosa 2012, 64-65). The party did not have a formal quota for selecting candidates until 2003, when it adopted a policy of not having either more than 60 percent of either gender on electoral lists and not having more than 70 percent of either gender holding the party’s seats in parliament. The centrist Christian Democratic Party, long a coalition partner of the PPD and PS, has a 20 percent quota for women candidates in popular elections. In all three of these parties, however, the commitments to

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these quotas have been weak and not always enforced (Ríos Tobar, Cook, and Hormazábal 2008, 18-24). Of the five main political parties in Chile, only the PPD and the PS have women’s wings according to their party constitutions. Though the PPD has a women’s unit, the women’s wing is especially weak. It has no budget or representation on the party’s executive, it is not part of the party’s statute, it doesn’t vote on the candidate list, the budget or the party platform. And, only 10% of the party’s NEC is female, according to GEPPAL. The Concertación government elected in 1989 was, however, responsive to some feminist demands. It created the National Women’s Service (SERNAM) with the remit to foster greater gender equality nationally. The foundation of this state machinery to promote gender equality represented a major concession to Chilean feminists who had chosen to work within the parties. The refusal of the government to take more controversial action on women’s issues, however, such as legalizing divorce or reproductive rights, showed that the parties were only willing to go so far. The decision to pursue reform over revolution was instrumental in demobilizing the feminist movement outside the political parties, which had once again become the sole mechanisms by which interest groups could get their wishes turned into policy. In 2005, Michelle Bachelet became Chile’s first female elected president. Her policy agenda focused on social issues, including gender equality. Unlike her predecessors, she lent strong support to SERNAM, significantly increasing its funding and its staff (Thomas 2016-108). Her presidency also made important progress in providing legal assistance for victims of domestic violence and recognizing gendered hate crimes (femicide). These policies, however, depended on patriarchal notions of protecting women in their role as mothers, or as vulnerable individuals before the law. Proposals centered on equal pay for women or reproductive rights received broad opposition, reflecting an unwillingness by politicians to grapple with the patriarchal culture and conservative civil society organizations like the Catholic Church (Stevenson 2012, 136). The experience of Bachelet, who became President of Chile again in 2014, illustrates the strong political and institutional limits placed on advancing women’s issues in cases where strong, autonomous feminist movements are absent. In such situations, the party’s pragmatism and expediency define and set limits on the advancement of women’s issues. Strong impediments remain in Chile to women seeking representation in electoral politics for systemic and institutional reasons. Since 1980, Chile has used a binomial majoritarian voting system that encourages coalitions; each coalition runs two candidates in an electoral district, with the largest coalitions dividing the seats. Since parties consider men more electable than women, they hesitate to nominate women. Even in cases where women do secure nomination, coalition partners negotiate between themselves how many candidates they will field and in which districts. A coalition could prevent a woman candidate from running for a winnable seat in her own district because a coalition partner has reserved the seat for its candidates. Additionally, parties show a preference for incumbent politicians who have already demonstrated that they can win a plurality of votes (Siavelis 2002, 426). In 2015, the Chilean government passed a law reforming the electoral system to party-list proportional

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representation, and the next general election, scheduled for 2017, will likely result in more women successfully running for office. Chilean parties fail to provide women members with support for their campaigns. Since Chile does not have publicly funded elections, candidates depend on personal connections for financial assistance in their campaigns. Women who become candidates often lack the resources to run competitive races. The PPD does not offer training, economic incentives, or tutorials for female candidates. Also, parties typically hold political meetings in the evenings, with the cultural norm being that women tend to family matters while men attend the meetings, as they have the public-facing gender role. Young women active in parties’ youth wings often sacrifice political participation once they become married or have children (Franceschet 2005, 90-91). For the most part, Chilean parties abide by cultural norms stultifying women’s political participation, rather than acting to alleviate or surmount them through proactive policies such as quotas. Legislative and voluntary quotas remain contentious in all Chilean parties. Even the two center-left parties that have adopted them rarely apply them, and party members consider their value arguable. Quotas enjoy even less support from right-wing parties (Franceschet 2005, 99-100). The cooptation of the women’s movement by political parties during the transition to democracy prevented feminists from independently mobilizing around quotas as an issue. Due to the proscription of the parties by the Pinochet regimes, feminist activists lost the opportunity to fight for policies like quotas within the parties. Instead, feminist activists mobilized in the absence of parties, and had to compromise their demands when the parties became the only avenues to political participation. They did get some concessions from doing so, especially in the foundation of an institution devoted to their interests, but cooptation effectively ceded authority on women’s representation to the parties. Consequently, neither powerful women’s wings within parties nor powerful women’s advocacy groups in civil society apply pressure to Chilean parties to ensure they pursue women’s issues meaningfully. Hence, even when parties voluntarily choose to adopt measures or policies that benefit women, they are still inconsistent in their implementation. The case of Chile underlines the importance of autonomous women’s groups, be it as party member organizations or as non-government institutions. Gender equality as an ideal may be enough to induce some parties (especially left-leaning ones) to endorse measures beneficial to women, but even those parties inclined to feminist goals will sometimes subordinate those goals to other interests. In order for there to be constant, regular action toward women’s rights and representation, there must be feminist activists within and without the parties holding them to account, guaranteeing they keep their promises and do not become complacent in their progress. Blockage: Morocco Throughout the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, women suffer from a lack of representation in government. In 2017, the majority of MENA countries did not have more than 20 percent of women in top government positions; the average percent of women in the single

