Under the lofty peaks and ancient monasteries of the land of the Thunder Dragon, Bhutan, the promise of “gross national happiness” rings through valleys and city streets alike. Yet beneath that tranquil surface, the reflection of women’s representation in politics is cracked. Today, despite a respectable presence of women in the civil service, their voice in elected leadership remains faint, if not fading.
Recent data show that while the Royal Civil Service Commission (RCSC) recorded 30,025 civil servants in 2024-25 — of whom 12,390 (~41%) were women — only nine women currently serve as gups (village cluster leaders), just two were elected to the 4th National Assembly of Bhutan, and merely one woman was elected to the National Council of Bhutan. At first glance the numbers hint at near parity; in reality they underline a yawning gap at decision-making levels.
Of course, the cultural lens of Bhutan must come into view. In Dzongkha the term “gewog” (དགའ་འོག་) refers to a block or group of villages; the term “gup” (གུབ་) denotes its elected head. That only nine women hold the role of gup across the country speaks to structural and societal hurdles. The 2024 – 25 Annual Report notes women often fear the “social consequences of losing an election” and the requirement to resign from their jobs to contest elections leaves many trapped in a risky wager: “if they are not elected, they have no choice but to depend on their husbands,” as gup Sangay Lham aptly put it.
Bhutan’s own benchmark for inclusive governance is growing more distant. A 2022 report by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) concluded women’s representation in decision-making roles in public administration was only 20.4%, even though women made up 40% of the civil service. Further back, in 2018 women comprised 15.2% of members of Parliament — better than previous years but still below global averages.
Why this stasis? Among the factors flagged by stakeholders: onerous campaign financing — local government candidates must often self-fund, which disproportionately affects women who may lack independent financial means. Social norms and stereotypes persist: the notion that politics is a domain for men — that “a gup should be male” — continues to shadow women’s aspirations. On the other hand, women leaders highlight a distinct value-add: they often bring a different style to governance, perhaps more attuned to household-level dynamics, as one female leader noted that women are more comfortable bringing up “personal grievances” and manage communal finances with “prudence” akin to household budgeting.
Culturally, Bhutan is in transitional terrain. Concepts such as “nangi-aum” (ནང་གི་ཨུམ་), historically associating women with home sphere and men with public activities, still echo in political behaviour and public sentiment. The Constitution of Bhutan (2008) and the commission established to oversee women’s and children’s issues (the National Commission for Women and Children, NCWC) set the stage for gender equality, but the journey from formal rights to meaningful representation remains slow.
In this context, Bhutan’s priorities seem clear. Capacity-building efforts are underway: for example, in mid-2025 the RCSC and UNDP trained some 30 female civil-service HR officers in digital leadership and gender-inclusive governance. And the UNDP’s “Gender Equality in Public Administration” report (Sept. 2024) recommends the use of temporary special measures, gender-friendly human-resource committees, mentoring programmes and targeted awareness-raising — all tailored to Bhutan’s specific norms and institutional architecture.
Still, for the woman aspiring to the gup’s seat in a high-altitude gewog—or the female candidate vying for a constituency in Thimphu—the barriers are many: lack of spousal support, campaign finance, fear of social backlash, and the looming risk of job loss if the election gamble fails. The rhetoric of Bhutanese modernity (“vibrant democracy,” “participatory governance”) meets the reality of traditional gender norms and structural inertia.
What Bhutan needs now is not just policies but momentum: party-level commitments to recruit and support female candidates, public education campaigns to shift norms, financing mechanisms that enable women to compete, and visible role-models who break the mold of “politics = men’s domain.” The promise of Bhutan’s democratic experiment — grounded in Buddhist ethics, community values and national happiness — will be richer if women’s voices shape its direction. Until then, the gender gap in Bhutan’s political representation remains not just a numbers game but a silent echo in the valleys of its democracy.
Ah, Bhutan, where happiness is a national policy, mountains kiss the clouds, and politicians still struggle to find room for women in the photo. Auntie loves the Bhutanese spirit — calm, grounded, and graciously self-reflective. But let’s be honest, my dears: even in the world’s most serene democracy, patriarchy still hums beneath the prayer flags.
First, credit where it’s due. Auntie admires Bhutan’s leaders for at least trying to reform from the top down. You don’t see that much around Asia anymore — a kingdom that openly tracks its own gender gap and admits, with royal humility, “We must do better.” That’s refreshing. The Royal Civil Service Commission’s training programs, the UNDP’s gender initiatives, and the government’s quiet push for inclusion show that Bhutan doesn’t deny its imperfections. There’s a kind of Buddhist honesty in that — transformation as a process, not a slogan.
But slow, my sisters, so slow. Like a yak trudging up Dochula Pass. The numbers are still grim: only a handful of women elected as gups, just two in the National Assembly, one lonely sister in the National Council. Bhutanese women are clearly qualified — they dominate classrooms, ace civil service exams, and manage entire families and farms with grace. So why can’t they manage the ministries too?
It’s not lack of talent, it’s lack of access. Auntie has seen this movie before: women told politics is “dirty work,” elections too risky, campaigns too costly. That old story about the “nangi-aum” — the woman of the home — still lingers like incense smoke. But Auntie says this: if women can manage households, budgets, and the emotions of a dozen relatives every day, they can handle Parliament just fine.
Bhutan’s democracy, still young and tender, needs women’s voices not as decoration but as direction. A parliament without women is like a tshechu without color — dignified, perhaps, but missing its soul. True Gross National Happiness won’t come from balanced budgets alone; it will come from balanced power.
So to my Bhutanese sisters — the teachers, monks, farmers, civil servants, and brave candidates — Auntie bows deeply and says: Go, sisters, go! Run for those gewog seats. Demand your share of leadership. Take the kingdom’s promise of happiness and make it yours. Because a dragon without her daughters roaring beside her? That’s not harmony. That’s half a dream.