Weaponised Incompetence Is When Men Get Away With Sloppy Or No Work At Home

 [While it is hard to tell whether a person is being deliberately manipulative or not, it is safe to assume that if a person refuses to improve with time, it is a case of weaponised incompetence. First published in Women’s Web.]

Radhika Apte recently spoke about how her mother, despite being a professionally qualified working woman, still took on the additional responsibility of cooking for the family because she was conditioned into believing that women are natural caregivers. She explained how women take on the ‘assumed responsibility’ of caring for the family, even when they can choose not to. In such cases what men show is weaponised incompetence.

Even today, while women are empowered to dream of having fulfilling careers, it is assumed that they will continue to shoulder the entire load of taking care of the family. Even a woman who is professionally at the same level as her husband perceives cooking, caregiving and childrearing as her sole responsibility. When her partner “helps” with domestic chores or parenting, he is glorified for doing something that she does without the slightest acknowledgement.

The deep patriarchal conditioning that drives women to assume responsibility

One reason for this could be because women have grown up seeing their mothers and aunts rush home from work and plunge into housework without complaint. They saw how their mothers and aunts were busy cooking, cleaning, supervising homework and planning the next day’s activities while their fathers and uncles relaxed in front of the TV. And they believed that it was how things were.

Society perpetrated the myth by handing out “good parenting” badges to the father who dropped the kids off at the bus stop, while ignoring the mother who woke up at the crack of dawn to get the kids ready for school.

“Assumed responsibility” demands extreme sacrifice on the part of women, and it is important for women to recognise it, and to actively demand that their partners share in the household responsibilities.

When women ask that their partners share responsibility

However, very often, when women demand that their partners assume greater responsibility, they come up against “weaponised incompetence”. Weaponised incompetence is a behaviour pattern where a partner pretends to be bad at a task so they can avoid it.

Imagine this. It is a cold winter afternoon, and your partner makes you a perfect cup of chai with just the right hint of adrak. You savour the drink, and think of how lucky you are to have a partner who pampers you so much. Then you go into the kitchen to rinse the cup, and you see the mess. Saucepan still on the burner with an inch of tea congealing in it, large piece of ginger thrown in the sink, spilt tea on the counter, tea container only partially closed, sugar container where it shouldn’t be, milk put back in the fridge but without the lid. You spend the next five minutes cleaning up, and wonder if it wouldn’t have been easier to make the tea yourself. Your partners’ intent may have been honourable, but you feel cheated.

Imagine another scenario. You are the one who normally picks the children up from daycare, but there is an official event that you cannot avoid, so you ask your partner to pick them up just once. You inform him days in advance, remind him in the morning, and again in the afternoon. He keeps assuring you that he will do it. Then you get a call from the daycare- all the other kids have left and they are waiting for you to pick your kids up so they can close for the day. You call your partner desperately, and he is stuck in traffic and will take at least another hour to reach. You will never know whether it was deliberate or not, but you know that this is something you will never again trust your partner to do.

Imagine a third scenario. Your partner offers to cook dinner. He pours himself a glass of wine, turns on the music and opens the recipe on YouTube. Every two minutes, he asks you for a fresh ingredient. There is no chicken stock, and since you have not even seen the recipe, you do not know what to suggest as a substitute. The sauce bubbles over while the cheese is still being grated. The pasta gets overcooked because the video didn’t mention washing it with cold water to stop the cooking process. By the time dinner is served, the kids are cranky and not in a mood to eat anything. You smile valiantly and say that the food is good, but you know that you are never going to let your partner prepare dinner again.

Though you will never know whether these were done intentionally or not, they could be examples of weaponised incompetence. In each of these cases, the person either does the job badly, or does not complete the job. At times, the person implies that the other should perform the task since they are not good at it, or because they cannot do it the right way. Very often, the person takes so long starting and finishing the job that you decide it is faster to just do it yourself.

While it is hard to tell whether a person is being deliberately manipulative or not, it is safe to assume that if a person refuses to improve with time, it is a case of weaponised incompetence.

