Power. Struggle.

So, when, say, women’s lives most resemble men’s, or queer lives are most recognisably like straight lives, we applaud their power or achievement

The theme of this year’s Republic Day parade was Nari Shakti. It started with the music of one hundred women artists and depicted this power through diverse domains from education and technology to family and the military. The motorbike stunts by women in the police were full of thrills and daring. The growing representation of women in diverse fields over 75 years is indeed something to celebrate. 

Nari Shakti is often translated as Woman Power, but we could also translate it as Women’s Strength. We commonly conflate the idea of strength with power in speech, but perhaps in practice, we engage with these ideas a bit differently when it comes to women. Our idea of power is often based on existing prominent images of power, that is, exemplified by those who are already powerful. So, when, say, women’s lives most resemble men’s, or queer lives are most recognisably like straight lives, we applaud their power or achievement.

On the other hand, we often celebrate strength as the ability to bear unfairness caused by power. For instance, on Women’s Day, we often see people celebrate mothers for deferring their dreams in order to care and support the dreams of others, conveniently glossing over that it doesn’t have to be that way. 

To reimagine an unequal society, we might have to think of power differently. A clear articulation of this was offered by a sanitation worker, who is part of a strike at Delhi’s Burari hospital, demanding permanent status and fairer working conditions. “All the institutions we work for are permanent, and work like cleaning is supposed to be done regularly, even during holidays. Then why is this work contractual and not permanent?” asked Harish Gautam in a story reported by the online portal Behanbox. “Doctors are seen as serving patients, so why not sanitation workers?” asked another.

These questions foreground how power rests on hierarchies of superior and inferior value—usually determined by those in power. The workers propose instead recognising inter-dependence as the bedrock of equality; to value what each citizen brings to the table.

Lakhs of Aanganwadi workers across Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh have been striking for better wages and working conditions. These workers are termed sevikas (social service volunteers) and paid an “honorarium”, similar to ASHA workers, also on strike across the country for better working conditions and wages. ASHA stands for Accredited Social Health Activists, a term that implies voluntary commitment, rather than implementing government health care and data collection, which they do.

The “voluntary” characterisation of these jobs is rooted in an image of womanhood as responsible for the care of others, and is sustained through poverty. It is mostly poor women, mostly from Bahujan communities, often orphaned or widowed or vulnerable in multiple ways who do these jobs. These conditions keep them vulnerable. Their show of strength as a collective resisting their conditions is met not with celebration or visibility, but usually police action or termination.

To bring up these stories is not to invalidate the achievements of other women who struggle against discrimination within their class to acquire power. It is only to ask ourselves, how could we think of what makes a society strong, not only powerful. Perhaps it is to emulate those qualities we glorify as strength but don’t reward: caring for everyone with empathy and commitment.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at paromita.vohra@mid-day.com

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