Motherland upholds tedious stereotypes and tropes when it comes to race and gender

Motherland has so far wasted a real opportunity to challenge social norms and provide inclusive, intersectional representations of parenthood

I am a huge fan of Motherland. Let me put this out there right at the very start. How often do you see mothers represented on mainstream media where they are not conforming to a predetermined narrative of what a mother ought to look like? Not often. Not much at all.

Motherhood is idolised, and the struggle between the self before motherhood and the unpolished, often unrecognised, sometimes unimaginable version after becoming a mother is not something we often see in literature or media.

Motherland came as a breath of fresh air and made me feel seen in so many ways. The exhaustion, the everyday mundaneness, the school playground politics, the juggle. Suddenly it felt like I could take a deep breath and say: “Look, other mothers feel the same! I am not the only one whose house is so messy, whose diary is in a state of complete disarray, who is frantically running from work to school trying to fit it all in, trying to prove that I am a ‘good enough’ mother.”

I also felt like I could relate so much to the sense of being on the fringes of the inane conversations in “mommy groups”, which I could never quite feel part of. And, of course, it is funny and very cleverly written, with spot-on one-liners.

I watched it religiously while I was writing my own book about motherhood, a book which started off as a memoir but then grew into a social, historical and scientific analysis of how mothering, motherhood and women’s fertility have shaped so many of the beliefs and perceptions of female bodies and women’s status in society.

But, while Motherland shows the mental and emotional load women – especially mothers – have to carry every day, it somehow cannot get rid of the tropes and stereotypes that we are constantly battling against.

The one man in the group, the only stay-at-home dad, is seen as an outsider, an emasculated man, “wet’’ and “drippy”. There are jokes at his expense, and his relationship with his wife (we never see or hear from her) is one that doesn’t merely invert gender norms but paints her as a monster.

She is taking advantage of his kindness and his gentleness, and he is perceived as the one sacrificing his career for the sake of looking after his children. What does this say about the women who do the same? I wish we had seen a storyline that normalised this rather than still presenting it as a peculiarity.

Then there is the issue of race. The series started off showing a very white representation of motherhood. I recently wrote in my newsletter about the white face of motherhood – in books, media and films. Why are most motherhood memoirs and books so white? Is it that there is a dearth of women of colour writing about their motherhood experiences? Or is it that we do not hear about these experiences, because there is a bias in what we read, what is promoted, and what is reviewed?

A black mother, Meg, entered Motherland in series two, and we all rejoiced. But Meg appears to have it all. She seems to fit into the stereotype of the “strong black woman”. Black and brown women work hard to show they are in control, and showing weakness isn’t an option because after all we have to prove that we have a right to be here, and to belong. I wish the writers had explored this more, to show how racial stereotypes affect the mental and emotional load a woman has to carry.

Even while suffering from cancer, Meg seemed to take it all in her stride; and while others can show their utter uselessness regarding daily tasks, she is rarely afforded the luxury to do the same. In the recent series, the issue of racism in the playground and the way schools aren’t equipped to understand or enforce an anti-racist policy is tackled. But this seemed like an afterthought, was never fully resolved, and was mixed in with Meg’s cancer diagnosis.

I am mostly disappointed with how the series ends, justifying a man’s behaviour and his repeated failure to take on responsibility at home. Through the series, we have seen Julia struggling to manage home and work, while her husband is away on stag dos and fancy outings, or lying in bed upstairs luxuriating in the aftermath of a vasectomy.

In the end, we squirm and feel sorry for her as she develops a crush on her builder, the one who makes her feel visible after a very long time. Her friends justify her husband’s behaviour, telling her: “Oh but he said nothing when your mother moved in.” I mean, I would count that as the bare minimum. And then he appears, smiling and patronising her, and all is immediately forgotten.

This is not the reality that I want to see. It makes women feel bad for ever being disgruntled, and sends out the message that it’s OK if you have to shoulder the responsibilities of work and childcare, even if your mental and physical health is compromised, because in the end it is really a “woman’s job” and men can always get away with putting in so much less effort.

I do love Motherland but it has so far wasted a real opportunity to challenge social norms. There is a huge lack of intersectional and inclusive representation of motherhood, and I wish the series had explored class, race, infertility, sexuality, gender identity: all aspects of “otherhood” that continue to be invisible and ignored in mainstream motherhood.

Dr Pragya Agarwal is a behavioural and data scientist, author, speaker, and founder of research think tank The 50 Percent Foundation. Her latest book, (M)otherhood, is out on 3 June