Introduction
The global rise of violence against women in politics (VAWIP) is a critical barrier to gender equality, discouraging and undermining women’s political participation (Krook Reference Krook2018; Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020). Existing research largely centers on democracies, leaving its manifestations in authoritarian regimes less understood. This gap is especially stark in the Arab Gulf monarchies, where women have achieved significant progress in education and economic opportunity (Buttorff, Al Lawati, and Welborne Reference Buttorff, Al Lawati and Welborne2018), even as female politicians face fierce resistance (Shockley Reference Shockley2016) and hold some of the lowest shares of parliamentary seats worldwide.Footnote 1 This coexistence of economic advancement and political exclusion, in regimes that present themselves as stable and secure, makes the region a compelling yet understudied setting for investigating such violence.Footnote 2 How does VAWIP operate in such authoritarian yet ostensibly “peaceful” contexts?
To address this question, we integrate insights from research on authoritarianism and kin-based governance with feminist theories of patriarchy. Scholarship on authoritarianism establishes that rulers often rely on families, tribes, and sects to mediate access to resources, turning these networks into informal extensions of the regime (Bratton and van de Walle Reference Bratton and van de Walle1997; Charrad Reference Charrad2011; Weiner Reference Weiner2022). Meanwhile, these same kinship structures position men as gatekeepers to public life, rendering women’s access conditional and revocable (Charrad Reference Charrad2001; Joseph Reference Joseph1994; Robinson and Gottlieb Reference Robinson and Gottlieb2021). While related theories of women’s resource dependence (Agarwal Reference Agarwal1994; Brines Reference Brines1994) and men’s status discontent (Banaszak and Plutzer Reference Banaszak and Plutzer1993; Morgan and Buice Reference Morgan and Buice2013) explain the motive for resistance to women’s inclusion, they do not fully account for the mechanism: how state institutions and social networks translate this resistance into specific forms of violence in autocracies.
Building on these literatures, we theorize that VAWIP in such regimes is shaped by the collusion between weak formal institutions and patriarchal kinship systems. Institutionally, the absence of robust parties, complaint mechanisms, and gender-sensitive electoral rules deprives women of resources and protection, leaving nonphysical attacks largely unsanctioned. Socially, entrenched tribal and familial networks enforce patriarchal values and normalize VAWIP as an acceptable means to deter perceived transgression. Together, these structural conditions shape how nonphysical violence is carried out to delegitimize women at various stages of the political process. Accordingly, women’s exclusion is not simply a story of failed entry into competitive institutions due to insufficient resources or societal norms; it is a product of intentional gendered coercion embedded in the everyday practices of authoritarian governance.
To test our argument, we examine Kuwait, often portrayed as the Gulf’s most democratic monarchy. Drawing on in-depth interviews with 35 female and male politicians, bureaucrats, and activists, we show how institutional weaknesses and patriarchal networks collude to structure who can attack women, on what grounds, and with what consequences. Women describe how recurrent psychological, semiotic, and economic attacks often lead them to self-censor, avoid key political and social arenas, or exit politics altogether. Male respondents, by contrast, recount competitive but low-risk electoral and parliamentary experiences, reporting almost no exposure to the violence that women routinely endure. This asymmetry underscores how VAWIP operates as a distinct, gendered mechanism of exclusion in the ostensibly “peaceful” autocracy.
Our contributions to the study of gender and politics are threefold. First, we extend VAWIP scholarship beyond democracies by theorizing how authoritarian regimes use nonphysical violence to maintain control without overt repression. While attacks such as online harassment and character assassination are familiar globally, we show how they are configured in Kuwait to sustain a distinct, authoritarian patriarchal peace. Footnote 3 In this system, the regime projects stability and progress while maintaining gendered power through cumulative, nonphysical violence. A VAWIP lens allows us to move beyond observing that patriarchy is pervasive and instead distinguish diffuse gender norms from targeted political attacks. This reveals when and how state and societal actors punish women’s ambition even as the regime instrumentalizes gender reforms for international legitimacy (e.g., Bush and Zetterberg Reference Bush and Zetterberg2021; Noh Reference Noh2024b; Noh, Grewal, and Kilavuz Reference Noh, Grewal and Kilavuz2024). We therefore treat this study as theory-building, generating hypotheses about how regime type, institutional design, and social structure condition VAWIP that future work across both democratic and authoritarian contexts can test.
Second, we advance intersectional analyses of VAWIP beyond democratic contexts, which focus primarily on hierarchies based on race, ethnicity, and religion (Akhtar, Jenichen, and Intezar Reference Akhtar, Jenichen and Intezar2024; Kuperberg Reference Kuperberg2018). We show that Kuwaiti women in politics are not targeted as a homogeneous group. Rather, the nature and intensity of violence depend on their positions within sectarian, tribal, class, and kinship hierarchies that are themselves products and instruments of authoritarian order. Our evidence illustrates how perpetrators exploit these overlapping identities to target marginalized women more intensely, extending intersectional VAWIP frameworks to authoritarian contexts.
Third, we contribute to debates on the gendered nature of political violence by analyzing the experiences of both women and men. Answering calls to include men to establish proper counterfactuals (Bjarnegård Reference Bjarnegård2018) and to examine motives, forms, and impacts across genders (Bardall, Bjarnegård, and Piscopo Reference Bardall, Bjarnegård and Piscopo2020), we reveal a stark gendered divergence in this “peaceful” setting. While some scholars caution that political violence targets politicians irrespective of gender (Piscopo Reference Piscopo2016), male politicians in our sample report minimal danger, unlike men in other contexts who often face physical risks (Bardall Reference Bardall2011, Reference Bardall2013). Conversely, women endure attacks as women that are gendered in their motives, forms, and impacts. This finding challenges claims that political violence is gender-neutral, demonstrating how VAWIP functions as a distinct coercive mechanism that systematically burdens women to sustain male-dominated hierarchies.
This article proceeds as follows. First, we bridge feminist scholarship on VAWIP with the literature on authoritarianism, developing our theoretical framework of the patriarchal peace in contexts of weak institutions and entrenched kinship structures. We then analyze interviews to show how the institutional and social barriers collude to shape women’s exposure to violence, contrasting these patterns with men’s accounts. We conclude by discussing the implications for comparative research on gender and authoritarianism and for practitioners supporting women in politics. Although grounded in Kuwait, our study reveals mechanisms relevant to other “peaceful” authoritarian and hybrid regimes that rely on informal networks and seek international legitimacy. Theories and measures of repression as well as electoral assistance programs must avoid equating low physical violence with inclusion and account for nonphysical attacks on women in politics.
