I Thought America Was The Best Country To Be A Woman. Until Now.

I clearly remember that morning. I was only 4 years old. For some reason, the nursery class was let out early. I ran through the front door of my home, into my grandma’s bedroom, which is the first thing I always did when I returned from school. But instead of seeing her bright, cheery face eager to see me, she was in tears. She was watching the news on our 21-inch black-and-white television and unable to console herself. As a child, I was confused about what was happening, but just sad to see her this way. “The prime minister of India, Mrs. Indira Gandhi was assassinated,” she told me.

This memory did not resonate until two decades later ― I had moved to the United States and started learning about American politics. For years, my “idea” of America was defined by Hollywood and fashion. I saw on “Beverly Hills 90210” and “Baywatch” that women in the U.S. have the freedom to wear scantily clad bikinis and play volleyball on the beach. They kissed their boyfriends at prom and dated several people, and didn’t marry if they didn’t want to. They openly talked about adolescent concerns like eating disorders, body image, periods and sex. They were teenage witches, vampire slayers, fast food workers and girl bosses. As a teenage girl, I dreamt of living in this place!

And here I was, a South Asian teen growing up in a small town of northern India, where life was fairly conservative for a girl. After a certain age, I had to mind how I dressed in public (no shorts), where I went (not allowed to go out after dark), or who I talked to (absolutely no boys). And the neighborhood aunties were always watching, so if I did cross any of those lines, the headlines reached my family even before I realized I did something wrong. But in a country where female infanticide, child marriage and dowry deaths were everyday news, we had a female prime minister — in the 1960s! And I never ever once thought about it.

In the mid-2000s, I became an American citizen and had the privilege to partake in my presidential elections. I was so excited, I even got a car tag for my Honda Element that said “VOTE08.” When I appeared in traffic court to dispute a traffic ticket, the judge asked me what that meant, and I told him that it was to remind everyone to exercise their right to vote for the 2008 elections.

As a new legalized immigrant, I found out that the U.S. has never had a female president or vice president in history. This was shocking to me given the rosy picture of the “independent American woman” that I had painted for myself.

As I started listening to NPR and watching CNN, I found out that reproductive rights was still a big point of contention between the two major political parties. Child marriage was legal in 37 U.S. states, and 86% of these minors were girls. Almost a quarter of children in the U.S. lived with one parent, mostly with their mom ― and those single mothers faced economic insecurities and psychological distress. The U.S. was one of the few countries in the world that didn’t guarantee paid maternity leave.

When I entered the corporate world, I noticed the wage gap was a real thing. Women were earning 84% of a male worker in the same position (according to the U.S. Department of Labor). There was also discrimination in hiring, promotion and legal protections, especially if you were a brown, young and female like myself. I personally faced workplace harassment, and when I reported it to human resources, they put me on a “90-day performance review.” I soon resigned.

It made me a little angry, but at least I could wear a nice dress, and go to a bar at night in this country, I reminded myself.

In 2007, Rep. Nancy Pelosi became the first female speaker of the House. Seeing Hillary Clinton run in the presidential election gave me hope again. American women were not just pretty and fun, they were eloquent speakers and strong leaders, deserving to make decisions that represented half of the population. I voted for her. I really wanted her to win. But America had different standards for women in office than men.

Then came Kamala Harris, someone who represented “me.” I was elated to see a woman of color who was so well-accomplished and forward thinking. It actually made me interested in watching live news again. As vice president, she had as strong of an opinion about global issues as she had of her dosa seasoning. (Yes I watched her cooking videos.)

Last year, one of my Indian girlfriends was invited to her Diwali party in Washington, D.C., and I couldn’t help think about attending one of these myself someday. For Desis (as we Indian Americans refer to ourselves), she felt like a glimmer of hope, true representation of what we consider “a diverse country.”

My single female friends, of all different races, felt they would finally have some Constitutional amendments. Mothers told me they would feel safer bringing up their young daughters. Even older women shared their despise toward voting for the opposition — one who was outspoken against female equality and looked down upon “childless cat women.” I myself proudly fall in that category. Cat moms don’t have to worry about pregnancy leaves, health insurance and single parenting. Plus, cats are good for mental health.

We know what happened, and I won’t go into my analysis and theories of why it did.

All I can say is that I have been shocked, disappointed and heartbroken. I had higher expectations in what I considered to be the most liberal democracy in the world.

I tell my American friends that in 1966, we, in a developing country like India, already had a female leader we loved and reelected. The Constitution of India passed many laws on equal opportunity and pay, maternity benefits and prohibited child marriage. In 1971, the Medical Termination of Pregnancy Act allowed women to end pregnancy within 20 weeks, when rape, life, physical or mental well-being was a concern.

Across the border, in the Muslim-majority country of Pakistan, there was another female leader: Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto. With her headscarf on, she spoke forcefully, leading the country as their 11th and 13th prime minister. As a woman, she wasn’t an inspiration or a role model to me — she just was, a matter-of-fact political leader, like anyone else.

I never thought America could be so far behind.

I did not attend high school in the U.S., so I wasn’t familiar with the North American Woman Suffrage Movement. It was only a couple of years ago when I was in the Finger Lakes region of New York for a travel writing assignment, that I came to know what American women were capable of — 200 years ago that is.

Women in the United States of America did not have the right to vote, own property, sign a contract, receive college education, or even claim custody of their kids. They were controlled by their husbands. But then there were women who felt it was wrong, and they came together to birth American feminism. In 1848, the first Women’s Rights Convention was held in Seneca Falls, and the push for equality and women’s suffrage spread through the nation from here. Women’s rights activist Susan B. Anthony lobbied Congress every year until her death. Other women in this part of the country also tirelessly fought for women’s voting rights, which passed in 1920.

On Nov. 2, 1920, over 8 million women voted in elections for the first time. Today, more women than men come out to the polling booths and exercise their hard-earned right.

I visited several of the activists’ homes, now converted into museums, envisioning what that living room conversation would have been like. Would their emotions run as high as they do today on social media?

I learned about Elmira College, the first institution to grant women a college degree equal to that of men. I walked around the buildings at the Women’s Rights National Historical Park and was inspired by the 312 honorees inducted at the National Women’s Hall of Fame. But as I documented these stories, I felt sad ― 200 years later, women in America are still fighting for their rights.

Perhaps we need to look back in history and organize another women’s suffrage movement. Maybe we should travel to lesser developed nations to expand our understanding. Imagine not having to vet a candidate based on their gender, race or religion ― but for their behaviors, accomplishments and competencies.

The young girl in me still wants to believe that this is the best place for a woman to be.