There’s beauty in unity
I WATCHED the mini-series Big Little Lies earlier this year.
It was one of those series that came to my attention not by advertising but rather by word of many, many mouths.
Friends were hooked. Several had read the book as well.
Women in my family couldn’t stop watching it and women in our schoolyard were aghast and spoke about it in an animated way.
Never one to miss out on a good story, as soon as we had finished the current series of the TV show we had been binge watching, we commenced watching Big Little Lies.
For those of you who haven’t watched it, it is the story of the intersecting lives of a group of women whose children go to school together.
The book was initially set in a small wealthy seaside community in New South Wales. The mini-series is set is an extremely wealthy seaside community in California.
Each of the main characters is a caricature of women in the schoolyard.
One woman is the longstanding Don Empress of the school. She runs the community theatre, the playdate scene and has a definitive yet often ill-informed opinion about other women in the schoolyard.
There is a much younger and much cooler second wife who is viewed with suspicion and concern by the first wives.
There is a single mum without significant financial means who is trying to cope with tragic life circumstances.
There is a woman who was once an accomplished lawyer who has given up her career and is raising her twin boys in a house filled with domestic violence.
There is a CEO trying to ensure her child is socially connected and protected and that she is close to her child.
These women act out in exaggerated ways the worst of the behaviours that might be imagined in the local schoolyard. There are factions of mothers who work in paid employment pitted against mothers who do not work in paid employment.
There is the Don Empress, part mafia warlord and part Chinese Empress, surveying her kingdom and deciding who is in and who is out.
There are leaders and followers, those who are kind and inclusive and those who are not so kind and exclusive.
The women in the mini-series in their thoughts and actions and demeanours concentrate on the differences between them rather than the similarities. They build walls of exclusion and inclusion to gain or supplement power.
They endeavour to present that which is perfect rather than that which is real. It is shocking and familiar all at the same time. The crescendo is terrifying. The women who at that point in the story can barely tolerate each other’s existence and, to the extent that they are interacting are at war, choose to bind together against a common enemy. He dies.
The lie they create to ensure no one is held responsible is owned willingly by each of them to protect all of them. In that moment, they realise that what they have in common is greater than their differences.
The mini-series has had a longlasting effect on me, not only because it is a heartbreaking story involving domestic violence and violence perpetrated against women and families, or because of the social commentary and caricature of women in the schoolyard.
For me, it also says everything about how strong women can be and how powerful we are when we love and support each other.
It is a story that highlights the need for us to look first for that which we have in common, rather than fixate on what is different. It should remind us that we don’t need to be perfect, just real, and that with compassion and understanding we can best support each other and are each other’s strength.
The series finishes with all of the women on the beach with their children.
The children are running around happily playing in the sand and the surf. The women are interacting with friendship and camaraderie. They have transcended their schoolyard differences and are safe and protected by the love, compassion and support of each other.
It illustrates how important it is that we look out for and look after, each other, our families and our community. Rachel Schutze is a lawyer, wife and mother of three. (Ed’s note: Ms Schutze is married to Richard Marles)