1x04 Betty

[8.0/10] I’m not much of a pollyanna. Left to my natural inclinations, I am more of a cynic, apt to believe that systems exist to perpetuate themselves and that people almost always get caught up in their gears. But if there’s two messages in “Betty”, which I take as at least a little optimistic, it’s that, as Margaret says, there are multitudes within each group and no one movement or collective is a monolith, and also that the world would be a better place if, despite the sore spots and gaps left to be bridged, those different slices of each sect and segment could support one another.

The most obvious focus of that is Betty, who blew the doors open for this movement that is having a moment, but who feels faded and left behind by it. Her status in the movement tracks her status in her personal life. Once the start of the show, legendary author of The Feminist Mystique, she was also once a wife and mother, and in each case, those duties have been handed off to a younger generation. Now, she’s left out of Women’s Caucus pow-wows and eats snacks on her couch watching Mary Tyler Moore with her neighbor.

In short, she is unhappy, yearns for her youth and the spotlight, and is straining to direct her angst at any available target. Enter Phyllis Schlafly, whose anti-ERA coalition gives Betty what she thinks is the perfect opportunity to step back into the limelight and reassert herself as the forefront of feminism.

Phyllis has plans of her own though. Her story is mainly one of fear and brutality. She both learns to overcome some uncharacteristic skittishness about what debating Betty will mean, but also to go for the jugular by making an emotional appeal. THat comes through when her husband pokes her near to the point of tears over her mother, something she channels with her pool-skittish daughter and the lovelorn Betty. She senses or even knows of Betty’s unhappiness and, after being flustered by Betty’s flagrant disregard for the debate rules, hits back and draws blood. It’s a tough scene to watch on both sides of the equation.

But you both feel for Betty and understand others’ reluctance to deal with her. She is a handful, prone to self-aggrandizement and unwilling to play nice with others. And yet, as her neighbor Natalie relays, she laid the groundwork for all of this, sending these ideas into people’s living rooms, and even if she’s “impossible to deal with”, she feels her accomplishments slipping away from her given her age and her prickliness, and those who’ve assumed that mantle could show her a little kindness.

That’s what’s so meaningful about Gloria reaching out to her, not as an I Told You SO, but to thank her for how much she inspired her, to offer her comfort and recognition in a tough moment. There is a great deal that divides them, but also a great deal that they owe to one another, for advancing this movement, and that type of solidarity is encouraging as hell.

That’s not necessarily as easy for everyone though. One of the things I appreciate about this episode is that it gives us some time to see this movement through Margaret’s eyes, and the different challenges she faces as a gay balck woman, even in a group that’s purports itself to be more accepting and understanding. The pitch for a story about tokenism lays it out for the audience a little too plainly for my taste, but I appreciate the contrast between the egg-shell walk she does in the office of Ms., and the different but equally difficult friction she faces within her own community.

It also ties into an interesting undercurrent of homosexuality at play here. Margaret faces some unfriendly reception at Flo’s place because of her sexual orientation, until Flo lays down the law. Phyllis herself recalls that trailblazing Betty Friedan decried the “Lavender Menace.” And the Schlafly family, or at least its matriarch, is realizing that “menace” is not something that exists far away in the big cities, but in her own family, as she watches her own son gaze longingly at the groom in a local wedding.

It speaks to the many identities that each of these people share. Margaret’s feminism helps her secure a job at Ms., but she’s restrained by one world that creates challenges for her based on the color of her skin, and another that creates ones for who she loves. Betty’s feminism opened doors, but she’s still affected by her religion, by her age, by her looks. Gloria has the youth and influence that Betty now covets, but she’s also harassed by an off-color publication for her appearance, and envies the legacy and respect that Betty’s earned.

It’s those multitudes that stand out, the way the grass is always both greener and browner depending on which slice of a person you look at. Mrs. America makes no bones about the hardships and sensitivities those different intersections create, but also suggests that great solace and maybe even cause for optimism can come when support emerges despite them, and I am hard-pressed to disagree.