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or lower house of Parliament was 18.9 percent. In Morocco, women held 20 percent of the seats in the parliamentary lower house, slightly better than the regional average (Inter-Parliamentary Union 2017). Like many other MENA countries, the women’s movement has had to contend with an authoritarian government with an interest in development and limited liberalization, but only to the extent that it does not threaten the status quo or upset social conservatives. The campaign for increased inclusion of women in politics has involved a protracted struggle against undemocratic forms of governance with moderate success. In the early 20th century, France and Spain divided Morocco as their colonial possessions. In 1956, after many decades of a nationalist movement opposed to imperial subjugation, the Sultan of Morocco, Mohammed V, entered into negotiations with France and later Spain to secure independence, successfully doing so by 1957. The 1962 constitution granted far-reaching powers to the monarch, who chooses the prime minister and leads cabinet meetings. The monarch also dictates national priorities along with his personal advisers. He is also the Commander of the Faithful and the chief interpreter of Islam in Morocco. These unchecked powers depreciate the importance all other political actors, including political parties who must court the good graces of the monarch (Cavatorta and Dalmasso 2009, 493). Despite having multiparty elections, Morocco was set up as – and remains – an autocracy with liberal features. Women’s organizations prior to independence mostly took the form of social and charitable groups. In 1969, King Hassan II (the successor to Mohammed V) created the National Union of Moroccan Women (UNFM). He appointed his sister, Princess Lalla Fatima Zohra, as the chief patron of the organization (Daoud 1996, 277-278). The UNFM has never pursued concrete reforms concerning women, and has historically involved itself with the social and professional training of women (Wuerth 2005, 314). In subsequent years, political parties formed their own women’s sections, beginning with the left-wing Socialist Union of Popular Forces (USFP). Political parties also began elevating a small percentage of women to their national executive committees (Daoud 1996, 287-288). These women’s wings, however, were largely dormant in terms of political activity, and lacked grassroots support. They served only to mobilize political support among women for their respective political bodies, be they the monarchy or political parties. In response, women’s groups in civil society took a more active role in assisting women with issues such as education and health care (Evrard 2014, 21). These groups were issue-centric insofar as they affected women; there was not as of yet a feminist movement in the sense of advancing women’s rights. Feminist movements emerged in the 1980s, primarily from women in parties frustrated by the inaction of their male counterparts. Twenty-seven new women’s associations emerged between 1970 and 1984, most of them splitting off from political parties. In 1985, women belonging to the Marxist-Leninist Organization for Democratic and Popular Action (OADP) created the Democratic Association of Moroccan Women. In 1987 women from the Party of Progress and Socialism (PPS) founded the Women’s Action Union (UAF). The following year, women from the nationalist Independence Party started the Organization of Independent Women. In each case, however, these groups severed ties with their parent parties, as their

