#Anonymous Strike Diary: SAG Glams Up the Picket Line — “Chanting Even Came Back”

I showed up last Friday to Disney and it was (cue the music): “A whole new world!” The Actors have joined us …and taken all our signs. Which is fine! They need us and we need them! It’s reinvigorated the picket lines and upgraded the tents. Day one/seventy-three the check-in tent at Disney looked like a French pharmacy; La Roche Posey sunscreen in every SPF and a variety of lip balm! No one wants a crusty smile when there are so many cameras around. And there were a lot more cameras around. And more shade cover than there had ever been before. I thought I saw a make-up tent and my friend said he heard there was going to be a beard-trimming station. They even yes-and’ed our color scheme of blue shirts by adding their black shirts, creating a BLACK AND BLUE labor line and a vibe.

And there were so many more fans, both the air-moving kind and the human kind. Disney was now Hollywood Blvd. Costumed folks in full Star Wars regalia with their Instagram handle affixed to their chest, holding one shared sign that read: Eat Shit Iger from the Disruptive Forces. A parrot and a chameleon — you can guess what guild they were in. There was watermelon lemonade being served as Mickey Mouse Blood. It was deliciously salty. And the tacos were fresh. Chanting even came back into the mix. The actors are a spirited bunch who love a good role. There were so many SAG shirts helping to direct us on how to cross the street and how to avoid getting hit by cars and how to rest if we needed to. Sure, it was stuff we had figured out for ourselves over two months ago, but they are owning the material and I, for one, love it. 

Before SAG went on strike, before Fran gave her impassioned speech, spirits had dropped as the temperature rose. All those folks who signed up to be strike captains just to get a hat were hoping for a minor family emergency just to get a break. All of us who had the fire in our bellies on Day 1 and 2 and even 20, now just had a bruise near our bellies from where we rested our picket sticks. And then the wind was taken out of our sails when the DGA so quickly came to a “groundbreaking agreement.” The only ground that seemed to be breaking was underneath those of us on the picket line.

The town sensed that resolve was weakening. My own managers tried to pitch me a project the day the actors went on strike, and another friend told me about being harassed and then mocked by a producer who just wanted to “talk” about a project. People seem to not understand that a collective work stoppage is our only recourse. Even those who support us. A writer friend of mine who has weathered three strikes, said Bob Iger used to be the nice, reasonable one. Now he’s shaming us all the way from Sun Valley for demanding fair compensation. And I think I know why.  

I interned for a very famous talk show host when I was still in college. It was a job that brought invaluable connections and taught me so much. One of those lessons came after finding a medium-sized dog turd directly under the talk show host’s desk chair. The crap had been there so long it was beginning to petrify. One of the assistants told me there was an actual medical condition often developed by people who got to our boss’s level of wealth — they become completely out of touch with reality. The assistant made it seem almost sad that our boss’s nose was so far in the air that she couldn’t smell the turd under her desk. Not seeing the poo meant she also didn’t notice the person who cleaned it up (me) and not recognizing the work people do is why we are striking. So I have to believe that the medical condition that afflicted my poor rich boss is also what Bob and these other CEOs have been stricken with. 

The AMPTP seem to be so out of touch with reality — and with the people who make the shows that they sell — that they’ve made themselves the enemy of Hollywood actors and writers. They have made themselves the enemy of dreams coming true. Remind me when the hero of the story was ever the greedy CEO?