By Dr. Janardan Subedi


For decades, feminist thinkers have argued that corruption in patriarchal societies is an inherently masculine enterprise — loud, territorial, and performatively powerful. It wears a tie, commands a convoy, and calls itself “influence.” But let us attempt a provocative thought experiment: what if corruption were feminine? What would feminized corruption look like in a country like Nepal — where even virtues carry gender, and vice wears perfume when required?

If masculine corruption is an act of conquest, feminine corruption is an act of choreography. It does not bang the table; it rearranges the seating. It does not shout orders; it whispers strategy. Feminine corruption smiles while securing contracts and appears humble while expanding empires. She prefers subtlety over swagger. While her masculine counterpart is caught flaunting imported watches and designer suits, she leaves no trace — her decisions are “team consensus,” her approvals merely “verbal.”

Feminine corruption does not intimidate; it nurtures dependence. It does not destroy its opponents; it renders them emotionally indebted. If masculine corruption is the earthquake, feminine corruption is the landslide — quiet, slow, and enduring.

Masculine corruption operates through fear, command, and hierarchy. Feminine corruption thrives through obligation, intimacy, and emotional debt. It remembers birthdays, congratulates promotions, and keeps everyone “feeling valued.” Her corruption is not transactional but relational. You do not bribe her; you owe her. You do not pay in cash; you pay in loyalty.

Nepali politics already offers familiar prototypes — leaders who never raise their voices, yet whose silence governs more effectively than a dozen decrees. That is not gentleness; that is affective control, the ability to manage power through emotion rather than authority. Feminine corruption does not need to shout. She builds webs, not walls.

And here lies the sophistication of her deception: feminine corruption dresses beautifully. It curates its image, appearing consistently at charity events, cultural receptions, and empowerment panels — elegantly advocating reform while discreetly managing networks of beneficiaries. Her greatest camouflage is goodness itself. Feminine corruption understands that society forgives charm and sincerity more readily than misconduct. She speaks of inclusion, rights, and accountability — and she may even mean it — but only within the borders of her carefully managed empire. Unlike her masculine counterpart, who is undone by his vulgarity and greed, she is exposed only by perfection — by being too flawless to be real.

A feminist reading of corruption must therefore address this paradox: in patriarchal systems, women who gain access to power are pressured to perform “moral superiority” to justify their inclusion. But once within the system, they confront the same structural temptations and learn that morality seldom sustains networks — relationships do. Feminine corruption, then, evolves not from evil but from adaptation. It mimics care while practicing control. It governs softly, but with precision. Its preferred currency is empathy — the most potent form of political capital in modern democracies.

The masculine corrupt leader declares, “I deserve this.”
The feminine corrupt leader murmurs, “I didn’t seek this; it came to me.”
Both are dishonest, but in different dialects of deceit.

If masculine corruption views the state as a battlefield, feminine corruption reimagines it as a household. She does not seize; she organizes. She delegates the unclean work, maintains emotional harmony, and ensures every participant feels indispensable. Her corruption is sustainable — even renewable. Masculine corruption consumes; feminine corruption recycles. It perpetuates itself through mentorships, emotional bonds, and silent reciprocity.

Imagine Singha Durbar not as a fortress of testosterone but as a family dining room — polite, gracious, and smiling, where everyone knows precisely who will get the next contract. That is feminine corruption in action: all warmth on the surface, all calculation underneath.

In the 21st century, this phenomenon has global analogues. Feminine corruption now operates under respectable labels such as networking, relationship management, and strategic partnership. In Nepal, these euphemisms translate into “negotiated access.” Once celebrated as an instrument of feminist diplomacy — influence without aggression — soft power has now been re-engineered into soft corruption: the art of gaining advantage without confrontation. It doesn’t storm the gates; it is invited in for tea. This is corruption with empathy training, ethics workshops, and sustainability reports attached.

Of course, not all women in power are corrupt, just as not all men are predatory. The point here is not to feminize guilt but to gender the methodology of corruption. Masculine corruption conquers; feminine corruption coaxes. One destroys institutions through force, the other seduces them into compliance. The irony is that feminine corruption might appear more efficient, more polite, even more “humane.” It may reduce visible chaos. Yet beneath that civility lies the same moral vacuum — only perfumed.

This is corruption that apologizes gracefully, smiles during press conferences, and thanks everyone while quietly redrafting the budget.

If masculine corruption embodies dominance, feminine corruption embodies adaptation — the evolution of misconduct in a world where brute force is unfashionable. Nepal’s next political epoch may well witness this metamorphosis: from aggressive kleptocracy to refined collusion. Both erode the republic — one noisily, the other beautifully.

The deeper truth is that corruption, like gender, is performative. It learns from its environment, mimics social expectations, and adjusts to what culture permits. When a society prizes politeness over honesty, compassion over accountability, it will inevitably produce corruption with a smile.

So, what would feminine corruption look like? She would appear professional, speak gently, and promise reform. She would sponsor charity galas, recite poetry about ethics, and host empowerment workshops — all while managing the flow of resources and loyalty beneath the surface. She would never shout, “I am powerful!” Instead, she would whisper, “I care.”

And that, perhaps, is more dangerous — because it corrupts not through fear, but through affection.

Ultimately, whether corruption wears a tie or a silk scarf, its essence remains constant: the conversion of trust into profit. The difference lies only in performance. Masculine corruption bullies the system; feminine corruption cultivates it. And between the two, the latter may last longer — and look better doing it.

If in doubt, ask Madam Karki — how she rose from Chief Justice to Prime Minister, how she appointed a hundred judges, how she authored the very bill that disqualified justices from future executive office, and yet became the nation’s self-proclaimed “Mother of Gen Z.”

But I shall stop here, for you are far wiser than I am.