Czech female MPs have reduced politics by posing as pin-ups

Posing for a girly calendar is just one way Czech politicians have dodged engaging with issues that really matter

The publication of a 2011 calendar showing a number of newly-elected Czech women MPs in come-to-bed poses has caused something of a media furore in recent weeks. As the Wall Street Journal enthused: “A new generation of Czech women is coming of age that is embracing femininity and sex appeal while at the same time fighting for, and winning, more equal treatment in the realms of business and government.”

According to a deputy speaker of the lower house of the Czech parliament, Katerina Klasnova (aka Miss January), the aim of the calendar is to highlight the presence of women in Czech politics. To those who might be sceptical, Lenka Andrysova (Miss September) has replied that “there are different kinds of feminism”. So what are we to make of this form of political advertisement? I would say it that what it signals is less voice for people in Czech politics, rather than more.

In the May election, 44 women were voted into the lower house, bringing the proportion of women up from 17 to 22% . This is the same as in the UK, but still significantly less than under state socialism, and only about half the current level in Cuba or Sweden. The calendar was produced by the Public Affairs (VV – Veci verejne) party, a new formation on the Czech political scene. The party won 24 seats and – together with the ODS and TOP 09 parties – is now a member of the ruling coalition. These events are part of a context of the deep unpopularity of politicians in the Czech republic. Moreover, as social inequalities have increased, so politicians have not been averse to taking financial advantage of their position on a scale that can make the expenses scandal in Britain pale into insignificance.

All this has given rise to a condition among Czech voters that a recent Economist article has aptly termed “languid despair”. The Public Affairs party capitalised on the situation by putting together a line up of candidates away from the traditional mould – the leader, journalist Radek John, was already a household name – and by pledging to wipe out political corruption. In the battle for media attention during the campaign, some female party candidates posed in swimsuits. The girly calendar was also conceived at this time.

In a recycling of cold war myths, it was said that the women’s readiness to engage in the project was the result of years of “having to wear unisex clothing” under communism. To those who were there, this does not ring true. The calendar doesn’t represent a new “free” expression of female sexuality, but its marketisation in the service of a politics that has become male-dominated while excluding substantive issues from public discourse. The electorate has been cast in the role of customer, basing choices on packaging and having to faintly hope for the best, rather than actively contributing to and choosing policies via debate. The swimsuits and the calendar have been part of a process of political discussion avoidance.

The Czech election was critically important. At stake were public sector policy options that were radically opposed. This is particularly true of health care – stereotypically an area of particular concern to women. In a country boasting almost the highest level of health inequality in Europe (and in the case of men, by far the highest), it is worth noting that previous government was toppled in part because it had introduced health care fees. Although not high in themselves, the fees were psychologically significant and deeply unpopular.

The options were to attempt to limit social inequalities by increasing benefits and banning the fees, or to reduce benefits, retain the healthcare fees, and move more towards a two-tier health care system with the further privatisation of health care. In the event, fear of following in Greece’s footsteps by increasing debt pushed the outcome of the election in the latter direction.

Public Affairs party candidates had to sign up to voting in line with their party members in government – who, like the rest are exclusively male. By emphasising physical appearance as a means of replacing genuine debate, and at the same time supporting the male leadership’s reticence to push for genuinely progressive politics, the pin-up MPs have colluded in returning female inferiority to Czech politics.