Violence Against Women in Politics in Authoritarian Contexts
Violence against women in politics (VAWIP) targets them as women to discourage their participation or undermine their performance (Krook Reference Krook2020; Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020). Distinct from general political aggression, VAWIP is defined by its gendered motive, often to preserve male dominance, and its consequences for women’s agency. While scholarship documents a global rise in such attacks, it predominantly focuses on democracies (e.g., Biroli Reference Biroli2016; Collignon and Rüdig Reference Collignon and Rüdig2020; Erikson, Håkansson, and Josefsson Reference Erikson, Håkansson and Josefsson2023; Håkansson Reference Håkansson2024; Herrick et al. Reference Herrick, Thomas, Franklin, Godwin, Gnabasik and Schroedel2021; Krook Reference Krook2018) or partial democracies with competitive parties (Bjarnegård, Håkansson, and Zetterberg Reference Bjarnegård, Håkansson and Zetterberg2022; White et al. Reference White, Warburton, Hendrawan and Aspinall2024). Far less is known about how VAWIP operates in authoritarian regimes as a routine tool of political control.
We focus on three nonphysical forms of VAWIP that are often overlooked (Krook Reference Krook2022; Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020). Psychological violence involves threats, harassment, and intimidation that undermine women’s mental well-being (e.g., persistent insults, doxxing, threats). Economic violence manipulates or withdraws resources to punish or deter engagement (e.g., denying funds, withholding salaries). Semiotic violence uses language, images, and symbols to render women invisible or unfit for politics (e.g., erasing women from photos, circulating sexualized memes, questioning competence). We argue that these acts are mutually reinforcing: semiotic attacks that frame women as incompetent or illegitimate justify economic and psychological exclusion, while repeated psychological and semiotic abuse leads women to internalize these messages, censor themselves, and even withdraw from politics.
We argue that VAWIP in authoritarian contexts is enabled and shaped by the collusion of two interdependent tools: (1) institutional barriers that isolate women from resources and (2) social structures that legitimize violence to defend patriarchy. First, by institutional barriers, we mean the broad configuration of political parties, electoral rules, candidate selection, and oversight bodies. Authoritarian incumbents often deliberately fragment or co-opt these institutions to limit organized opposition (Gandhi and Lust-Okar Reference Gandhi and Lust-Okar2009; Levitsky and Way Reference Levitsky and Way2010), disproportionately affecting women. In democracies, parties can offset some structural disadvantages by providing nominations, quotas, and shared resources (Caul Reference Caul1999; Norris and Krook Reference Norris and Krook2011; Tripp Reference Tripp2001). Even when parties remain exclusionary, women who secure a party label gain better access to support networks and organizational infrastructure that can mitigate risks (Goyal Reference Goyal2024; Political Party Peer Network 2022). In authoritarian contexts where parties are absent or informal, these institutional defenses are thin (Shalaby Reference Shalaby2025).
This vulnerability is compounded by majoritarian or plurality electoral rules, which emphasize individual candidates and are more common in authoritarian states (Cheng and Noh Reference Cheng and Noh2024). Unlike proportional systems that can shelter women on party lists (Paxton, Hughes, and Painter Reference Paxton, Hughes and Painter2010; Skorge Reference Skorge2023), majoritarian rules individualize competition and privilege personal patronage over party platforms, heightening zero-sum struggles over scarce resources. Accordingly, they incentivize low-cost, deniable attacks. Without institutionalized support, women must navigate personalized, male-dominated networks that are structurally biased against their participation (Bjarnegård Reference Bjarnegård2013; Franceschet and Piscopo Reference Franceschet and Piscopo2014). Consequently, these institutional features not only leave women vulnerable to targeted attacks but also actively sustain their exclusion and the existing power structures.
Second, we examine the social structures that collude with these institutional weaknesses: patriarchal hierarchies and kin-based governance. In nondemocratic settings, regimes often actively co-opt and rely on kinship and communal intermediaries as key mechanisms of governance to bypass formal institutions and distribute rents. In this context, families, tribes, and sectarian communities serve not just as social units but as state intermediaries controlling access to public-sector jobs, welfare, and political office (Bratton and van de Walle Reference Bratton and van de Walle1997; Cammett and Issar Reference Cammett and Issar2010; Charrad Reference Charrad2011; Weiner Reference Weiner2022). These arrangements entrench what Connell (Reference Connell1995) terms the patriarchal dividend: men’s collective advantage in political and economic resources, rooted in their historical control over income, property, and decision-making power (Agarwal Reference Agarwal1994; Brines Reference Brines1994; Bianchi et al. Reference Bianchi, Milkie, Sayer and Robinson2000). Consequently, the regime empowers the existing social structures to act as gatekeepers to women’s public life, making their access mediated, conditional, and revocable.
These dynamics are intensified as women increasingly compete with men in education and employment globally, including in the Gulf (Mosly Reference Mosly2023). As women’s rising resources and aspirations collide with their continued exclusion from decision-making, we posit that VAWIP also functions as a backlash against their advancement, deployed by those invested in preserving traditional gender orders to maintain the patriarchal dividend. Crucially, this violence is intersectional (Kuperberg Reference Kuperberg2018). A woman’s vulnerability depends on her location within sectarian (Sunni vs. Shia), tribal, and class hierarchies. Their kin can act as shields, protecting women from attacks; conversely, the same networks can be enforcers, punishing women who violate patriarchal norms. Thus, overlapping hierarchies not only structure entry into politics but systematically condition whether abuse is challenged or silenced.
Together, these institutional and social dynamics shape VAWIP. State institutions define the arenas and incentives of political life — who can run, what resources are at stake, and what formally counts as misconduct — while their weakness leaves large gaps in protection and accountability. Meanwhile, kin-based networks fill these gaps as de facto gatekeepers and enforcers, determining whose candidacy is backed, whose transgressions are punished, and who can credibly claim protection. Within this configuration, VAWIP operates as the enforcement mechanism to discipline women who attempt to navigate these arenas without patriarchal approval. It affects their entire trajectories, from deterring their initial entry to punishing legislative activity and encouraging withdrawal from office. Therefore, women’s exclusion is not simply a story of failed entry into competitive institutions but a product of recurring gendered coercion embedded in the everyday practices of authoritarian governance.
