A few weeks ago, Silvio Berlusconi, the Italian premier, found himself losing a television debate against Rosy Bindi, an opposition deputy. Bindi, a matronly, bespectacled fiftysomething, isn’t the sort of woman from whom the priapic Berlusconi enjoys taking lip. So, apropos of nothing that had gone before, he told her: “You are increasingly more beautiful than you are intelligent.”

Bindi replied that she was not “a woman at your disposal”, a reference to recent sex scandals and a phrase that has become a rallying cry for Italian feminists fed up with Berlusconi’s womanising. But just for a second, before the anger kicked in, you could see that she was wounded by the dig. Mature women, however cerebral or accomplished, know they are more prone to the invisibility of age than men, and that makes them vulnerable to jibes about their ageing faces and bodies.

Not even the most formidable woman academic or politician is immune from the equation of appearance with worth. A plain, post-menopausal woman is far too easily characterised as a batty oul wan, and any criticism of her professional performance barely conceals that subtext. A man in his fifties, regardless of his looks, is hitting his prime. A woman’s personal appearance will always be a legitimate topic for comment and, unless she’s young and slim and beautiful, for criticism. The more formidable, successful or threatening a woman is perceived to be, the more she can expect to have her lack of physical beauty thrown in her face by a man who’s losing an argument, as though not being beautiful is a dereliction of her primary function.

So when Senator Ivana Bacik listed all the reasons that might deter a woman from entering public life in her report on women’s participation in politics for the Oireachtas justice committee, she left out the extra toll that sexist venom can take on self-esteem. She cited the usual suspects — childcare concerns, family-unfriendly hours, male-dominated ethos — but overlooked the fact that when you add the attrition factor of superficial misogynistic spite, it’s difficult to blame women for concluding it’s just not worth the trouble.

How will Bacik’s proposed solution to the pathetic level of female representation in Irish politics address the cumulative discouraging effect of all those elements? The senator recommends a quota system to compel political parties, on pain of a financial penalty, to field a female count of at least a third at the next general election. That would be a fine suggestion if the parties’ selection conventions were wilfully turning away top-class female hopefuls in their droves. They are not. Women are simply reluctant to put themselves forward for the grief, the hassle and the exposure of a political career, and those deterrents are unlikely to ease any time soon.

Childcare and family concerns are high on the list of reasons why politics is not an attractive life for a woman, but they’re not insurmountable obstacles. Many careers, in business and medicine and law, make similar demands on domestic arrangements and lots of successful women are able to manage them satisfactorily. Having to care for a large family isn’t necessarily incompatible with a life in politics; Kathy Sinnott combined the demands of an MEP’s schedule with her duties to both her own and her late sister’s children.

The point of addressing gender imbalance in political life is to give female perspective and expertise greater weight. For that objective to be realised, though, you must have smart women with expertise and perspective worth importing. Women aren’t automatically better or more compassionate legislators than men, and including them just because they’re women is a self-defeating initiative. If political parties face being hit in the coffers unless they put up women candidates, though, there’s likely to be minimal concern about the calibre of women on offer, which will ultimately do the cause more harm than good.

Ann Widdecombe, a Tory MP who has had to weather much cruel comment about her appearance, is opposed to the notion of a quota of female representatives. “I believe, as a woman, that every woman in parliament should be able to look every man, from the prime minister downwards, in the eye and think that she got there on exactly the same basis as he got there.” This gets to the crux of the problem with the quota system. It would inevitably devalue the contribution of women elected, implying they didn’t make it on merit.

Mary O’Rourke also has reservations about the quota notion. Last week, she summed up the solution to the shortage of women politicians in typically blunt fashion: “You just have to have a big brass neck, and go out there and do it.” She’s right, for sure, but that raises the question of why a woman is perceived to need a “brass neck” to enter politics, when even the most patently incompetent man views his family seat as a birthright.

A “brass neck” won’t make you a good legislator, as Beverly Flynn, the most famous possessor of that anatomical armour, proves. A thick hide, though, and a solid sense of self-esteem to help you survive the inevitably sexist and reductive brickbats are essentials. A woman candidate has to be just as secure about her appearance and her dress sense as she does about her convictions, and that’s simply not a requirement that ever troubles men.

We won’t get more women entering politics until they’re convinced that the effort and sacrifice is worth it, and that’s something no quota system will ever address. The childcare arrangements, the late-night sittings — all of those awkward operational issues can be overcome by a woman who truly wants to play a play a political role. It’s our own reservations, and not our downtrodden domesticity, that is holding us back.

So here’s the appealing prospectus, then, for a woman thinking of running for office: tedious, thankless, frustrating effort, predominantly dull middle-aged male company, and ingrained sexist resentment to boot. In fact, the only difference between Leinster House and Portmarnock Golf Club is that at least at the latter, you might get the occasional breath of fresh air.

Credit crunch cast-offs

Last week’s auction of lost property by An Post threw up a rather nostalgic snapshot of the boom. Among the items that never made it to their destination in better times were a Rolex watch, half a dozen bottles of champagne, a couple of Gucci handbags, an antique samurai sword and an impressive assortment of sex toys.

It’s hardly a surprise that the folk who’d ordered the adult playthings didn’t pitch up at the local post office with a detailed description of the misplaced goods, and the uncollected bridesmaid’s dress probably has a sad story to tell. But I’d love to know who bought a €2,000 watch online and moved house before it was delivered.

The proceeds of the auction went to An Post, but in some cases the Criminal Assets Bureau might have been the more appropriate beneficiary.

brenda.power@sunday-times.ie

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