September 8 and 9 marked what many have described as one of the historic moments in Nepal’s political history. A Gen Z-led protest, with epicentre in the capital, spread like wildfire across the country on September 9 following a day of state brutality which left 22 unarmed youth dead. Political leaders whose malignant political shenanigans led to decades of mounting public frustration, and therefore triggered the protests, failed to respond. The country entered a political vacuum. Into that vacuum stepped former Chief Justice Sushila Karki, who was appointed prime minister three days after the protests to lead an interim government.

Nepal got its first woman prime minister amidst the political chaos. But the larger question that warrants public discourse is: Would Nepal have witnessed its first female prime minister if the political system of the country had not been in a crisis?

Globally, politics has long been socially constructed as a male space. As the French philosopher Simone de Beauvoir wrote in The Second Sex, “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” She argued that gender roles are not natural but socially constructed through institutions, expectation and traditions. Politics, too, has long been constructed as a masculine space, so much so that women entering it appear abnormal or extraordinary. Nepal’s own political history reflects this pattern. From the era of the Kirat dynasty onward, the country’s political leadership has been overwhelmingly male-dominated.

After the 1950s, Nepal entered into the era of modern awakening, transitioning from a century of isolationist rule into a dynamic period of global engagement and democratic evolution. While Nepal’s political landscape was slowly evolving, the country’s external commitments were progressing more decisively. As a result, Nepal ratified major international treaties such as the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) and enacted several domestic laws to ensure compliance with its international obligations.

Domestically, Nepal has rewritten its domestic rules, which can be seen in the pages of the Constitution. The Constitution of Nepal 2015 guarantees that at least 33 percent of seats in the federal and provincial parliaments must be held by women. Yet the history of Nepali women in politics remains relatively recent.

The history of Nepali women in politics has not been significant. In fact, their name is visible only from 1946 when Mangala Devi Singh founded the Nepal Women's Association, the first political organisation for women, to fight for voting rights and education. In 1948, women officially gained the right to vote via the Nepal Government Act, though it wasn’t exercised until later. Landmark achievements for women include Sadhana Pradhan becoming the first woman elected to a public office in 1953, and Dwarika Devi Thakurani becoming the first woman elected to Parliament in 1959. It was only after the 2006 People’s Movement and the end of the civil war that 33 percent seats in the parliament were mandated for women. This was enabled by the 2007 Interim Constitution. Today, even at the local level, the law mandates that either the mayor or deputy mayor must be a woman.

Likewise, in the recent decade, Nepal has seen a series of 'firsts' at the very top of the state hierarchy. For instance, Bidya Devi Bhandari was elected as the first female president of Nepal in 2015, and Onsari Gharti Magar became the first female speaker the same year. Sushila Karki served as the first female Chief Justice in 2016. While the 'numbers' are impressive, they are yet to translate into a lived reality—a trend, or even a bandwagon—where thousands of women enter politics without their presence appearing unusual to the public eye.

Nepal often flaunts its constitution as one of the most democratic in South Asia. Yet this pride largely serves a narrative. On the ground, however, it has done little to genuinely open the doors of politics to women. For instance, the recent general election illustrates this gap. Women made up just over 11 percent of candidates—388 out of 3,046 competing for 165 parliamentary seats under the first-past-the-post system. Nearly half of these women ran as independents, often without any institutional backing from major political parties.

Even when women are nominated, political parties continue to deny them a fair chance to contest winnable seats. For instance, the Nepali Congress and the Nepal Communist Party (NCP)6 each fielded only 11 women candidates, the CPN-UML nominated 10 and the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) 16. Parties continue to deny women a fair chance to contest winnable seats, often fielding them in ‘hot seats’ against rival heavyweights. For example, the Congress fielded Mandhara Chimariya in Jhapa-5 against UML Chairman KP Oli, and Meena Kharel in Chitwan-3 against RSP chair Rabi Lamichhane. Such numbers suggest that many parties treat female representation as a box-ticking exercise. Even in the 2022 elections, women candidates made up less than 10 percent of the total candidates.

When women do make it to the parliament or a higher-rung position in the party structure, they are barred from decision-making and face sexist remarks and harassment if they speak out against the patriarchal party structures. Recent examples of this male-centric behaviour are the online harassment faced by Gatisheel Loktrantik Party candidate for Kathmandu-5, Nisha Adhikari; RSP candidate for Kathmandu-1, Ranju Neupane; and NCP candidate from Chitwan-3, Renu Dahal, during their election campaigns. Another disgusting instance took place when former Education Minister and RSP’s deputy general secretary, Sumana Shrestha, decided to leave the party following exclusion from decision-making. The amount of online hate and misogynistic remarks she received following the announcement of her decision was appalling. In Nepal, as elsewhere around the global south, women, albeit in political positions, are still subject to men’s judgment.

Celebrating a ‘first’ must not become a distraction from the fact that the path to the Prime Minister’s office or any positions in the government remains blocked by patriarchal gatekeeping, expensive electioneering and a ‘tokenism’ culture that prefers women in deputy roles rather than executive ones. The question the establishment must answer is: When will we have a society where we don't have to celebrate a woman's appointment as a success? And what do we need to get there?

The road to inclusion is a travail. The first step to reform that the current RSP wave must undertake is legal prevention of filling PR seats with women near and dear to men in power. Second, women leaders need to take the initiative to re-establish a formal, legislative women’s caucus to allow female parliamentarians to vote as a unified bloc on gender-critical bills, regardless of their party’s stance. Third, as highlighted by Sumana Shrestha’s case, the Political Party Act must be amended to require at least 33 percent of all internal party decision-making committees be women. The state needs to amp up efforts to curb the online hate against women leaders. The need of the hour is an update to the Electronic Transactions Act to specifically criminalise misogynistic trolling and character assassination targeting women in public life.

The RSP wave is here to stay, at least for the next five years. The government formed after the election will have a significant presence of the party. Having advocated for reform throughout their campaign, the party leadership would be better off addressing the concerns of women. If not, it will bode well for the party to recount the fall of the Maoists, who, having secured an overwhelming majority in the 2008 elections, fell into disgrace in the 2013 Constituent Assembly elections after they failed to deliver on issues crucial to the general public.