How do you recognise weaponised incompetence?

I can’t do this.”

“You are so much better than me.”

“You are so good at this.”

“I can’t do this now. Do you think you can do this?”

“There are six overs left. I will do it after the innings gets over.”

Each of these sentences sounds very different, but all of them could be a sign that a partner is weaponizing incompetence to get out of doing their share of the work.

Even if it is done subconsciously, the feeling of being manipulated builds up over time. The person stops trusting the other person to perform the tasks, and this leads to a power imbalance, and the feeling of being alone. The resentment builds up, which is not good for the relationship. Worse, children notice the power imbalance and start to think that all relationships are intrinsically disbalanced.

How can you tackle weaponised incompetence?

Communication is key

As with most such issues, communication is the key. The person who is at the receiving end of the weaponised incompetence should clearly communicate with the partner and explain why they feel manipulated by the behaviour. If there is a genuine explanation why a person is unable to complete a task, the person should be given the space to change the behaviour.

Setting boundaries of behaviour

The couple should also set realistic expectations, which clearly mentions which tasks are non-negotiable and where there can be some compromise. If despite discussing it, and setting boundaries and conditions the person refuses to show an improvement, it is certainly a clear sign that the person does not want to invest in the relationship.

Raising boys without gender biases

“Assumed responsibility” and “weaponised incompetence” are both the result of patriarchal conditioning which reinforces the belief that young girls are naturally more responsible and neat than young boys. Young women grow up believing that caregiving and housework is their responsibility, and young men grow up knowing that a woman will take care of their basic needs. Long term change is only possible if these gender based biases are consciously removed while bringing up young children. It is only when both boys and girls grow up knowing that housework and caregiving are gender agnostic that these imbalances will end.

In the meantime, we should continue to communicate in relationships to ensure that there is greater parity when it comes to carrying the load of housework and caregiving.

Rooh, Capturing the Soul of Kashmir

 “I feel it is important to write personal narratives about Kashmir. There should be plenty of stories of Kashmir from all points of view. Our enemies are often those whom we don’t know. It has been thirty years; it is only through these stories that we can embrace each other. It is in the stories that the skill of forgiving and being forgiven is hidden.”

Kashmir cannot be reduced to a single narrative. No matter how many perspectives you seek, you will not come even close to comprehending her reality. Manav Kaul’s ‘Rooh, A Novel’ gives you the perspective of a Kashmiri Pandit boy who fled to Mainland India, and who returns to seek the Kashmir his father had locked away in a cupboard only he could reach. He wants to revisit the Kashmir of his memories, yet is fearful of doing so.
At the soul of the book is Kashmiriyat- the centuries-old indigenous tradition of communal harmony and religious syncretism in the Kashmir Valley. The traditions which Kashmiris share regardless of their religion- the food, the language, the culture.

Though categorised as fiction, the book is a deeply personal account, because unless a person lived those experiences, they would not be able to capture them with the rawness and tenderness with which they have.
The fragrance of the Valley, the fragrance of his father permeates every page. The sights, the sounds, the smell, the touch, the taste. The book is also a visual treat- Kaul paints the beautiful landscapes with his words as only a true artist can.

Do read the book to capture yet another facet of Kashmir. The translation by Pooja Priyamvada is almost invisible- at no point do you feel you are reading a book which was not originally written in English.
And till the end, the question asked in the book remains unanswered- who lost more- the Kashmiri Pandits who left everything behind and tried to create a new life outside, or the Kashmiri Muslims who stayed behind in a land where the situation remained dangerous?

[I received an ARC of the book, but the review reflects my honest opinions.]

When The Gynaec Deliberately Stalled Labour Because It Was Inconvenient To Her!

 [This is a submission for a compilation on stories of #MedicalMisogyny run by Women’s Web. Though it is a real account, I have presented it as fiction.]

Trigger Warning: This deals with gaslighting by health care professional and medical negligence and may be triggering to survivors.

