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What a time to be alive — to witness, in real time and with permanent digital memory, the stark difference in how a female head of government was treated compared to how a male head of government is now approached and received.

The contrast is impossible to ignore.

Many of the same voices in sections of the media that relentlessly attacked, vilified, mocked, and disrespected former Prime Minister Portia Simpson-Miller are today far more measured, patient, and respectful toward a male political leader for conduct and behaviours they once condemned with outrage.

Jamaicans remember the aggression.
The cameras pushed into her face.
The endless ridicule of her speech, mannerisms, appearance, and educational background.
The condescending commentary disguised as journalism.
The constant attempt to portray her as unfit, unserious, or intellectually inferior.

Yet today, many of those same standards appear suspended.

The question must be asked: why?

Why was a woman from rural Jamaica subjected to such hostility for traits now tolerated, excused, or even celebrated in male leadership?

The answer is uncomfortable, but Jamaica must confront it honestly. Part of the resentment toward Portia Simpson-Miller came from the audacity of her story itself — a Black rural woman, without elite pedigree or a PhD, rising through the love and support of ordinary people to become the nation’s leader.

For some, that ascent disrupted the traditional image of who was considered “acceptable” to govern.

She did not emerge from privilege.
She did not fit the polished establishment mould.
She represented the market woman, the grassroots organiser, the struggling mother, the people from communities too often looked down upon by Jamaica’s social and political elite.

And because of that, she was judged more harshly.

This is not an argument against scrutiny of political leaders. Democracy demands accountability from everyone in public office. But accountability cannot be selective. Standards cannot shift based on gender, class, complexion, or social background.

A nation must examine itself when a woman leader is mocked for emotional expression, while a man displaying similar behaviour is described as “strong,” “passionate,” or “commanding.”

A nation must question itself when a woman’s accent becomes a national joke, while a man’s communication flaws are softened or ignored.

A nation must reflect deeply when history appears eager to minimise the legacy of one of the country’s few female leaders. Even symbolic acts matter. Many Jamaicans still feel that the failure to preserve and honour Portia Simpson-Miller’s legacy in national ways reflects a deeper discomfort with the place of women in political history.

Too often in Jamaica, women must outperform men simply to receive equal respect. And even then, respect is not guaranteed.

This hypocrisy extends beyond politics. Women across society continue to face harsher judgment in leadership, public life, workplaces, and even within advocacy spaces that should defend them. The message repeatedly sent is that women must be exceptional to be tolerated, while men are allowed the privilege of being ordinary.

That is not equality.
That is prejudice wrapped in tradition.

Whether one agreed or disagreed with Portia Simpson-Miller politically is beside the point. Democracy allows for criticism. But criticism must never become dehumanisation, and disagreement must never descend into gendered hostility.

Jamaica cannot truly advance while continuing to apply two different standards of humanity, dignity, and respect — one for men and another for women.

History is watching. And memory is still working.