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feminist agendas conflicted with the agendas pursued by their respective party leaderships (Wuerth 2005, 316), which sought to maintain good terms with the monarchy. In the 1990s, feminist groups benefitted from continued liberalization by Hassan II, who courted membership in the EU as well as greater support from various political and social interest groups (Brand 1998, 248-249). The most important event for the women’s movement came in 1993, a year after the UAF (in conjunction with other groups) delivered a petition with one million signatures to the prime minister demanding legal reform. The result were modest reforms, such as requiring judicial permission for repudiation (a verbal, unilateral form of divorce existing only for men) and polygamy (Harrak 2009, 3). The success of the petition in provoking a response encouraged women’s groups to remain engaged in the political process, and in 1999, a new socialist government endorsed the Plan of Action for the Integration of Women in Development (PAIWD). PAIWD aimed at fundamental reforms granting women household equality, abolishing repudiation and polygamy altogether, and raising the minimum age of marriage to eighteen (Evrard 2014, 23). That same year, Hassan II died and his son, Mohammed VI, ascended the throne. PAIWD supporters and opponents held rival rallies in March 2000, with the opposition march drawing ten times the number of its counterpart (Belghazi and Madani 2001, 27). The government scrapped the PAIWD, and Mohammed VI took up the issue as arbiter. He appointed a commission to review the legal code, its roster ranging from Islamic scholars to secular representatives of women’s rights groups. In 2003, the committee introduced its proposed reforms. Unlike in 1993, the reforms were subject to parliamentary debate and amendment, and in 2004 most of the reforms passed. These changes included setting the minimum age for marriage to eighteen, the extension of repudiation and divorce as a prerogative to wives, and the introduction of stringent legal conditions on polygamy (Wuerth 2005, 320). Although the reform received the sanction of parliamentary approval, there was no mistaking that the final authority behind the reforms had come from the monarchy. After reforming the family legal code, Moroccan feminists pushed for increased women’s representation in politics. In 1996, women’s groups began to campaign for a national gender quota, and in 2002, they convinced first progressive political parties and then conservative ones to agree to an unofficial pledge to adopt voluntary quotas of 20 percent (Evrard 2014, 151-152). In 2007, the regime followed suit and in a series of minor constitutional reforms ruled that women should hold 30 out of 325 seats in the parliamentary lower house. In 2011, following protests for additional democratic reforms stemming from the regional Arab Spring movement, the quota increased to 60 out of 395 lower seats (15 percent). This was still lower than the 30 percent quota sought by many women’s groups (Ennaji 2016, 6). These gradual concessions over several decades illustrates that the monarchy is responsive to calls for reforms, but only on its own terms. Moroccan citizens can advocate for their interests, but when it comes to the actual shaping and implementation of policies, whatever the issue, the monarchy has the final say. Morocco’s many political parties compete with each other in proportional elections but then must form coalitions in order to govern. They have been uneven in their action on women’s

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rights and women’s representation. The largest left-wing party, the USFP, has a women’s secretariat as well as an internal party quota that states women must occupy at least 20 percent of positions in party leadership committees. The party leadership, however, holds ultimate power when it comes to decision-making, including candidate recruitment. Party leaders select women for leadership roles or as candidates through a patronage system (Lloren 2014, 533). USFP behavior towards women has not spilled over to other parties. The others lack women’s wings and do not have either internal or electoral quotas. According to data collected by the Association of Religion Data Archives between 2008 and 2010, only three out of fifteen parties had 20 percent or more women in their party leadership, and all three were social democratic or socialist parties (Archives 2010). This state of affairs suggests that little has changed since the 1980s, when women left the parties to form their own groups due to an apparent absence of support. In many ways, the parties interact with women’s groups much as does the monarchy, as an ally or an enemy depending on the circumstances. In 1992, when the UAF launched its drive to collect one million signatures for legal reform, the parties uniformly refused to support it. In 1999, when the major socialist parties formed a government for the first time, they touted the PAIWD as a feminist project, only to drop it when there was heavy popular criticism and the king stepped in to arbitrate (Maghraoui 2001, 81). Admittedly, however, left-wing parties have made common cause with the women’s movement in the past over issues like human rights abuses and opposing the popularity of Islamist organizations. Yet, the overriding concern of these parties is their own aggrandizement and success, which has made them fickle friends to the women’s movement. As a result, those activists most fully committed to women’s issues tend to eschew the parties and devote their time and energy in civil society. The prevalent view in Morocco of the monarchy as a “sacred institution” is an enormous obstacle to increased political participation of any kind, much less for women. Although Mohammed VI and his predecessors have, at different points, shown a willingness to adopt progressive policies for women, this does not change the reality that Moroccan women are entirely dependent on the willingness and incentive structures for one individual to “grant” them rights. Autocratic rule is more a hindrance than a help to women’s representation. Cultural and political factors have undermined the ability of the women’s movement to use political parties in Morocco to advance their agenda. In the present age of globalization, Western cultural imperialism has become conflated with progressive, inclusive politics, and so the two concepts become targets for hostility in the developing world. Even in a more liberalized Moroccan political environment, women’s groups would, no doubt, struggle to gain political traction due to perceptions that, in everything from ideology to funding, they would suffer from associations with ideas and groups that seem inauthentic to Moroccan culture (Elliott 2009). Marginalization: Japan Japan ranks 163 out of 193 countries in terms of female representation in parliament. In the lower house, women hold only 9.3 percent of seats, the worst of all Group of 20 countries and

