As a political science student, I have the ambition, one day, to become an MP. This desire to contribute to society deeply drives me. However, the more I observe the political world, the more my doubts grow. For what ? Because I am a woman.
This year, several female politicians, such as Émilise Lessard-Therrien, France Bélisle and, this week, Marwah Rizqy, announced that they were retiring from political life. The reasons they give vary: difficulty reconciling career and family life, professional burnout, hostile political context, lack of influence and recognition. They choose to leave politics to preserve their health and dignity in a system that does not sufficiently support women.
However, these women were valuable assets for Quebec, who brought essential perspectives within our institutions. As Jocelyne Richer shows in her essay The sex of powerpublished last month, the testimonies of elected officials reveal a harsh reality: despite the progress made, women continue to have to justify their place in a sphere still largely dominated by men and where obstacles persist.
These resignations are not anomalies, but symptoms of a systemic problem. Women in politics experience ongoing harassment and face working conditions that make balancing family and public lives virtually impossible, a problem that disproportionately affects women. Elected officials are criticized for smiling too much, for not being well dressed enough, or for being too emotional – criticisms that we hardly dare level at a man. How can I calmly consider a career in politics in such a context?
During the last campaign in LaSalle-Émard-Verdun, as a volunteer, I saw up close the vulnerability of women in a political context. As a precaution, we were systematically paired with men for door-to-door canvassing. In this hostile climate, where I can’t even go door to door alone, should I be confident enough to present myself as a candidate?
As a white woman, I recognize my privilege. For racialized or Indigenous women, the obstacles are even more numerous. The insults do not stop at their gender, but also affect their identity, their culture, their appearance. Everything seems designed to discourage them. And afterwards, we are surprised by the lack of diversity in politics.
Invisible, but omnipresent obstacles
I ask myself: am I ready to face the same difficulties? Exhaustion, lack of recognition, demanding working conditions and discrimination? We cannot be surprised by the lack of quality MPs if the system itself rejects those who want to make things happen.
Even those MPs who reach parliament, after overcoming all these systemic obstacles, often find themselves relegated to secondary roles, without real power, as Jocelyne Richer points out in her essay. They may occupy seemingly prestigious positions, but which in reality give them no real power, leaving control mainly to men.
I am tired of these invisible, but omnipresent obstacles. It is time that women, and especially young women like me, are not only encouraged to enter politics, but also protected while they are there. It’s not surprising to see Valérie Plante blocking hateful comments on her social networks – the system does not protect her, she had to defend herself.
It is no longer enough to tell women to run for office. Concrete changes are needed to support them. Otherwise, we will continue to lose brilliant women, discouraged by a system that does not value them.
It’s time to act. I want to see this change, for me, for my colleagues, and for all the women who are still hesitant.