Sexism in African parliaments: why women lawmakers face persistent harassment

On May 15, 2026, a shocking display of sexism unfolded on the floor of the National Assembly in Kinshasa. As Deputy Micheline Mpundu concluded her remarks and prepared to leave the podium, Second Vice President Christophe Mboso—presiding over the session—publicly commented on her appearance, remarking, “Thank you, colleague, she is very beautiful… yes.” He then continued in Lingala, “Look at her yourselves,” laughing as he mimicked her body shape with hand gestures and added, “God made her this way” and “these are another man’s goods,” all under the applause of fellow legislators. The session resumed as if nothing had happened.

Days later, amid public outrage led by political figures, civil society activists, and human rights defenders, Mboso issued a belated apology—without facing any disciplinary action. The incident raises a critical question: when will African parliaments, particularly in the Democratic Republic of Congo, stop being hostile spaces for the women they are meant to represent?

My doctoral research in political science examines masculinity within Congolese legislative bodies. This episode is not an isolated incident but a symptom of a deep-rooted structural problem. It exposes the gap between the commitments made on paper by DRC authorities and the daily realities faced by female lawmakers.

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Comparative analysis: a problem not unique to the DRC

Parliamentary violence is part of a broader pattern of gender-based discrimination affecting women in politics across Africa. Long before the Mboso video circulated in Kinshasa, documented cases of sexism had already surfaced in legislative chambers across the continent. These acts highlight a systemic issue that undermines women’s full participation in decision-making processes at all levels.

The early 1990s brought waves of democratization that significantly increased women’s representation in African parliaments. Between 1990 and 2010, the number of female legislators tripled—a statistic that initially sparked hope. Yet this progress soon revealed a harsh truth: increased presence did not translate into institutional change. Instead, it was perceived as a challenge to entrenched patriarchal norms, sparking resistance from male colleagues, regardless of party affiliation.

The Inter-Parliamentary Union (IPU), a global organization of national parliamentarians founded in 1889, has extensively documented this issue. In its 2016 global survey of 515 women parliamentarians from 39 countries across five continents, over 65.5% reported experiencing repeated verbal abuse and insults during their mandates. These figures are alarming, yet they reveal the persistent reality within legislative chambers. In most cases, the perpetrators are male colleagues.

The study also underscores society’s double standards toward women in politics. Female legislators are not judged on their policy contributions but rather on their appearance, marital status, or conformity to traditional roles such as motherhood or caregiver. This bias extends beyond parliamentary walls—it enters legislative chambers with the lawmakers themselves, as seen in the Mboso incident.

A 2021 regional study by the IPU and the African Parliamentary Union (APU) confirmed that this problem persists across African parliaments, with insufficient progress toward genuine political participation for women.

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The applause in the video is not trivial. It reflects a systemic issue, not an isolated act by Mboso. As philosopher Kate Manne describes, such behavior serves as a mechanism of control that keeps women subordinate, even within so-called democratic institutions. This “semiotic violence,” as scholar Mona Lena Krook terms it, reduces women to their bodies rather than recognizing them as legislators. Mboso’s gesture of mimicking Mpundu’s body with his hands exemplifies this dehumanizing treatment.

The concept of gender coloniality, developed by feminist theorist María Lugones, helps explain this normalization of gender hierarchies as a colonial legacy. Despite women being elected under the same constitutional framework as their male counterparts, patriarchal systems continue to diminish their authority. They have equal rights on paper but unequal treatment in practice.

Cases across Africa

Mboso’s behavior echoes incidents in other African nations. In Senegal, Deputy Amy Ndiaye, who was pregnant, was slapped and kicked in the stomach on the floor of the National Assembly in 2022, all captured on camera. In Nigeria, Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduagha was suspended in 2025 not for professional misconduct but for publicly naming the sexual harassment she endured from the Senate President. These cases reveal a troubling pattern: African parliaments may tolerate women’s voices, but they do not respect their dignity.

Gender-based violence in Congolese legislatures

In April 2020, former Senate President Thambwe Mwamba publicly shamed Senator Bijoux Ngoya during a plenary session, alleging she had approached him for support in exchange for sexual favors—a claim he made in front of the entire chamber. The session ended in chaos, with several legislators expressing outrage.

In July 2021, Deputy Christelle Vuanga was addressing constitutional reforms when her male colleague, Nsingi Pululu, interrupted her with a single phrase in Lingala: “You are a woman.” This dismissal reduced her ability to engage in serious debate simply because of her gender.

The Mboso incident is neither surprising nor isolated. The DRC has ratified international conventions and adopted laws to protect women, yet legislative chambers remain unchanged. The disconnect between policy and practice is well-documented. What is new is society’s growing unwillingness to ignore it.

Time for action

French feminist Simone de Beauvoir wrote in 1949 that women are defined as “the other.” In 2026, this Otherness persists in the Congolese Parliament, where female deputies are reduced to their bodies rather than recognized for their political contributions. These incidents expose how patriarchal systems erode democracy from within.

Without accountability, as evidenced by the applause for Mboso and his lack of consequences, the Congolese Parliament will remain a misogynistic institution. Of the 477 deputies, only 65 are women—just 13%—despite women constituting nearly 51% of the population. Their underrepresentation does not justify tolerating such behavior.

Other parliaments have taken steps toward change. Campaigns like #NotTheCost and #NotInMyParliament demonstrate that cultural transformation is possible through concrete sanctions and victim protection. The DRC has strong laws, such as the 2025 Senate bill on violence against women. But a law without enforcement is merely a wish. Silence is no longer an option. Failing to sanction Mboso sends a clear message to Congolese women considering a political career.