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only one percent higher than they held in 1946. In over seventy years, Japan has demonstrated a notable lack of commitment to integrating women into politics. A conservative political culture combined with a mostly majoritarian first-past-the-post electoral system creates colossal handicaps for women seeking entry into Japanese politics. Although there has been some improvement in recent decades, the maintenance of the status quo for women in politics remains very probable. For much of the history of Imperial Japan, the involvement of women in politics was illegal. It was not until the defeat of the Japan in 1945 and the subsequent reconstruction of the country by U.S. occupiers that women received equal political rights to men (including the right to vote). Culturally, however, the norms and values surrounding womanhood informed the expectation that women would become “good wives and wise mothers,” restricting their access to the public realm (Mackie 1997, 157). By 1950, the U.S. occupation abandoned its focus on political liberalization in Japan and shifted to economic modernization following the victory of communism in China and North Korea (Lee 2004, 381-382). This “reverse course” encouraged the “nuclear family” in Japan, with the woman as the dutiful housewife and the husband as “salary man” or family provider (Ochiai 1997, 35). The standard model for Japanese women thus discouraged roles outside the household. Japan avoided the social upheaval that occurred elsewhere in the world in the 1960s and 1970s, but this did not mean radical ideas did not take root there. Japanese feminists were heavily influenced by works of radical feminism published in this period that decried gender divisions and called for the abolishment of male supremacy. Activists launched a women’s liberation movement called uuman ribu, with a message concentrated on emancipation from men rather than equality with men. The movement eschewed political processes and gradualist reformism, and instead questioned the very idea of traditional gender roles. Consequently, activists preferred horizontal, non-hierarchical structures to formal, hierarchical organizations (Matsui 1990, 438-439). The media labeled the movement as comprised of “crazy” and “hysterical” women, and characterized their demands as meaning the destruction of the family unit (Gelb 2003, 125). The 1970s experience with the women’s liberation movement showed that the organic development of gender equality as a national project seemed highly challenging. Japan has had one of the world’s longest-running and most successful women’s parties but the party is profoundly conservative in its orientation, tied to its composition as upper-middle class housewives, and it does not seek women’s inclusion or empowerment more broadly (Shin 2016). The 1975 World Conference on Women and the UN Decade for Women (1976-1985) compelled the government to act against gender discrimination, and after Japan signed the Convention on the Elimination of All Form of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) in 1980, it began work on legislation to ban such discrimination, drafting the Equal Employment Opportunity Law. External pressure provided an impetus for Japan to finally put women’s rights on the agenda, but flawed legislation and the subsequent symbolic or even negative compliance with it preserved gender divisions.

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In 1993, damaged by an economic downturn and plagued by scandal, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) – which had led the government since 1955 – lost a general election. An eight-party coalition led by the Japanese Socialist Party took power, and for the first time, gender equality became a voluntary government priority (Dalton 2015, 43). Although the LDP returned to power in nine months, women’s rights remained a political issue. The Council for Gender Equality (CGE), tasked with advising the prime minister, issued a report in 1996 entitled “A Vision of Gender Equality: Creation of New Values for the 21st Century.” The document drew heavily from the 1995 Beijing Declaration approved at the Fourth World Conference on Women, suggesting not just the dismantling of gender divisions but the active empowerment of women. The report inspired a 1999 Basic Law for a Gender Equal Society, calling for action plans on gender issues, but without mandating concrete measures toward those ends (Suzuki 2007, 22). To the extent that the Japanese government has addressed gender equality at all, it has done so as a result of internal pressure from opposition parties or, more commonly, from external pressure by international bodies. Political parties have also been resistant to measures advancing gender equality. While all three of the major political parties in Japan have women’s wings, none have internal or electoral quotas for women. Notably, the Japan New Party (JNP), which briefly existed from 1992 to 1994, broke from the mainstream by adopting an internal quota that women should hold 20 percent or more of the party’s executive and committee positions, with the quota increased to 40 percent by 2000. Only one woman, however, sat on the JNP executive committee, indicating the dearth of experienced women in Japanese politics (Eto 2010, 191). The voluntary quotas adopted by the JNP did not create a spillover effect, which can be attributed to the party’s failure to disrupt national politics, but also to the fact that the adoption of quotas occurred in the vacuum: there was no attempt to mobilize women, to recruit or train them as candidates, or to work in unison with feminists in civil society. Rather, it was a unilateral decision made by the JNP leadership and not part of a larger agenda to engage women with politics or to advance women’s representation in Japan. What party women’s organizations exist in Japan are thinly supported, and do not command resources, institutions, or power. In 2005, the LDP also briefly promoted women as candidates, but for its own ulterior reasons. Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi, a LDP leader known as a reformer, called a snap election in which he withdrew LDP support to members who had opposed his long-standing goal of privatizing the national postal system. Koizumi recruited new candidates who supported postal privatization, among them a large number of women. Of the 83 new LDP members elected in 2005, sixteen were women; of the total 296 LDP members elected, 26 were women, a dramatic increase over the single LDP women elected in the previous Diet (Dalton 2015, 56-57). This event, while it affected the gender imbalance in parliament, had not been motivated to do so. Rather than promoting women, it would be more accurate to say that Koizumi exploited women for his own ends. The current prime minister, Shinzo Abe, has set gender targets to raise the quantity of women holding executive positions in the private sector as part of his so-called “womenomics” measures. Yet, “womenomics” has more to do with growing the Japanese economy by encouraging women to enter the workforce. On the issue of women’s

