Where there’s a will, there isn’t always a way: studying the Brazilian Women’s Caucus Larissa Peixoto V. Gomes Ph.D candidate in Political Science, Federal University of Minas Gerais (UFMG), Brazil. Prepared for PSA 67th Annual International Conference “Politics in Interesting Times”, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, 10 – 12 April 2017 Abstract A women’s caucus in a legislative chamber has the potential to increase women’s participation within that chamber by aggregating female representatives across party lines and providing them with collective tools with which to formulate policies. However, that potential depends on several factors other than the existence of the caucus, including its institutional design, the number of female representatives in the house and that effectively participate in the caucus, ideological leanings of caucus leaders, respect from other parliament members towards the caucus, the pressure exerted from parties on caucus members, and how it relates to other existing caucuses. The Brazilian Women’s Caucus, known as Bancada Feminina, is generally perceived by the international literature as a success case, but the literature has only considered its institutional design in making that assertion. The small number of women in the Chamber of Deputies, their willingness to organise around certain issues but not others, the general lack of respect towards female representatives and their caucus, the growing strength of the Cattle, Bullet, and Bible Caucus, the importance of party politics, and the government-opposition polarisation means that the Bancada Feminina is not as effective as expected. The article relies on quantitative and qualitative data collected from the Chamber of Deputies website from the years of 2014 and 2015 in order to verify the impact of these other factors on the actions on female deputies and their caucus. 1 Introduction: a mid-sized critical juncture In 1985, Brazil went from being a dictatorship to a democracy one more time. As the military stepped away and the civilians took office in a peaceful transition in which dictators and democrats negotiated terms, the country found itself once again without a Congress or a Constitution. In this drawn out critical juncture (Waylen, in Krook and Mackay, 2011), begins the story of the Brazilian Women’s Caucus. The Constitutional Assembly was set up in 1986, with a record number of 26 women. At the time, there were two groups of women working on drafting a new constitution: the ones elected to the assembly and the ones belonging to social movements, the latter referred to as the Lipstick Lobby. Originally a derogatory term, the women appropriated themselves of it and used it to disconcert male deputies and galvanise female deputies (Rocha, 2015). The Lipstick Lobby had to approach the elected women and convince them to embrace women’s and feminist issues, resulting in some advances for women. The transition to democracy was called “slow, gradual, and safe”, which made sure that several former institutions and traditions stayed in place. It also meant that there was only so much that women were able to get done. For instance, it was only in 1999 that the Women’s Caucus began its official existence. In fact, it was only in 2016 that female senators got a bathroom inside the plenary.1 As women in the Brazilian Chamber of Deputies fight for inclusion, the Women’s Caucus changes little by little. From what it was in 1986 to what it became in 2013, with complete institutionalisation, which has yet to be thoroughly analysed, it is a completely different institution. As the deputies put it together piece by piece, over the years, the Women’s Caucus went from a dispersed gathering of demobilised women to a permanent part of the Chamber of Deputies. Although, that has come with positives and negatives as the analysis will show. The next section will discuss the presence of women within parliament, how they may or may not form alliances and how a caucus or a special commission may help or hinder their efforts in passing legislation. The following section will discuss the Brazilian Women’s Caucus. By using quantitative and qualitative data gathered from the Chamber of Deputies website and an interview with a former coordinator of the Women’s Caucus, 1 https://www12.senado.leg.br/institucional/procuradoria/comum/bancada-feminina-do-senado-conquista- direito-a-banheiro-feminino-no-plenario 2 I shall discuss its institutional arrangement, its effectiveness, opportunities for action, alliances, and backlash. The final section presents an analysis and concludes. Critical actors and critical spaces The increase in women’s presence in legislative spaces has not come with an acceptance of that presence. More often than not, female representatives find themselves in a constant struggle to prove that they belong, that they can do the job, that they are capable, that they are not too pretty or too ugly, too nice or too authoritarian. As an institution is made up of formal and informal rules that dictate not