Our aim is not to simply reassert that patriarchy is ubiquitous in the Gulf or the broader Middle East. While prior scholarship has established how rulers rely on families and tribes to mediate access to the state (Charrad Reference Charrad2001; Weiner Reference Weiner2022), we interrogate how these familiar patriarchal structures function specifically as infrastructure for political violence. A VAWIP lens allows us to distinguish diffuse gender norms from targeted acts of repression, specifying when patriarchal power takes the form of political violence, which women are most exposed to, and how authoritarian institutions and kinship nsetworks shape the frequency and impunity of such attacks.
We term this configuration a patriarchal peace. This concept applies to a subset of authoritarian regimes that present themselves as “peaceful”: polities with low rates of physical violence where rulers seek legitimacy through stability and progress. In these contexts, gains in women’s education and labor participation are highlighted as evidence of benign modernization (Müller and Camia Reference Müller and Camia2023). However, these “positivities” are often weaponized to mask ongoing disempowerment, as nonphysical violence replaces overt repression in managing women’s political ambition. Physical attacks remain rare, but psychological, semiotic, and economic violence function as routine, low-visibility tools for disciplining women and signaling the limits of acceptable participation.
The concept of patriarchal peace also clarifies our scope conditions. We expect to observe similar patterns of nonphysical VAWIP where three features coincide: (i) formal checks and complaint mechanisms are weak; (ii) kinship or clientelistic networks broker access to political resources; and (iii) regimes seek to avoid overt repression to preserve a benign international image. Women may be formally invited into politics but systematically constrained through subtle, deniable attacks. In the remainder of the article, we show how Kuwait exemplifies this configuration, offering a lens to analyze similar dynamics in other “peaceful” authoritarian and hybrid regimes.
The Case of Kuwait
Kuwait is an ideal case for analyzing the patriarchal peace and VAWIP. Often portrayed as the Gulf’s most democratic monarchy, it combines a vibrant elected National Assembly ( Majlis al-Umma ) with high levels of citizen engagement and organized opposition activity (Herb Reference Herb2014; Noh Reference Noh2024a; Tavana Reference Tavana2026) and a public image of safety and low crime (World Population Review 2024).Footnote 4 The state highlights women’s educational and professional gains to signal progress, even as it systematically discourages their genuine empowerment to maintain male dominance. This apparent electoral vibrancy and low overt repression coexist with the institutional void central to our theory; parties are not formally recognized, and all candidates must run as independents (Shalaby Reference Shalaby2025). This enforced individualism was deepened by the 2012 adoption of the Single Non-Transferable Vote (SNTV), which entrenched individualized, patronage-based, zero-sum competition. This configuration disadvantages women by restricting the organizational shields that protect politicians in other systems.
Deepening these institutional constraints, Kuwait’s patriarchal, kin-based networks act as de facto gatekeepers. Political mobilization is organized around tribal, sectarian, and personal networks often anchored in the diwaniyya, a male-dominated social gathering practice (and space itself) that functions as a primary venue for information exchange, election campaigning, and alliance building. This culture helps sustain Kuwait’s image as a “liberal” autocracy. For women, however, exclusion from the diwaniyya is a central mechanism for the patriarchal peace.
Within this landscape, women enter politics from a structurally disadvantaged position. Women only gained suffrage and candidacy rights in 2005, making them recent entrants into a competitive field already dominated by male incumbents. These disadvantages are compounded by the influence of Islamist movements, including the Islamic Constitutional Movement (Hadas) and Salafist groups. They advocate for a patriarchal division of labor, restrictions on women’s working hours, and gender segregation in education (Al-Mughni Reference Al-Mughni2010; Freer Reference Freer2015; Maktabi Reference Maktabi2017; Rizzo Reference Rizzo2017), reinforcing norms that cast women’s political leadership as a transgression of established social hierarchies.
These structural barriers coexist with pronounced status inconsistency. Kuwaiti girls outperform boys in completing secondary education, and women constitute a majority of public-sector employees, even in the Kuwait Petroleum Corporation (Kuwait Government Online 2025; World Bank 2025). Despite such educational and professional mobility, women remain marginal in elected office. While women have increasingly been appointed to the municipal council, ministerial posts, and the judiciary, (Al-Sharekh Reference Al-Sharekh2020; Mudhawi’s List and Ibtikar Strategic Consultancy 2022), they remain severely underrepresented in these bodies relative to their presence in the labor force and civil service. More starkly, women’s representation in the National Assembly has fluctuated between 0 and 4 percent since 2013 — no more than two women in a 50-member chamber, after a brief peak of four in 2009. This discrepancy provides fertile ground for backlash, as women’s bids for office are perceived as overstepping gendered boundaries.
Crucially, female politicians in Kuwait are not a monolith. Their exposure to violence is conditioned by intersecting hierarchies of tribe, sect, and class. As our framework suggests, these social locations determine who is seen as a legitimate representative and who can claim protection. For example, women from urban upper-class families can benefit from having powerful patrons who facilitate their access to resources (Tétreault, Rizzo, and Shultziner Reference Tétreault, Rizzo, Shultziner, Arenfeldt and Golley2012). In contrast, women from marginalized class, tribal, and sectarian backgrounds face sharper risks, as their candidacies threaten both gender norms and existing power balances. Such intersectional hierarchies thus structure not only access to politics but also the impunity with which violence is deployed against the most vulnerable.
The forms of violence we document, including online harassment, shaming, erasure of women’s work, are familiar from studies of female politicians elsewhere. What is distinctive is their configuration and political function in this setting. By configuration we mean which forms dominate (nonphysical rather than physical), where they occur (diwaniyyas, family and tribal networks, social media, parliament), who deploys them (relatives, tribal leaders, voters, other MPs), and how they unfold (repeated, low-visibility attacks rather than headline news). By political function, we refer to how these attacks discipline women’s behavior and signal the boundaries of acceptable participation without visible crackdowns. Meanwhile, these practices help sustain patriarchal rule and preserve Kuwait’s international image of stability and gradual reform.