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political under-representation, the Abe government has remained as inoperative as its predecessors. In addition to a sexist political culture, there are structural problems in Japanese parties. The LDP presides over a largely one party dominant state, having been near perpetually in power since 1955. Until 1993, LDP candidates competed in multimember districts for a non-transferable vote, often against members of their own party. Candidates in response relied on local support organizations, forming localized alliances through gift-giving and reciprocal favors. This sort of politics required heavy financial investment to guarantee patronage. Such funding usually came from factions, and faction leaders derived their position from political fixing and adept fundraising (Hayes 2005, 76). The LDP never centralized because factions preferred pitting their own chosen candidates against each other. Functionally, candidate support groups managed voter mobilization, while the factions groomed their members for top government posts. Consequently, the LDP women’s wing is more like an interest group with no commanding executive to debate with and issue demands to. Like all candidates, women in the LDP must navigate the shadowy networks and factional squabbling, all while attempting to accumulate support from business interests to bankroll their campaigns. Slight change came in 1993, when the eight-party (non-LDP) coalition reformed the electoral system to include proportional representation (PR). It did this to combat the personality-driven campaigns and endemic corruption associated with the LDP-dominant system (Stockwin 2008, 79). Today, in elections to the lower house, 295 members represent single-seat constituencies while 180 members gain seats through a PR system in eleven block districts. The percentage of women in the Japanese lower house has increased since 1996 because of these PR seats, with women at least as successful as men in winning office (Dalton 2015, 41). Unfortunately, Japanese women have not been able to take advantage of this because they receive so little support from parties, either in candidate selection or resources. To nominate themselves, women must make a “nomination deposit” of three million yen (approximately $27,000 in 2017), absent party assistance. Yuriko Koike, who became Governor of Tokyo in July 2016, served in a LDP cabinet. In her gubernatorial race, however, the LDP refused to endorse her and banned any of its members in Tokyo from supporting her. Koike nevertheless ran and won as an independent, though she still affiliates with the LDP today (Allen-Ebrahimian 2016). Outside the LDP, the primary opposition party, the Democratic Party (DP), also has a weak women’s wing and a low number of women representatives. In the 2014 general election, less than 12 percent of the LDP lower house candidates were women, while the DP had 14 percent of women as its candidates. The highest ratio belonged to the Japanese Communist Party, with 25 percent (McCurry 2014). The April 2017 composition of the house has 8 percent of LDP members as women; 9 percent of DP members are women and 29 percent of the JCP members are women (Japanese House of Representatives 2017). Notably, all but one of the JCP seats in the lower house are PR seats. The JCP also has a women’s wing though curiously, none of these three parties, mention the wing or women’s issues on their websites. Since their political advancement is typically dependent on their party loyalty, women in Japanese parties have

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very little incentive to risk incurring the wrath of the leadership by complaining, privately or publicly about their treatment and few opportunities to pressure them. In recent years, women’s groups in Japan have initiated a campaign to elect more women to public office. Since 2012, Ryoko Akamatsu, a former education minister, has led a coalition of more than two dozen women’s groups pushing for a legislated electoral quota, and in 2016, opposition parties submitted a bill requiring parties to select an equal number of male and female candidates. The LDP opposed it, however, so the bill came to nothing (Dalton 2016). Due to the uncompetitive nature of Japanese politics, the LDP can afford to ignore proposals coming from opposition parties as well as civil society. While the LDP has gone through periods where it has been in the opposition (most recently from 2009 to 2012), at present the party, while not popular in the strictest sense, is secure electorally, and thus not inclined to adopt different positions. The absence of strong political competition in Japan, however, is not sufficient on its own to explain the lack of progress on gender equality. Again, fundamentally, feminism and feminist activist groups are not highly visible in Japan (Yamasaki 2017). Since they are confined to the fringes socially, they have yet to make serious inroads politically. Table 6

SOUTH AFRICA

CHILE MOROCCO JAPAN

POLITICAL PARTIES

ANC PPD USFP LDP

Organization Centralized Decentralized Centralized Decentralized

Solidarity Inclusive Exclusive Exclusive Exclusive

Ideology Left Left Left Right

PARTY COMPETITION

Electoral System Proportional Majoritarian Mixed Mixed

Competiveness One-party dominant

Multiparty Multiparty/subordinate to the monarchy

One-party dominant

WOMEN’S MOVEMENT

Strength Mobilized Demobilized Mobilized Demobilized

Autonomy Independent Dependent Independent Independent Politics Engaged Disengaged Engaged Engaged