“Do you want to go to the nursing home?” Gauri’s husband asked.

“No, not yet. We can wait till morning.”

It was midnight. The contractions were long and strong, but spaced out at 15 minute intervals. She had read enough books to know that while her labour had started, she was not ready yet. The next morning, the contractions were still spaced out, but they decided to go to the nursing home to get checked out. After a perfunctory examination, the resident doctor asked her to get admitted.

“How much am I dilated?”, she asked.

“2 centimetres.”

“Must I get admitted now? Can’t I go back home and return when the contractions are more frequent?”

“No, get admitted now. Later, there may not be a bed.”

After her husband left for work, and she ceremoniously put her overnight bad on the nightstand, she started pacing the room.

“What do you think you are doing?”, a nurse asked.

“Walking. All the books have said that you should walk to speed up your labour.”

“Walking shalking not allowed. Go back to bed and lie down. Doctor will come soon.”

It didn’t make sense, but Gauri hoisted herself onto the bed and started reading The Thorn Birds.

“So how is my patient doing?” Her Gynaecologist’s cheerful voice cut into the exploits of the Cleary family. She was looking resplendent in a heavy silk saree.

“Shouldn’t you be telling me”, Gauri smiled back.

“You seem to be coming along just well”, said the Gynaecologist reassuringly. “I hope the food is upto the mark.”

“Actually, I haven’t had lunch yet. But I guess it will be okay. When do you think I will deliver?”

“Hard to tell. Don’t worry about it right now. Just relax and let the nurses look after you.”

“Shouldn’t I be walking?”, she asked. “That’s what all the books say.”

“No, just lie down and relax. I may not be able to come in the evening since it is my son’s engagement tomorrow. But the nurses will call me if I am needed.”

“And these contractions. How do I breathe when they come.” She had wanted to take Lamaze Classes, but her Gynaecologist had discouraged her saying she would tell her what to do when the time came.

“Don’t worry about them. They are still quite irregular. Just push down against the contractions when they come and you will be fine.”

After the Gynaecologist left with her retune of trainee doctors, Gauri went back to The Thorn Birds. The family saga was not exactly the right book to be reading while in labour, but it took her mind off the labour. She really wanted to get off the bed and walk- isn’t that what all the books had advised her to do- but she knew she had to trust her Gynaecologist, and did.

The afternoon dragged and then the evening. A male resident doctor came on his rounds in the evening. She tried to ask him how much further on she was, but he pretended she didn’t exist. “If her husband has any questions, tell him I will be in the consultation room for the next half an hour”, he told the nurse. “But Doctor, I have a few questions”, she cried, but he ignored her and walked out of the room.

“What is your problem”, the nurse chided. “First you come here without an attendant. Then you are constantly complaining. Are you the first woman to have had a child?” Given how dependent she was on the staff, she knew better than to argue, so went back to her book.

Her contractions intensified at night. They were coming longer and stronger. She pressed down on them exactly as her Gynaecologist had told her to. The pain was unbearable, but the frequency was still irregular. Relax, she kept telling herself. Keep pressing down. The labour is progressing. It is just a matter of time.

Gauri never thought dawn would break. By the time the resident doctor came on his rounds, she was nearly delirious with pain. She knew she couldn’t handle this much longer. “How much am I dilated?”, she asked after he examined her, certain that she would be at least 6 centimetres. He pretended not to hear her. “Can’t you hear me? I asked you how much I am dilated”, she screamed.

“Two centimetres.”

“What???”

“Two centimetres.”

Her world collapsed. “But that is just not possible. I was two centimetres yesterday when I was admitted. How can I still be only two centimetres.”

“Clearly your labour is not progressing. I have to go. You are not the only patient I have.”

“I don’t want this baby. I don’t want anything. I just want to jump out of the window and end this pain.” She knew she was hysterical, but she couldn’t help herself. All that excruciating pain for nothing? Her husband came in just then, and she flung herself on him. “Take me away from here. I can’t be here a minute longer. Just take me away.” He held her till her sobs died down, then gently extracted the story from her. “Don’t worry. I will speak to the Gynaecologist right now”, he promised. “Don’t go. Just stay here a little longer”, she pleaded. He smiled and gently placed himself on the bed.