Research Design
To examine how institutional and social barriers enable VAWIP in Kuwait, we adopt a qualitative approach using in-depth, semi-structured interviews. This method centers women’s lived experiences, capturing nuanced and sensitive dynamics such as familial pressure and private online harassment that are often overlooked in quantitative inquiry (Hesse-Biber Reference Hesse-Biber2012; Restrepo Sanín Reference Restrepo Sanín2023). Furthermore, interviews foster the rapport necessary for candid discussions in a close-knit society (Mosley Reference Mosley and Mosley2013). Given Kuwait’s small assembly and the limited number of elected women (only eight elected to date), a large-N study is infeasible. Interviews thus offer the most viable method for testing our proposed mechanisms.
Data collection took place between 2016 and 2024, a period encompassing key political events that illuminated VAWIP tactics. We employed a combination of purposive and snowball sampling, initially approaching all women who had ever held elected office; our sample includes five of these eight elected women. Subsequently, we used referrals to recruit men and women in adjacent political roles. In line with recent scholarship calling for a broader conception of political engagement (Krook Reference Krook2020; Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020), we define “women in politics” to include not only elected officials but also candidates, bureaucrats, and activists.
This broad sampling strategy allows us to capture the full scope of political engagement and subsequent barriers. Unsuccessful candidates speak directly to entry barriers and campaign-period pressures. Bureaucrats shed light on gendered harassment and retaliation in everyday interactions with ministers and MPs. Activists reveal how nonphysical violence constrains women’s political participation even before or outside of formal office. Crucially, we include male politicians not merely as perpetrators but as a comparative baseline, allowing us to distinguish everyday politics from intentional, gendered violence.
Our final sample consists of 35 participants: 17 women and 18 men. This includes 10 current and former members of parliament (5 women, 5 men), 3 unsuccessful parliamentary candidates, 6 bureaucrats, and 18 activists; categories are not mutually exclusive. To maximize variation and test our intersectional framework, recruitment was guided by a diversity of backgrounds: Sunni and Shia sects, urban and rural, major tribes (Awazem, Ajman), and diverse socioeconomic classes. This variation allows us to analyze how exposure to VAWIP is conditioned not only by gender but by the intersection of sect, tribe, and class. Please see Appendix for interview questions, detailed demographics, and ethics statement.Footnote 5
All accounts analyzed below meet the VAWIP criteria outlined by Krook and Restrepo Sanín (Reference Krook and Sanín2020); they occur in explicitly political arenas (campaigns, parliamentary debates, bureaucratic decision-making), target women as women or for overstepping gendered boundaries, and have the aim or effect of discouraging political participation. We use these criteria to distinguish gendered attacks from general political aggression. Following Bardall, Bjarnegård, and Piscopo (Reference Bardall, Bjarnegård and Piscopo2020), we are also attentive to the dimensions of motives, forms, and impacts, assessing in the conclusion how the Kuwaiti case extends this framework to the authoritarian context.
Institutional Barriers: The Authoritarian Architecture of Exclusion
The first pillar of the patriarchal peace in Kuwait is the institutional void created by the state’s fragmentation of political life. Our interviews reveal how this void creates a distinct gendered cost. Without party structures, women are stripped of the organizational infrastructure necessary to compete, unlike male peers who can tap into established social networks and diwaniyyas. As one former candidate explained, “Without a party, I had to build my campaign from the ground up, all on my own. I didn’t have the support system or financial backing that male candidates typically enjoy” (F9). Another former candidate noted how the absence of parties denies women a policy shield, leaving them exposed to attacks: “Without a party platform, whatever women say is seen as their individual opinion and can be harshly criticized. There are no [political, economic, or social policy] issues women can stand behind without party support” (F6). Such enforced isolation fundamentally hinders women’s ability to organize campaign events, secure funding, and weather the political attacks.
Women are additionally hurt by the Single Non-Transferable Vote (SNTV) system, used to elect parliament from 2012 to 2024. Under the previous four-vote system, voters could support a mix of candidates, leading to the highest number of women in parliament in 2009. A male MP reflected, “[When people had four votes,] I know many voted for two men and two women, or three men and one woman” (M14). He added that under this system, votes were harder to manipulate and less dependent on wasta (personal connections), which may have further benefited women. This point was also echoed by female MPs who won under the earlier rules.
The shift to a single vote, however, discouraged voters from choosing women (F1, F7, F13, F14, F15). A female MP elected under the SNTV system noted, “People didn’t want to ‘waste’ their one vote on a woman,” highlighting how the system’s design exacerbates gender disparities. She added, “Even those who agree with my policies hesitate to tick a woman’s name on the ballot. People are just brought up this way.” She added that in a recent election, although 61% of women voted, only 0.5% of women cast their single ballot for a woman (F2).Footnote 6 Moreover, the practice of tribal primaries or tashawuriyya (or far’iyyah) to consolidate tribal votes behind a single candidate further operates as de facto gatekeepers. While officially illegal, tribal primaries are widespread and influential. These primaries are explicitly patriarchal as women are excluded from running and, in many tribes, from voting. Accordingly, a path to enter politics is sealed off for women before campaigns even begin.
Finally, the absence of gender quotas removes the institutional lever that could fast-track women’s entry. While proponents strongly argued that quotas were necessary to “inspire” and “re-encourage” women’s participation (F1, F13), the debate itself has been co-opted by the logic of the patriarchal peace. Skepticism remains widespread, echoing broader variation in public support for gender quotas across MENA contexts (Noh and Shalaby Reference Noh and Shalaby2024). One male interviewee remarked that “women should earn their votes and positions” (M18), a sentiment echoed by both female and male respondents (M15, F2, F7, F8). Others feared that “quotas would only be good for Hadas,” reflecting fears that well-organized Islamist factions could dominate and misuse such measures (F12).Footnote 7 Most tellingly, activists noted that prominent figures, such as a former Speaker of the National Assembly, advocated for quotas primarily to burnish Kuwait’s international image. During a visit by European Parliament member Hannah Neumann, a vocal proponent of gender quotas, the Speaker publicly supported quotas despite what interviewees described as his personal “hostility” to gender equality. One activist remarked, “[The Speaker] is not in the least supportive of women’s rights… he even questions the gender program at Kuwait University. He detests the term ‘gender’ and anything related to it” (F11). Others pointed out that his support for quotas might be motivated by a desire to please the European Union and secure Schengen access, which would please his political base (F13). This cynicism underscores the core tension of the patriarchal peace, in which reforms are proposed not to empower women but to modernize the regime’s image, leaving the structural exclusion intact (Noh, Grewal, and Kilavuz Reference Noh, Grewal and Kilavuz2024).