WOMEN’S WINGS

Existence Yes Yes Yes Yes

Party Support Yes No No No

Powers Yes No No No

Internal Quotas Yes Yes* Yes No

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Women’s Descriptive Rep

High Low Low Low

*Not always enforced

Findings The four cases suggest some significant patterns to the arrangement of factors and party responsiveness. In regard to party organization, activists promoting women’s issues and representation appear to achieve the most success in parties with centralized leaderships and democratic internal processes. In Japan, the LDP is highly decentralized, with various factions contesting for preeminence. These factions act as power monopolies, informal cliques joined more by personal associations than ideological ties. The same is true in Chile, where local monopolies – not parties – supply campaign financing and access to voter blocs. Centralized party structures, however, can be detrimental to the women members in the absence of internal democracy and accountability. In the USFP, for example, party leaders promote women not based on their activism or their backing from the rank-and-file, but by their demonstrations of party loyal and personal favors. The ANC, in the course of its political dominance, has also become increasingly patrimonial, as the party has evolved from a highly activist party to a stepping stone to entering government. When parties have to compete for power and are responsive to the rank-and-file, women activists fare better than when parties become political machines that rely on patronage and corruption. Solidarity is also an important factor, in the sense that parties are able to remain unified while accepting a certain degree of internal disagreement over issues like women’s rights, gender quotas and other contentious topics. In the LDP, for instance, factionalism is so rampant as to make interactions between internal blocs dysfunctional. Even if a faction were to adopt gender equality as a priority, the fragmented nature of intraparty relations would mean gender equality would only become part of the party agenda if that faction prevailed over others through factional conflict. In Chile and Morocco, there is a greater level of party coherence, likely because competition for power with other parties incentivizes intraparty unity. There are, however, greater sanctions for dissidence as well. In the DDP and USFP, male-dominated leaderships set agendas that tend to exclude women’s issues, and female candidates only receive party backing if they tow the party line; loyalty is rewarded and nonconformity is punished. The ANC, however, benefitted from having a common enemy that encouraged solidarity (apartheid) while also preserving its democratic internal structure that enabled the ANCWL, over time, to successfully advocate for making gender equality a party value. Parties that permit difference of opinion while remaining coherent institutions are the most conducive to feminist activism. Observations from the four cases indicate that the ideology of the party is important but with some major caveats. The ANC, whose raison d'être was the achievement of racial equality in South Africa, not only adopted gender equality as a major political principle but also enshrined it in the Constitution and created a state machinery devoted to promoting it. The PPD in Chile, as part of the left-wing coalition elected after the fall of the Pinochet regime, similarly set up a state machinery for women. However, both the PPD and the ANC wanted to secure women

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supporters following their respective transitions to democracy. The experiences covered in the four cases indicate that political expediency may ultimately be a greater predictor of party behavior on gender equality policies and commitment than normative receptiveness. Two of the cases (South Africa and Japan) are one-party dominant states in which other parties are not particularly competitive. In these cases, the dominant parties are at opposite ends of the spectrum and both set a tone followed by the others, the ANC engaging gender equality and women’s representation and the LDP ignoring or subordinating pressures to address these issues. As a consequence, the electoral model seems less significant to the overall responsiveness of any of the parties, than does the structure of electoral competition. Turning to civil society, the presence of well-coordinated, diligent women’s groups clearly is crucial in getting political actors to respond to women’s interests. In South Africa, the ANCWL went outside the party during the critical transition stage and animated women in the legal profession and academia to influence the drafting of the constitution. Today, women’s groups remain active in the country, especially around issues of sexual violence. In Morocco, women’s groups split off from political parties in the 1980s and took it upon themselves to entreat the monarchy to reform the family legal code to be less patriarchal. These groups continue to apply pressure on national elites, seizing opportunities for reform, such as the Arab Spring. In Japan, although there is a long history of feminist groups active in the country, none have so far been able to overcome the strong resistance to gender roles long established in Japanese culture. Chile, however, represents a case where militant groups did mobilize under the regime, but were coopted by parties when democracy returned, thereby dampening feminist activism outside the parties. This, in effect, gave parties a greater monopoly over Chilean politics, to the extent that political behavior outside a party context appears apolitical. This means that parties control the gender equality agenda. While this may be preferable to the Japanese case, where gender equality has mostly been a non-starter as an issue, it does mean that Chilean parties face minimal compulsion from civil society groups to be accountable, transparent and consistent on women’s rights and representation. Civil society helps keep parties honest. It is not enough that women’s groups mobilize and apply pressure, however. It is also important that they act freely, independent from other political or societal groups. The South African case indicates that double militancy works best, with feminists internal and external to parties working together. When the ANC appeared to be discounting the input of women, the ANCWL twice went outside the party to form coalitions with external groups. Double militancy, however, may not always be an option. If activists must choose between assimilating into parties or remaining independent, the Chilean and Moroccan cases suggest there is a trade-off. In Chile, activists who assimilated into the parties won a short-term triumph in the creation of SERNAM, but further progress on women’s issues has been slow, because party leaders set the limits on what is possible. In Morocco, however, women’s groups mostly separated from parties, and their externality to those parties makes their relations capricious. Still, their freedom to act separately from the parties enables women’s groups to partner not just with parties but other actors (such as other civil society organizations) to impel the monarchy on a wide range of issues. Given that is inevitable that feminist activists will face constraints on what

