Saint Lucia is heading into another election year but this time, the political field looks more female than ever before. Six women — three from each major party — are vying for candidacy in 2025, perhaps a rare moment in the island’s political history. Yet, behind the symbolic milestone lies a complicated truth: women are still pushing through the same walls their predecessors hit decades ago.
Statistics make the picture clear. In the past 15 years, women have consistently made up less than one-quarter of all general election candidates, and in the House of Assembly, the number of women elected has rarely risen above two at a time. The 2021 election saw only 11 women out of 45 total candidates; just two won seats. Despite louder calls for inclusion, parliamentary representation has flatlined at about 11 per cent, far below what gender-balance advocates believe is healthy for a modern democracy.
But numbers may only tell part of the story. The real pulse of 2025’s political race is beating in the testimonies of the women on the frontlines — and their stories echo a familiar refrain.
For UWP Gros Islet candidate Marcella Johnson, the fight is at the ballot box and on the airwaves.
She says she has become a weekly target of political ridicule.
“Every single week, a minister uses his television show to shame women, insult women, demean women,” she told St. Lucia Times. “He will make up all kinds of lies about my personal life. This minister doesn’t know me.”
Her frustration speaks to a longstanding political culture, one where women’s personal lives are picked apart before their policies ever are.
Labour Party Senator Lisa Jawahir and SLP candidate for Castries South East, has also found herself defending not just her policies, but the dignity of women across the country.
Not too long ago, her opponent, UWP Deputy Leader Guy Joseph, questioned the government’s $250 000 allocation to tackle period poverty in schools, framing it as unnecessary spending.
Jawahir’s response was swift and pointed.
“When he spoke in that very disparaging way about period poverty, we were shocked. When he attacked our female MPs, we were shocked.”
She says the backlash energised her young, largely female support base.
“There are so many women who want to come out and say we matter. Our voices matter. The issues that surround us must be brought to the table.”
Perhaps the most unexpected contender this year is Leeana Lady Lee Johannes-Paul, who admits she never liked politics — or politicians.
Yet, after repeated encouragement from friends, she woke up one morning and decided she was ready.
Or, as she puts it: “It was almost like… maybe this is my calling.”
Her entry hasn’t been easy. “Yes, I’ve experienced misogyny. They believe the male person has more experience, is stronger. They wanted a male candidate.”
She says the lack of support crippled her early campaign, forcing her to run it almost entirely on her own. But the adversity only sharpened her resolve.
“Either you work with me or you step aside. I wake up every morning and remind myself, ‘You are the candidate’.”
Lady Lee believes the “feminine touch” is something Vieux Fort desperately needs.
“Vieux Fort needs love, needs someone who cares. I never entered politics to get rich. I just want access to resources to improve the quality of life for people.”
To understand today’s struggle, though, you have to look back.
Alvina Reynolds, who entered elective politics in 2011, was Minister for Health, Wellness, Human Services, and Gender Relations and now serves as President of the Senate, has lived the journey.
Unlike some of today’s candidates, Reynolds says she was largely embraced by her party and community. But that didn’t shield her from the subtle disapproval of conservative spaces, including her church.
She recalls entering politics with no experience, guided by senior party elders as she contested a seat against a powerful incumbent. However, that did not shield Reynolds from being chastised by her male counterparts, calling her new and insinuating that she was a “headless chicken.”
She says they used the song Koute Mamaw by Gozilay against her.
“They really tried to undermine me as a Jeunne Ti fille (Young Girl). You know, they made up some song as a theme song for me. Koute Mamaw by Gozilay, I will end up in trouble if I don’t listen to my mother. I’m a child in the politics. So they tried to make me look like I didn’t know what I was about.”
But she contrasts her experience with the harsher path faced by earlier trailblazers, such as Heraldine Rock, who endured public humiliation and even insults from within her own party.
Reynolds says she avoided the worst of that, but only because she conducted herself with discipline, confidence and respect. She used this opportunity to send a message to the new female candidates.
“Don’t be tokenised. Be strong. Negotiate. Represent your constituencies with confidence. And seek advice from the women who came before you.”
She notes that the younger generation — candidates like Lisa Jawahir, Shanda Lee Haracksingh, and now the 2025 cohort — often call on her for guidance, which she welcomes.
“I keep my heart open to all the women, even those on the other side. I wish them well. We must uplift each other.”
Saint Lucia’s six female candidates in 2025 are not just running campaigns.
They are running against history. Against stereotypes. Against the “traditional” idea of what leadership should look like.
2025 may be the year Saint Lucians decide whether they want a country led only by men…or one shaped by all its people.
