Britain’s move to scrap its tax on tampons is a small victory for women worldwide after the avalanche of COVID-19 cases obliterated large swaths of progress of minority welfare over the last year. Despite calculations of the authorities who immediately added this tax-removal feather to their Brexit cap — the European Union has yet to agree on a 2018 proposal that would grant member states such autonomy — the news was enthusiastically shared by women’s rights advocates in Hong Kong and on the Chinese mainland.

The pandemic strains have been disproportionately felt by women. A WHO report dated March 2019 said 70 percent of workers in the global health and social sector were female. As the coronavirus raged, the risk of job losses was 1.8 times higher for woman than for men, according to accounting firm McKinsey & Company. Working from home threatens to further put female employees at a disadvantage as women take the lion’s share of parenting and household chores. 

The initial neglect of the mainland authorities, overwhelmingly male, to provide menstrual products for female medical workers on the front lines remains a glaring blight on the official fight against the virus. In Hong Kong, however, the gender imbalance assumes less definitive forms. 

The frequent public appearances of Dr Chuang Shuk-kwan to brief on COVID-19, and Sophia Chan Siu-chee, secretary for food and health, exemplify and reinforce the stereotype that social welfare is a strong suit of women. The government’s four-member expert panel that advises on pandemic response is a men’s club — a subtle reminder of the glass ceiling for woman health workers.

As the first female chief executive, Carrie Lam Cheng Yuet-ngor is a self-proclaimed workaholic, who said in an interview that she does “nothing except work”. The pandemic aside, Lam’s break in style with her predecessors, who squeezed in tai chi (Tung Chee-hwa) or gardening (Leung Chun-ying) while running the city, can be explained by the yawning social divide after June 2019. How much of her statement was driven by the perceived need to overcompensate for being a woman in this male-dominated profession is anyone’s guess. But Lam’s brave face came at a price. While displaying steely resolve in crises, she portrayed a worker as ideal for employers as it was unrealistic for most people. This gender-neutral image also trivialized the struggle of female workers, whose gender and subordinate role, by default, put their career on the back burner.

To call louder on a female leader to champion women’s rights, as compared to the volume raised at her male counterparts, is in itself discriminatory, for women and men have equal responsibilities in restoring the balance that has long tilted toward one sex. But, drawing on their personal experiences, women have a deeper understanding about gendered barriers that are woven into the fabric of this patriarchal society, but are often invisible to men. 

British author Caroline Criado-Perez wrote in her book, Invisible Women, that 71 percent of women wear protective work clothing that isn’t designed for women’s bodies; the average smartphone is 5.5 inches (14 cm) long ­— too big for the average woman’s hand; and offices are on average 5 degrees too cold for women. 

Hong Kong’s case is as complex as any. The systemic oversight is married to economics, which lends it legitimacy. The punishingly cold air-conditioned rooms in mid-summer — designed in the 1960s at a temperature pleasant to suited, middle-aged men — are excused as the most economical choice, despite the detriment to the environment. 

The set lunch served at cha chaan teng — a business model befitting a frantic cosmopolis — often leaves female diners having more than they want if they wish to avoid waste. The infamously high rent and cramped space are cited as the reasons behind scarce ladders in supermarkets that make the top shelves accessible to woman customers, who do the majority of shopping.

Not very often do men encounter such daily embarrassments. So naturally, people turn to female leaders for building a feminist city, which better accommodates the needs of over half of the population, and thereby untethers their potential and perspectives. 

As one of the few economies under female leadership, Hong Kong should channel its female power as it maps its way out of the pandemic and the resultant recession. After all, a feminist city is a better city for all.

The author is a Hong Kong-based journalist.

The views do not necessarily reflect those of China Daily.