Imagine this: Sunita (Name changed) has just won Gram Panchayat (local government) elections, which are held to directly elect and form the lowest tier of government in India. She is now the Sarpanch, the elected head, of her village council in rural Madhya Pradesh. On paper, she holds the power to prioritize ensuring drinking water availability for the community, build roads, and ensure government schemes reach the families who need them the most. Her signature is on every official document.
But when there is a phone call from a district official, which is a common method now for communication between higher and lower tiers of governance, she is not the one holding the phone. It is in her husband’s pocket. He answers, listens, and makes a decision. Later, he tells her where to sign or what to do.
This case is not an exception. It is a reality that paints a complex picture of women’s leadership in India. While India has championed women’s political representation, bringing over 1.4 million women into local governance, a persistent question remains: Does a seat at the table guarantee a voice?
Our recent interviews with 81 Sarpanches in one of the districts of a central state in India reveal a story of two starkly different realities. When we asked the male sarpanches if they had the final say in village decisions, 90% said yes. When we asked the women the same question, only 18% felt they had that ultimate authority. These patterns echo a broader national concern highlighted in the Report, “Transforming Women’s Representation and Roles in Panchayati Raj Systems and Institutions: Eliminating Efforts for Proxy Participation” by The Ministry of Panchayati Raj (MoPR), Government of India (GoI)1.
What is standing in the way of decision-making by women leaders? Often, it is the powerful, invisible force of “proxyism,” where male relatives exercise power on behalf of the elected woman. And surprisingly, the very tool we think of as an equalizer, the mobile phone, is playing a complicated role.
An Efficiency Upgrade for Patriarchy?
A mobile phone would mean a gateway to independence, in the form of communication, for a woman leader. It offers a direct line to officials and other elected members, a way to share information with villagers via mediums such as WhatsApp, and it can also provide access to a world of information.
For some, it is exactly that. But for many women we spoke to, the mobile phone has become an instrument of control. It has, in effect, given patriarchy and cooptation of their power by their male kins an “efficiency upgrade.”
One woman Sarpanch told us that because she doesn’t control the phone, she is not the one who receives information about official meetings with block or district officials. She said: “That also comes to my husband.” Another was even more direct: “My husband looks after most of the work… he handles everything.” Her husband even attends the meetings for her
In this system, the proxy no longer needs to be physically present to control the narrative. He can manage everything remotely, turning his wife’s official position into a role performed via his device.
Why women sarpanches don’t use phones
The numbers from our interviews are telling. While every single male Sarpanch (100%) interviewed owns a phone and uses it for Panchayat work, less than half of the women (44%) from the interview sample own a phone, and only a quarter (26%) use it for their official duties.
The reasons comprise a tangled web of social norms, low confidence, and a lack of digital literacy. “I don’t know how to use the phone much,” one woman admitted, “I just dial the number and make the call.” Another woman’s husband actively discouraged her from using his smartphone, telling her, “Don’t mess something up.”
This gap in usage is not just about making calls; it is about access to the entire machinery of governance. All the male Sarpanches that we spoke to talked about how they use the Panchayat Darpan App – an app designed by the government to monitor their Gram Panchayats’ budget receipts and expenditures and various other details related to sanctioned work in their Panchayat.
This digital access, via mobile phones, also helps build crucial support networks. Male Sarpanches are connected with block and district officials via WhatsApp groups, receiving real-time updates. They also have such groups with other male Sarpanches. When we asked if women Sarpanches were in these groups, we were told that, almost always, it is their male kin, mostly husbands, who are included.
Furthermore, the male Sarpanches are using these tools with a high degree of skill. One of the male Sarpanches also shared how he records video messages about various government schemes to share them with the citizens of his Gram Panchayat over WhatsApp groups. This is one step ahead of sharing updates via WhatsApp text messages, particularly for many such citizens who are unable to read.
This is the world of mobile phones, which promises a plethora of information, efficiency, and peer support, that many women Sarpanches are locked out of. More interestingly, it is not just due to a lack of a device, but driven by the low skills and, more than that, the lack of agency to use the mobile phones.
Promise for a Different Future
But that’s not the whole story. Hidden within these challenging narratives are powerful glimmers of hope.
Meet the woman Sarpanch who used to be a cook for a school’s mid-day meal program. Today, she confidently uses her own phone to coordinate directly with local MLAs and other Sarpanches. Or the former Anganwadi (childcare) worker who now runs a village WhatsApp group to keep her citizens informed. When we called over a hundred women Sarpanches to schedule interviews, only four answered the phone themselves. These two women were among them. The rest were answered either by their husband, son, father-in-law, or brother-in-law.
For these two women Sarpanches, who have prior work experience, using or accessing mobile phones isn’t a challenge; it is a means to function efficiently as elected leaders of their Gram Panchayats.
Another Sarpanch, who answered the phone herself, when asked about the significance of the phone for panchayat work during the interview, mentioned that “There are multiple works that a Sarpanch has to do, I cannot be running everywhere, the issues that can be addressed over phone are taken care over phone calls only… It helps save time & energy…”. And when asked about, since when has she been owning a personal phone, if she got one only after becoming the Sarpanch, she answered that she has been using a phone even before becoming the Sarpanch. Clearly, these incidents, however small in number, highlight the significance of exposure, which plays a vital role in agency and confidence-building for women.
Their experiences demonstrate that when women acquire relevant skills, be it as basic as knowing how to use a smartphone and developing the self-belief in their capacity to utilize it, they may be better positioned to assert a more substantive role in their elected office. This empowerment can offer a means of circumventing or lessening the control of traditional (often male) intermediaries, thereby enhancing their effectiveness as leaders.
So, as we look to deepen democracy at the grassroots, the challenge is clear. It is not enough to simply bridge the digital divide by handing over phones to women. The government, with the support of civil society, must also invest in building their confidence, skills, and support networks. The goal is to ensure that when the official phone rings, it is the Sarpanch herself who answers, ready to lead.