Social Barriers: Patriarchal Networks as Gatekeepers
While institutional voids create vulnerability, Kuwait’s social structures — specifically the diwaniyya and kinship networks — actively enforce exclusion. In the absence of formal parties, these male-dominated networks function as the primary infrastructure for political mobilization and brokerage. Consequently, they act as de facto gatekeepers, reinforcing patriarchal norms and determining who can legitimately access political power.
The diwaniyya is central to this dynamic. For men, it is an essential mechanism for political transaction, socialization, and even job offers (F1, M7). During election seasons, male MPs often attend several diwaniyyas daily to build alliances and secure votes (M10, M14, M17). For women, however, access is structurally restricted. As one activist remarked, “Why can’t women succeed in politics? The answer is simple: lack of opportunities [like the diwaniyya]…In the diwaniyya, male voters have access to MPs, and male MPs have access to their constituents” (F15). This exclusion denies women the same opportunities for direct engagement with voters and the ability to garner political support.
As a result, women often rely on mediated access. One activist described texting questions to a male friend, a fellow activist, inside a prominent politician’s diwaniyya because she could not enter herself. While she appreciated his help, she expressed frustration at having to rely on a male intermediary to engage in important political discourse. “I was upset that I couldn’t be there directly,” she said. “But I’m also rare in that I even had this kind of access, as I have a male friend, and one who’s willing to do this for me.” While female and co-ed diwaniyyas have emerged, they focus more on cultural or thematic discussions rather than the direct political networking and decision-making that define traditional male-only diwaniyyas (F1).
Even elected female MPs face this barrier. One former female MP recounted an instance where a male MP informed her of an important meeting at his diwaniyya, acknowledging that she could not attend. “But you can tell me what you want, and I’ll relay the message to the others,” he said. She respectfully declined his offer. She also questioned, “If they cannot be in the same space with us, how will they be in the parliament with us?” (F2). Crucially, this exclusion is intersectional, as a female MP from a minority sect faced total exclusion. Unlike her Sunni colleague, she was never even informed of such gatherings, attributing this double exclusion to her sectarian background (F2). Thus, gender and sect collude to shape both access to informal arenas and the intensity of exclusion.
This systematic exclusion directly deprives substantive representation. One activist recounted a parliamentary session when no women were elected where “seventeen men got up and left the room when domestic violence issue was up for discussion [in parliament]…Then they appointed three bearded men to the committee, with the head from Hadas and two Salafi, tribal members.” However, she noted that, “What’s odd was they were actually in support of removing Article 153 [of Kuwait’s penal code that justifies honor killings], which gave the [Abolish 153] movement more credibility” (F13). While the men eventually backtracked, claiming “not many women get killed,” (F13) this account highlights additional challenges of marginalization. First, without descriptive representation, women’s issues are ignored or co-opted by male elites who control the legislative agenda. Second, even when addressing women’s issues, male support is necessary for these issues to gain broader traction in society (F11, F13).
In this context, family support is pivotal in enabling or obstructing women’s political survival. As one activist noted, “If you don’t have support from your family and your tribe, you’re doomed” (F1). Support from fathers or husbands was often described as most crucial. The activist shared, “My father is the only one who supports me in the family. My mother and father’s families are both very conservative, but my father is different. He openly supports my work at home, in family gatherings, and even in public. He reposts all my tweets and is proud of what I do. So, no one [in the extended family] dares criticize me, because that would be like criticizing my father” (F1). Another activist also echoed: “My husband encouraged me to pursue my [activism] career. He is proud of me and respects me. Family support is very important” (F7). Indeed, almost all female interviewees described some combination of support from their father or husband, perhaps explaining their ability to remain active in politics.
Nonetheless, extended families and tribes can also act as enforcers of patriarchal boundaries. One former MP explained, “My immediate family supported me from Day 1 and believed in me and my policies. My extended family did not. They worried about me tainting their family name and feared that ‘our daughters’ would be attacked…They believed the political field was for men” (F2). Consequently, her political opponents weaponized her family’s resistance to attack her legitimacy, underscoring the weight of kinship in Kuwaiti politics. However, as her extended family gradually came to fully endorse her in subsequent campaigns, she won the election for the first time, demonstrating the decisive role of familial backing in women’s success.
Relatedly, women who defy tribal or sectarian expectations face backlash. A former candidate explained that she ran against her family and sectarian community, which may have contributed to her loss. “I did not want to run as my sect’s candidate because I wanted to be a representative for all. I refused to speak for the rights of my sect, and this caused me a backlash” (F9). She primarily campaigned on women’s rights, including Kuwaiti women’s right to pass citizenship to their children but was unsuccessful. She was criticized by both her sect for “betraying” her community and by broader voters from the other sect for questionable loyalty to the country. Similarly, another unsuccessful female candidate recounted, “My tribe didn’t support my candidacy. The men believed I was stepping outside the boundaries of what a woman should do, and that resistance created an uphill battle” (F6). These accounts highlight how kinship networks discipline women who refuse to conform to their assigned roles, using social pressure to punish intersectional transgression.
Interviewees also highlighted how these institutional and social barriers normalize women’s marginalization long before they enter formal politics. For instance, institutional policies reinforce that payments to a “couple” are made to the husband, or laws regulating women’s professions to “protect femininity” (F1). This socialization into exclusion begins early. Despite consistently outperforming male students academically, girls face persistent gatekeeping, such as medical school acceptance rates that tend to favor men (F15). Similarly, the president of Kuwait University’s Student Union is always male, while the vice president is female (M6). By normalizing women’s legal, educational, and professional subordination, these barriers justify later attacks on women’s political leadership.
