Breaking the concrete floor
For years, it has been customary to speak of a "glass ceiling": the invisible barrier that prevents talented women from advancing to the most senior positions. But before they collide with the ceiling, they must escape from what is known as the "concrete floor."

Every woman who announces her entry into political life brings with her much more than just another name on the list. She brings an additional chance to change the face of a public space that has been shaped for years primarily by men, in accordance with their life experience, their priorities, and the rules they themselves established. Therefore, the entry of new women into politics inspires real hope. Not because women are necessarily more moral, professional, or worthy than men. Women are not a monolith, and there is no automatic agreement among them on policy, security, economy, religion, state, or human rights. The hope stems from the very expansion of the circle of participants in decision-making — from the possibility that voices, life experience, and perspectives that were missing around the table will begin to receive a place.
For years, it has been customary to speak of a "glass ceiling": that same invisible barrier that prevents talented women from advancing to the most senior positions. However, for many women, the ceiling is not even the first obstacle. Before they can collide with it, they must escape from what is known as the "concrete floor." The concrete floor is everything that makes it difficult for women to rise in the first place: unequal distribution of responsibility for home and family, closed male power networks, lack of resources and connections, increased criticism of appearance, age, voice, and style, and the knowledge that any mistake of theirs might be perceived as proof that women are not suitable — while a man's mistake is usually perceived as the mistake of one individual.
In politics, the concrete floor is particularly rigid. This is the reason why the very decision of women to enter the political system is a brave step. But we must not settle for applause for the brave women who broke inside. An egalitarian society should not be based on the fact that exceptional women agree to pay an exceptional price. The goal should be changing the conditions themselves. Adequate representation of women is first and foremost a value-based position. Women are about half of the public, and therefore their exclusion from decision-making centers is not just a women's problem — it is a democratic flaw. A parliament, government, local council, or public management that does not reflect the society it is entrusted with cannot seriously claim that the entire public is represented around the table.
But the meaning is not only value-based. It is also very practical. Those who sit in the room determine not only how problems will be solved, but which problems will be considered worthy of attention in the first place. When women are in decision-making centers, issues that were defined for years as "private" or marginal can become public issues: personal security, domestic violence, treatment of victims, women's health, wage and pension gaps, childcare frameworks, caregiving responsibility, and the integration of women into senior positions.
Adequate representation also influences the way decisions are made. A system composed of similar people, who came from the same social and professional networks and experienced a similar reality, might develop group blindness. Diversity is not a decoration. It is a mechanism that expands the range of questions asked, highlights consequences that were not always taken into account, and forces the system to deal with a more complex reality. The presence of women in politics also has meaning for the next generation. Girls and young women who see women leaders internalize that the public space belongs to them too. Boys and young men learn that authority, leadership, and expertise are not male traits. This is a profound change in how a society imagines power and leadership.
However, the number of women is not the only metric. It is not enough to place women in unrealistic spots on lists, to present them at the front of a campaign, or to appoint them to positions devoid of authority and resources. Adequate representation is measured by real influence: by position on the list, by the portfolios given to them, by membership in the cabinet and central committees, by the budgets they are responsible for, and by their ability to shape policy — and not just explain it to the public. Every woman who joins politics today cracks the concrete floor a little more. But the responsibility to continue and dismantle it does not lie with her. It lies with the parties, with the media, with state institutions, and with the entire public. The entry of additional women is a reason for hope. Now we need to turn this hope into a binding democratic standard.
The author is an attorney, an expert in promoting gender equality and combating gender-based violence, and a former Director-General of the Authority for the Advancement of the Status of Women.