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they can realistically achieve politically, it is arguable that choosing civil society over party assimilation is preferable, as it minimizes those restrictions and safeguards an essential element of organizational agency. It is possible for women’s groups in civil society to be active and independent and yet disengaged with national politics or with political parties specifically (see Evans 2016). Feminism, after all, takes many different approaches, including highly individualized forms that emphasize personal actions and lifestyle choices. Liberal feminism, for example, has arguably become more associated with the personal relations between men and women as the most important arena for feminist reform. In South Africa, however, the feminism espoused by the ANCWL was decidedly political, and the group articulated it as such during the struggle against apartheid. In Chile, because all things political equate with their parties and their respective coalitions, feminism is increasingly apolitical. Japan, however, shows that mobilization and autonomy are not necessary for political engagement. Although the feminist movement has remained relatively subdued, feminist activists like Ryoko Akamatsu and her coalition groups still managed to persuade some opposition parties to promote legislated gender quotas. The LDP felt no pressure to consider the issue, however. In the absence of a receptive major party like the ANC, the case of Morocco indicates the importance of a strong, grassroots-based activist network that takes politics from behind closed doors and into the streets. This signifies that it is not just political engagement that matters, but the kind of engagement as well, although this is highly contextual. Were Japanese feminists to start holding mass rallies, for example, it is possible that such a strategy would be no more fruitful than working with parties. Still, it is important to note that imploring elites and institutions is just one option for activists. Women’s wings can represent a convergence of political parties and feminist activism. In the four cases, however, the ANC was the only country in which women’s wings were empowered and institutionalized. Whereas parties in Chile and Japan, had party women’s organizations the parties did not resource or support them. The ANC also has internal and electoral quotas, which are routinely enforced. Although the DDP and the USFP have adopted voluntary quotas, they have failed to always apply them. And, the ANCWL recruits and trains women, developing their skills as politicians and activists as well as nurturing confidence in themselves as participants in politics. This ensures that the party has a pool of qualified female candidates to fill quota positions, in addition to developing the party’s own capacity generally. The PPD, by contrast, does not offer trainings, and also finds less women willing to run for office. To underscore the point, in Chile, the Independent Democratic Union (UDI) – a right-wing party with no women’s wing or quotas – put forward more women candidates in the 2000 municipal elections than any party (including the PPD and PS) because it directly recruited candidates and encouraged them to run for office (109). Additionally, the ANC has integrated its women’s wing into its leadership structures. Women have reserved seats on the NEC as well as the party’s working committee, ensuring women have an opportunity to influence actions taken by the party and the crating of the party platform. In the other three cases, women in parties take their lead from male-dominated leaderships, knowing that their careers depend on their adherence to decisions taken by party elites. As a result, these women see themselves as representatives of the party primarily, rather than as representing women to the party.

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Conclusions This project set out to consider the role and effect of women’s wings of political parties on women’s representation and party policy regarding it. It, thus, fills a hole in the scholarship on how women’s movements intersect with political parties in contexts outside Europe. It does so through two mechanisms, a quantitative analysis of 196 parties in 70 countries and four case-studies. The quantitative analysis determines that women’s party organizations are common features within political parties, across the political spectrum and regardless of region, and party age. They are, however, more common where a strong, autonomous feminist movement exists. The statistical tests also indicate that women’s wings are significantly related to quotas for membership on party NECs, and women’s descriptive representation on NECs and among parliamentary delegations. These results are important because they settle the question, at least in the aggregate, of whether women’s units of political parties advantage or disadvantage women. Given the significant and positive relationship of women’s wings to other aspects of women’s representation, it is clear that parties are not using them predominately to marginalize women or limit their engagement. This affirms the recommendation of many practitioners that parties interested in women’s participation, representation and empowerment through the party should create such structures. And, because strong, autonomous feminist movements are related to the presence of women’s units of political parties within countries that have them, women’s wings may serve as important linkages between women’s movements and party behavior on women’s representation. The case-studies offer an in-depth analysis of how movements and parties relate across four different levels of party responsiveness and affirm some of the earlier findings. The cases show clearly that the presence or absence of women’s wings does not tell the whole story of their role as most parties in the four cases have them but they are not similarly resourced, institutionalized, or empowered. Instead, the cases describe different patterns in the ways that movements make demands on parties and parties respond to movements that color the image of women’s party organizations. The cases underscore the findings of the quantitative analysis that women’s wings can provide a powerful expression of and space for connection between movements and parties. They thus suggest an important mechanism for movements seeking to influence parties by emphasizing the effectiveness of a two-pronged approach (internal and external to parties) and the importance of maintaining some degree of autonomy. They also affirm the argument made by Childs and Kittilson (2016) that scholars and activists should consider how parties use women’s units as they do other party structures in terms of the powers, position and resources they grant them.