The curtains parted, and a lady doctor came into the room. “Good morning. I am Dr. Jayanthi. I’ll be on duty for the next 24 hours. How are you feeling? Is everything okay.”

“I was two centimetres dilated when I was admitted yesterday. I am still two centimetres. When will this torture end.” She was pouring her heart out, when a contraction started. She pushed against it as her Gynaecologist had told her to.

“Wait. What are you doing? Why are you fighting the contractions?”, Dr. Jayanthi asked.

“That is what I was told to do”, she replied.

A strange expression crossed Dr. Jayanthi’s face, but she took a deep breath and rearranged her features. “Listen, you are exhausted. Let me give you a mild sedative. Sleep for a couple of hours. When you regain your energy, we can talk.” Dr. Jayanthi’s voice was gruff, but her manner was reassuring. She gave a small smile. “As you say, Doctor.”

Within minutes of her walking up, Dr. Jayanthi came into the room. “Are you feeling refreshed now? You have a lot of work to do.”

She smiled. She was certainly feeling much better physically and mentally after the nap. “Anything you say, Doctor.”

“First of all, don’t fight your contractions. When you feel them coming, breathe with them. Make them a part of you. Got it?” She nodded. “You haven’t eaten anything since morning. I will ask the nurse to get you something to eat. Even if you don’t like it, eat it. You need the strength. After that, I would advise you to walk a bit. Walking will speed up your labour. I will be back in a hour to examine you.”

Inaction never suited her. She liked having something to do. She gobbled down the insipid and soggy breakfast and started walking up and down the room. She pretended to herself that she was on Carter Road promenade and spoke to her baby. “We are in this together. Do your part, and before you know it you will be in my arms. Just a bit longer.”

Dr. Jayanthi came in as promised, and examined her. “You are 6.5 centimetres dilated. The baby will come any moment now. Maybe you should ask your husband to come.”

The contractions intensified. They were now less than five minutes apart. She kept pacing up and down the room, ignoring the stares from the other expectant mothers. They started coming at 2 minute intervals. One contraction barely stopped before the next one began. She asked the nurse on duty to inform Dr. Jayanthi, who took charge immediately. A nurse administered an enema, then broke her water. Another expertly inserted a cannula. “Why this?”, she asked. “Just in case you need to be taken in for emergency surgery”, the nurse replied. She was determined not to let that happen. After enduring all the agonising pain, she wanted a normal delivery. She was wheeled into the labour room, and helped onto the delivery table. It was finally happening!

“We have called your Gynaecologist. She is on the way. Do you want to push, or do you want to wait till she arrives?” Dr. Jayanti was in scrubs, but she recognised the voice.

“What do you think, Doctor. Am I ready to push?”

“Yes, you are ready.”

“If you tell me I am ready, I am ready. Let’s do it.”

Dr. Jayanti guided her on what to grip and how to push. “No, don’t grip so hard with your left hand. The cannula might injure you.” “Then why did you put that goddamn cannula”, she muttered under her breath. But she loosened her grip and waited for the next contraction. She pushed with all her might. The baby crowned, but didn’t come out. “You almost did it. Just push a little harder, and we will be done.” The next contraction was starting. She was vaguely aware of the Gynaecologist coming into the room, donning a robe, and taking her place. The next contraction was beginning. “Come on Baby, push with Mamma. We can do it.” The Baby popped out, right into the Gynaecologist’s hands. “Congratulations, it’s a boy”. She smiled. Her labour was over. She was a mother!

___

Later, she came to know of all the things that could have gone wrong because the labour was not allowed to proceed the way it should have. The Gynaecologist clearly wanted to prolong the labour so she could conduct a C-section at her convenience. Medical malpractice? Maybe. But how can anyone prove it? Best conserve that energy for child-rearing.