Structure to Exclusion: VAWIP in Kuwait
While overt physical or sexual attacks are rare, Kuwaiti women in public life described a relentless pattern of economic, psychological, and semiotic violence that accompanies women’s attempts to enter and remain in politics.Footnote 8 These nonphysical attacks serve as a powerful deterrent, raising the cost of participation so high that it prevents women from running altogether or forces their withdrawal. Women were acutely aware that their mere presence on the political stage disrupted the status quo. As one female politician reflected on the initial 2006 campaigns: “We knew it would be tough, right? There was no ear for women, society didn’t want to hear anything from us. But our objective was—even if we don’t win—we need to make a point to society that women can compete, can campaign, and can participate in elections as candidates. We have something to say! …Here are women running, exercising our rights!” (F16). This very act of attempting to enter is what triggers the violence. As we show below, the institutional and social barriers discussed in the previous section do not just exist in the background; they actively configure specific forms of attacks. Though these forms overlap, we disaggregate them to show how they cumulatively undermine women’s agency.
Psychological Violence
The most visible manifestation of VAWIP in Kuwait is psychological violence, defined as acts that “inflict trauma on individuals’ mental state or emotional well-being” (Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020, 744). Institutional arrangements discussed earlier, especially the lack of party backing and formal complaint mechanisms, dictate how this violence unfolds. Female politicians and activists described sustained harassment, ranging from death threats to public shaming and character attacks. Several women explicitly linked these attacks to their isolation, noting that perpetrators knew there would be no real consequences.
This vulnerability is exacerbated by the media’s response to the institutional void. Because women cannot run on established party platforms, the media often lacks a policy framework through which to view them. Consequently, coverage disproportionately focuses on their personal lives. As one female activist observed, “When a male candidate runs, the media focuses on his policies and leadership potential. For women, the focus shifts to their personal lives or family backgrounds” (F14). Female MPs and candidates consistently echoed these concerns, stressing how the media bias diminishes their credibility and agency: “Throughout my career, I faced constant attacks on my character, with many questioning my leadership ability based on my gender. The focus was never on my policies. It was always about how a woman could not be a strong leader” (F2). The toll is particularly high for more secular and liberal politicians, especially those who advocate for women’s rights. They are frequently targeted by Islamist groups such as Hadas, which deploy religious rhetoric to frame women’s participation as “un-Islamic” (F1, F2, F4, F6, F7, F8, F9, F13, F16). By contrast, male politicians generally report policy-based criticism (M3, M5).
For many women, psychological violence also intrudes into their private sphere. One prominent women’s rights activist shared a range of violence and harassment she experienced (F4). She described how she often receives threats, harassment, and intimidation from strangers both online and offline. One particularly shocking incident occurred when she received a late-night phone call: “I got a call late at night. I usually answer as late-night calls often have to do with a woman in distress…A man said, ‘I want at you’…and kept calling three or four times. My husband finally took the call. ‘This is her husband…Can you give me your name so that I can facilitate this for you?’ And the man just panicked and hung up” (F4). Such calls were so common that she did not consider reporting them. While such acts often cross the boundary into criminally prosecutable behavior, women rarely view legal redress as realistic. Rather, women fear that pursuing formal complaints will only lead to further stigma or escalation. Harassers also targeted their patriarchal “guardians” directly, contacting their father to urge him to “stop her” and “restrain her” (F4). Across interviews, women described similar efforts to pressure fathers and husbands to intervene, turning the household into an extension of the political arena.
The rise of social media has further exacerbated these dynamics, turning platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat into battlegrounds for libel and rumors. A former MP noted how online rumors often questioned women’s educational credentials and professional qualifications. “Every now and then, one of my old speeches surfaces on Twitter, edited unfairly to discredit me” (F12). Another former candidate was even taken to court based on false claims made online (F9). A former MP recalled, “At the beginning, I was shocked by how aggressive people were in attacking me…My opponents even launched paid campaigns to target me on social media” (F2). Her response was to build her own social media presence to counteract these attacks, opting to bypass traditional media entirely.
Interestingly, our interviews suggest a specific pattern in the rumors directed at female politicians or candidates. While honor-based slander exists, attacks on competence were often more pervasive. Women repeatedly described rumors claiming their degrees or professional experiences were fake. We posit that, from a perpetrator’s perspective, questioning a woman’s qualifications is a low-risk strategy, as it can render her politically illegitimate without provoking the explosive tribal or familial retaliation that attacks on honor might trigger.
For activists, psychological harassment is also widespread. One prominent activist reported being mocked as an “old woman” and called “a cow” along with her fellow activists when they rang bells in front of the parliament demanding gender equality (F4). Abuse also targeted her sect and origin, but she emphasized that gendered insults were the most frequent. Public solidarity was limited. “While I do have support, it’s mostly through private messages on social media. Very few are willing to publicly advocate for me.” Another woman shared, “The harassment I face online is constant. It’s not just about my ideas; it’s about my identity as a woman advocating for change. The threats and insults come from both political opponents and members of the public who see me as a threat and a troublemaker” (F6). Her decision to run outside her tribe’s preferred candidate label allowed opponents to frame her candidacy as betrayal, a dynamic echoed by other women who challenged tribal or sectarian expectations. As one activist reflected, “You find yourself second-guessing everything you say or do, wondering if the backlash is worth it” (F1). Male respondents generally acknowledged that women face more intense and personalized abuse online. However, some framed this violence as “expected,” presenting it as a predictable reaction of a conservative society to women who challenge traditional gender roles (M18).
Faced with relentless online and offline harassment, some women retreat from public life. One former MP stated that she has no plans to run for office again (F16), and interviewees noted that the number of female candidates has declined in recent elections (F13). Another activist described taking a break to reassess her work (F8), while others reported actively seeking opportunities abroad (F4, F6). These withdrawals reflect the cumulative psychological toll of VAWIP, as constant attacks become not only a personal burden but also a structural barrier to sustained engagement in public life.
Semiotic Violence
Beyond psychological attacks, women in Kuwait face significant semiotic violence: the use of language, images, and symbolic acts to injure and discipline women, publicly signaling that they do not belong as equal political actors (Krook Reference Krook2022; Krook and Restrepo Sanín Reference Krook and Sanín2020). In line with Krook’s (Reference Krook2022) framework, this violence operates through two recurring modes: rendering women invisible and rendering them incompetent. These are not merely individual insults but public acts that send a message to the entire electorate about women’s proper place.