only procedures, but also conduct, both men and women will push boundaries in order to affirm their place and power within that institution. Political institutions are not gender-neutral and were built by on certain an ideal of masculinity. This means that some of the functioning of that institution depends on the reproduction, that is, the performance of this gendered notion of man and of the ideal legislator (Allen, 2013; Butler, 2010; Kenny, 2007; Krook and Mackay, 2011; Mackay et. al, 2010; Mansbridge and Shames, 2008; Prentice and Carranza, 2006; Waylen, 2014). The institutional design of a legislative, combined with its informal rules, may or may not guarantee the effective participation of all its members. Informal rules may be gendered or may be exclusionary in that newcomers do not know that they exist and are not able to successfully navigate them. The consequences of rules such as party proportionality in commissions may be unpredictable when there is no gender perspective (Aguiar, 2015; Folke et al., 2015). When party leaders are men, especially from larger parties, and commissions have a clear gender bias, it make sense to think of this particular rule as one that privileges certain profiles and political relationships. In many legislatives, women are relegated to commissions of less symbolic value that reproduce gender stereotypes (Heath et al., 2005; Miguel and Feitosa, 2009; Rezende, 2015; Walby, 1997). Elected women are in a double minority situation: within parliament and their own parties. As they attempt to form their own connections and networks based on common experiences and policy interests, female friendships in politics are negatively perceived, accused of being too shallow, too emotional and, of course, lesbianism. These are all reproductions of societal stereotypes of female relationships. A woman’s individual presence is bothersome enough, given the gendered nature of the legislative space, but a 3 demonstration of loyalty and organisation threatens masculine power. Male friendships, on the other hand, are not questioned. Alliances between men are normalised within parliament as they are its first occupants. As Childs (2013) argues, there is still a gender gap in political alliances, with male alliances seen as neutral and powerful and female alliances as superficial and weak because of their gendered nature. Men do not discuss, specifically, how “to improve the lives of men” and male politicians tend to believe they are working for the good of the country. They are thinking of “issues”, not “people” (Childs, 2013). Although, if there is evidence that women in parliament strive to work for women to some degree, and it seems that there is (Barnes, 2012; Chaney, 2006; Lausberg, 2015; Piscopo, 2014; Wängnerud, 2000), this means that male politicians are leaving something out of their political work. Their focus on “issues” is not fully contemplating women. As the presence of women in and of itself is important, what they do also matters. As Mackay (2008) puts it, a thick conception of substantive representation “incorporates the theoretical uncertainty and [its] contested nature” (p. 131). That is, women are able to represent many perspectives, both from feminists, conservatives, and men. In fact, a fuller representation depends on diversity. Moreover, if conservative legislators, both men and women, claim to act for women as Celis and Childs (2012) argue, would they not be an avenue for lobbying? Another aspect that stands out in many studies on the position of female legislators is the importance of party loyalty (Barnes, 2012; Htun et al., 2013; Htun, 2002; Htun and Power, 2008). Both male and female representatives will unite in party loyalty, but considering the less privileged position women have both in parliament and in the party, demonstrated by the lack of women in positions of leadership in both institutions and in commissions with higher symbolic value (Heath et al. 2005; Folke et al., 2015; Rezende, 2015), this means that they are also excluded from decision-making processes (UN, 2005). Party loyalty, therefore, has different meanings for men and for women, who might depend more on the party for their next electoral run, particularly in highly personalised contexts. As Gomes (2016) demonstrated for a subnational case in Brazil, women in left-wing parties, with party-oriented trajectories, were more likely to want to stay in the party, even after acknowledging that the party could have assisted more during the campaign. Women 4 from centre and right-wing parties, who joined because of personal alliances, were more likely to want to change parties. This does not mean that women will not want to find allies in their own parties or that party ideology is irrelevant. It does, however, mean that even this aspect of politics is gendered and that studies such as roll call voting, while important, may not be adequate in fully demonstrating the preferences of female legislators (Barnes, 2012; Childs and Lovenduski, 2016; Htun et al., 2013; Swers, 2005; UN, 2005).