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Appendix A Definitions of Concepts and Variables Democracy – we aimed to incorporate only parties in systems in which parties were meaningful (i.e., electoral democracies). To select these states, we used a combination of measures from two sources, the Economist Intelligence Unit’s Electoral Process scores and Freedom House Electoral Democracy scores. The EIU data evaluates primarily whether the country had free and fair elections, universal suffrage, realistic chances for opposition parties to win, etc. In order to cast a wide net, we determined that any country scoring above a four would be included in our study. Because Freedom House includes some accounting of political rights (i.e., states must have competitive, multiparty elections, universal adult suffrage, regularly contested elections with ballot secrecy, reasonable ballot security, and minimal voter fraud as well as open access to the electorate by political parties (see FH website) as well as pure electoral processes, we opted to consult the FH list as well. To do this, we averaged FH scores on Electoral Democracy for each state over the previous 25 years to obtain a list of countries to include. If a country appeared on either the EIU or the FH list, we included it in the study. Women’s Wing – we considered any mention, in party statutes, party website, party’s Wikipedia page, newspaper articles, refereed sources, IADB/IDEA, or direct communication with parties, of women’s wing/section/unit as indication that there was a women’s wing. The party was coded as 1 for having reference to either a women’s wing in statute or in reality. Age of Party – we used the party’s founding date, usually from party’s Wikipedia page or party documents. Size of Party – this refers to popular vote totals in last election to lower house of parliament, taken from the country’s Wikipedia election page or from election guide.org. Ideology – the party’s ideology was taken from its Wikipedia page or party documents. If the party was listed on Wikipedia or referred to itself as left-wing, left, centre-left under "position" or socialist or communist/Marxist under "ideology," it was considered "Left" (0). If the party was designated as "Center" or referred to itself as such, it was coded as center (1). The code for "Right" was used for parties listed as right-wing, right or centre-right under "position" or conservative under "ideology” (2). Region – we coded parties using the World Bank’s regional divisions of countries into six geographic regions (Africa, C. Asia, E. Asia and Pacific, S. Asia, L. American and Caribbean, Middle East and North Africa). There were no democratic countries in Central Asia to include. Strong, Autonomous Feminist Movement – this data was provided by Laurel Weldon and Mala Htun from their 2012 work. Weldon and Htun define an autonomous feminist movement as “a form of women's mobilization that is devoted to promoting women's status and well being independently of political parties and other associations that do not have the status of women

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as their main concern” (Weldon and Htun 2012). They assessed strength through “an integrated examination of organizations, protests, and public opinion.” Countries were coded as either 1 (having an SAFM) or 0 (lacking one). Percent Women in Parliament – we entered figures using the archives of the Interparliamentary Union (available at http://www.ipu.org/iss-e/women.htm) for percent women in the lower house on or as close to the reference date of other data as possible. Party Voluntary Quotas for Candidates or for the Party’s National Executive Committee, Percent Women on the Party’s National Executive Committee, Percent Women in the Party’s Delegation in the Lower House, Percent Female Candidates -- we derived this information from electoral lists, parliamentary websites, party documents found on their websites, direct communication with the parties, newspaper coverage of elections or of women’s representation in the parties, as well as refereed sources, IDEA/Inter-American Development Bank/GEPPAL website and reports, The ARDA surveys of parties and the Quota Project. In most cases, we were able to confirm this information through multiple sources.

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Appendix B Countries in the Dataset Argentina Bahamas Bangladesh Barbados Belize Benin Bhutan Bolivia Botswana Brazil Burkina Faso Cape Verde Chile Colombia Comoros Costa Rica Cote D’Ivoire Ghana Dominican Republic Ecuador El Salvador Grenada Guatemala Guyana confusion Honduras India Indonesia Israel Jamaica Japan Jordan Kenya Lebanon Lesotho Liberia Malawi

Malaysia Maldives Mali Mauritius Mexico Mongolia Morocco Mozambique Namibia Nepal Nicaragua Niger Nigeria Pakistan Palestine Panama Paraguay Peru Senegal Sierra Leone Seychelles Singapore South Africa South Korea Sri Lanka Suriname Taiwan Tanzania Thailand Timor-Leste Tunisia Turkey Trinidad and Tobago Uganda Uruguay Zambia

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