The structural exclusion from male-dominated spaces, particularly diwaniyyas, creates the fertile ground for this erasure. Because decisions are often made in rooms where women are absent, male politicians can erase women’s contributions without any rebuttal. Interviews noted how frequently men engage in “credit-claiming,” systematically disregarding women’s contributions. A prominent women’s rights group shared an example. After they spent years establishing a shelter for survivors of domestic violence, a male minister took credit for the entire project, even dominating the ribbon-cutting ceremony (F1, F15). Such erasure reinforces the notion that women may contribute behind the scenes but are not primary figures in politics (Krook Reference Krook2022).
When women cannot be ignored, they are often framed as inherently unfit for leadership. This violence relies on the semiotic construction of politics as a masculine domain. One former female MP described her biggest challenge as “patriarchy and mentality,” explaining that “people want tough men, stereotypical politicians. Politics is for men, not a job for women” (F2). Such narratives perpetuate how the “society trusts men over women” (F5) and convince voters that supporting a woman is a “waste” (F2), because she creates a cognitive dissonance in a space designed for men. One former candidate even acquiesced, “Politics is no place for women,” showing signs of internalizing the narrative. She revealed her disillusionment with the political sphere, stating, “I didn’t used to think we needed quotas, but after my experience, I realized women cannot win without quotas” (F6).
Another cluster of semiotic attacks revolves around corruption and elitism, which delegitimize women as self-interested outsiders. Women running for office are often accused of seeking personal gain or harboring hidden agendas, criticisms rarely directed at their male counterparts (F2). She recounted being implicated in vague allegations of misusing funds or trading support for material benefits, even when no evidence was produced and similar deals involving male MPs were treated as routine (F2, F5). In this sense, such gendered accusations in Kuwait complicate the familiar “clean women” trope found in some MENA contexts. Instead of being presumed less corrupt because they have had less access to office, elite women in Kuwait are singled out as especially self-interested and thus undeserving of office. This skepticism is amplified for women from privileged backgrounds, who are frequently dismissed as “elite” and out of touch with important issues such as employment and housing (F5, F13). Surprisingly, many male interviewees, even those who were democracy activists, criticized certain female MPs or activists for being “elite.” However, when speaking about their male counterparts, many of whom also came from wealthy families, no one mentioned their wealth as a point of criticism.
These double standards extend to how women’s policy agendas are perceived. Many successful female politicians reported strategically emphasizing issues considered “feminine” and therefore socially acceptable, such as education, health, family, and maternity, rather than more controversial topics such as women’s rights. Some noted that wearing the hijab helped them attract support from conservative and Islamist voters, including women, while secular candidates reported disadvantages linked to not wearing it (F2, F10, F12).Footnote 9 At the same time, some male interviewees dismissed women’s platforms as narrowly focused on “women’s issues.” As one put it, “Women don’t get more traction because they restrict issues to women’s only issues. What about corruption? Education? Employment? Housing? Women already have many rights…Look at the women in parliament. What did they do?” (M18). This framing simultaneously pushes women into a constrained, “safe” issue space and then belittles those very issues as secondary.
These biases were not solely perpetuated by men. Activists from a women’s rights organization shared a chilling example. When they attended the funeral of a femicide victim, other women expressed anger, accusing the activists of suggesting that Kuwait was unsafe by raising awareness of femicide. “Many of these women said they had never experienced any harassment in Kuwait,” the activists explained (F1, F15). Such responses underscore the depth of the patriarchal peace. Semiotic violence can be internalized, as some women dismiss others’ experiences and delegitimize efforts to name gender-based violence, thereby reinforcing the very norms that constrain them.
Economic Violence
Alongside psychological and semiotic attacks, Kuwaiti women in politics also face economic violence, or the use or withholding of material resources to discipline, punish, or sideline them. This includes barriers to campaign finance, unequal access to clientelistic networks, and constraints on funding for women’s rights advocacy. Campaigning is costly everywhere, but particularly so in Kuwait. Campaign expenses typically start at 150,000 Kuwaiti dinars (about $500,000), with individual events often costing upward of 3,000 dinars ($10,000), drawing thousands of attendees (Kuwait Transparency Society 2008; Lebel Reference Lebel2020; Al-Khuweildi Reference Al-Khuweildi2024). Many female interviewees estimated that 150,000 dinars was the bare minimum, with some male politicians mentioning spending much higher amounts. For women without prior public recognition, the challenge is twofold: they need to organize more events to gain visibility, yet securing the necessary funds to do so remains a major obstacle.
In this context, tribal and kinship networks structure economic coercion. Because formal parties are absent, candidates depend on male relatives and tribal brokers to access funds, venues, and vote-buying networks. Those same actors can withhold or withdraw support when women refuse directives, push controversial issues, or distance themselves from their tribe or sect. One former MP, for example, described rejecting a demand to pay 300 Kuwaiti dinars (about $1,000) per vote for a family of ten, highlighting the pressures to participate in costly and informal practices (F2). Vote buying in Kuwait is formally illegal yet widely reported (Kuwait Transparency Society 2008; Bertelsmann Stiftung 2024; Cost of Politics 2024). Women also noted that while male candidates can engage in such practices with relatively little reputational damage, women risk being publicly shamed if they do so, further narrowing their options (F3).
By contrast, male candidates benefit from extensive tribal, sectarian, and other informal networks that offer financial and logistical support. Successful male politicians frequently highlighted backing from powerful blocs or coalitions that mobilized voters and provided essential resources (M9, M14, M17). Much of their campaign funding came from individual donors, with little to no transparency, as disclosure was not required. Several male interviewees also acknowledged the exclusion of women from these networks, which forces women to navigate a political landscape marked by inequality.
Economic constraints also shape the work of women’s rights activists. Many civil society organizations that advocate for women’s rights are constrained by external funding restrictions and rely on government funding, which comes with restrictions. These organizations are prohibited from endorsing specific political candidates or attending political events as an entity, which severely restricts their ability to engage in political advocacy. While they can meet with politicians and invite them to events, they are not allowed to discuss specific policies with MPs (F15). The combination of financial constraints and the absence of democratic institutions in Kuwait makes it challenging for women’s rights activists to effectively carry out their work.
Together, the case of Kuwait reveals how weak formal institutions and entrenched societal barriers jointly channel VAWIP into psychological, semiotic, and economic forms. While we do not deny the possibility of physical and sexual attacks, our interviews indicate that these more subtle forms of violence are the routine mechanism through which women are disciplined in a “peaceful” autocracy. They raise the costs of entering and remaining in politics, selectively punish women who transgress gendered and kinship boundaries, and thereby sustain Kuwait’s patriarchal peace by limiting who can credibly act as a political agent.
Conclusion
This study shows how violence against women in politics in Kuwait operates as a gendered mechanism to sustain the authoritarian status quo, enabled by the interaction between hollow democratic institutions and patriarchal social networks. Despite women’s educational and economic gains along with some nominal political rights, exclusion persists through nonphysical violence that masks repression under a veneer of stability. Our qualitative evidence demonstrates how respondents themselves link institutional constraints and kinship hierarchies to their exposure to psychological, semiotic, and economic attacks. We treat this link between such structural voids and nonphysical VAWIP as a theory-building contribution, generating hypotheses for future comparative and quantitative work on authoritarian regimes.
These nonphysical forms of violence are no less damaging. Rather, they are effective precisely because they are cheap, deniable, and well-suited to a regime that seeks to appear “peaceful” and liberalizing. These forms amplify one another to create an atmosphere of intimidation, dampen political participation, and blunt the effectiveness of those women who do reach office. Psychological and semiotic attacks work together to encourage women to internalize messages of incompetence and illegitimacy, while semiotic exclusion justifies economic and psychological sanctions by portraying women as unfit political actors.
Our findings also speak back to key VAWIP frameworks. Broadly, the Kuwaiti evidence affirms Krook and Restrepo Sanín’s (Reference Krook and Sanín2020) conceptualization of VAWIP as behaviors that target women as women with the effect of discouraging participation, extending beyond physical acts to include those that undermine well-being and performance. Every episode we analyze occurs in political arenas, is gendered in its content or justification, and is experienced by respondents as an attempt to police their presence. At the same time, an authoritarian lens suggests a subtle extension to their framework: many attacks do not seek to force immediate resignation or withdrawal but instead work cumulatively to narrow women’s agendas, curb their visibility, and reshape their alliances. In this context, exit is a continuum of containment and self-censorship, ultimately contributing to authoritarian resilience.
Likewise, our analysis underscores Bardall, Bjarnegård, and Piscopo’s (Reference Bardall, Bjarnegård and Piscopo2020) call to disaggregate gendered political violence into motives, forms, and impacts, while illustrating how these elements are uniquely sharpened by an authoritarian setting. The motives revealed in our interviews are strictly protective of the status quo, as perpetrators seek to maintain the dominance of men and kinship networks over the state by sanctioning women who overstep gendered expectations. The forms of this violence are calibrated to a “peaceful” authoritarian context. Rather than physical force, women face psychological harassment, semiotic erasure, and economic retaliation designed to dismantle their legitimacy. The impacts, consequently, diverge sharply along gendered lines: whereas men view these clashes as the routine cost of doing politics, women interpret them as warnings that they are fundamentally unwelcome, leading them to contain their behavior or retreat from politics. Ultimately, this demonstrates that while global frameworks for gendered violence travel well, the specific texture of kinship-based authoritarianism uniquely shapes these motives, forms, and impacts of these attacks.
This brings us to the distinctiveness of the Kuwaiti case. Our contribution does not rest on the claim that Kuwait’s forms of nonphysical violence are unique. What is distinctive, however, is how these familiar repertoires are configured in a wealthy, low-physical-violence authoritarian regime. In Kuwait, nonphysical attacks dominate over physical coercion, clustering in diwaniyyas, kinship networks, social media, and parliament. These appear not as visible crises but as repeated, low-visibility episodes. This configuration disciplines individual women and marks the boundaries of acceptable participation without visible crackdowns. These dynamics jointly constitute what we call a patriarchal peace where overt physical repression is rare but subtle coercion is prevalent, disciplining women’s political ambition while preserving the regime’s image of stability and reform.
Beyond Kuwait, these findings advance how we understand both VAWIP and authoritarianism. Much of the existing VAWIP literature, grounded in democratic or hybrid systems with competitive parties, focuses on candidate recruitment and campaigns as critical moments of exclusion. The Kuwaiti case shows that in non-democratic contexts, psychological, semiotic, and economic attacks are tightly woven into the everyday practices of governance and kinship brokerage. Because these attacks are ubiquitous, normalized, and rarely criminalized, they are often dismissed as “everyday politics” and fall outside dominant measures of repression (Ballington Reference Ballington2018). Our lens recasts these practices as targeted violence that must be incorporated into how scholars evaluate repression and regime resilience. In this sense, patriarchal peace operates as a counterpart to settings where crisis or conflict destabilizes gender hierarchies and creates openings for women’s activism (Ben Shitrit Reference Ben Shitrit2015); low physical violence and narratives of stability help secure existing bargains, channeling resistance into nonphysical forms of VAWIP rather than expanding women’s political leverage.
The implications for policy are stark. VAWIP erodes legitimacy by silencing women’s substantive representation (Krook Reference Krook2017; Restrepo Sanín Reference Restrepo Sanín2018), a pattern visible in Kuwait’s parliament. When such violence is normalized, limited democratic openings become tools of patriarchal control that privilege male voices. Efforts to increase women’s representation often focus on training or quotas while overlooking the patterned nonphysical violence that affects women who step into public life. Effective support must include diagnosing and mitigating such attacks both online and offline, and challenging the norms that legitimize them. Kuwait is not simply a Gulf outlier but a warning that low-visibility repression can coexist with intense gendered coercion unless nonphysical violence is expressly addressed.
Looking ahead, critical questions remain regarding the future of women’s political participation in Kuwait. In May 2024, the Emir of Kuwait dissolved the parliament and suspended several constitutional articles, creating uncertainty about the direction of political reforms. This move underscores how fragile women’s political openings are in authoritarian regimes. When the only elected chamber disappears, opportunities for women to translate professional and activist experience into formal office vanish. Addressing the institutional and social factors that exacerbate VAWIP requires not only political reforms but also shifts in kinship-based and community norms that condition who is seen as a legitimate political actor. Without such comprehensive change, nonphysical violence will continue to discipline women’s ambition and political futures.
Supplementary material
The supplementary material for this article can be found at http://doi.org/10.1017/S1743923X26100828.
Open access
