“Sacrificing Storytellers” – My Philosophy On The Writer’s Strike
On the Hudson River Walk, there is a bench with a plaque that proposes, “Catherine, will you marry me?” – this is my favorite spot to write. I go to this bench everyday. Today, however, I did not bring my notepad. Instead, I open my once white, now yellow, Toronto skyline tote bag and reveal the book “Comfortable With Uncertainty” by Pema Chödrön.
I reach in, fumbling past the empty bottles of purell and lipgloss, and flip to a passage titled “The Facts Of Life: Impermanence.” The section reads, “We know that all is impermanent (...) Although we can buy into this truth intellectually, emotionally we have a deep-rooted aversion to it. (...) We use our daily activities as a shield against the fundamental ambiguity of our situation, expending tremendous energy trying to ward off impermanence like death. We don’t like that our bodies change shape. We don’t like that we age. We use health products as if we actually believe that our skin, our hair, our eyes and teeth, might somehow miraculously escape the truth of impermanence. (Buddhist teachings) encourage us to relax gradually and wholeheartedly into the ordinary and obvious truth of change (...) When we do this, we begin to understand we’re not the only ones who can’t keep it all together. We no longer believe that there are people who have managed to avoid uncertainty” (14).
I have a complicated relationship with uncertainty. As many are, I am resentful that I am no exception to its relentless dictatorship. That being said, the “shield” that I use to “ward off impermanence like death,” is storytelling – a practice I would argue is the only exception to impermanence. Dating back 30,000 years, some of the earliest evidence of stories comes from the cave drawings in Lascaux and Chavaux, France. These drawings depict animals, humans, and other objects, appearing to represent visual stories. Yes, storytelling has evolved, we no longer have to draw in caves, therefore proving elements of impermanence. But the need, the urge, the desire to capture and create “our situation” has stayed the same. This ever-changing cultivation, in an ironic way, helps us feel safer in our worldly uncertainty. Storytelling opens its arms for the collective realization that “we’re not the only ones who can’t keep it all together,” but we can still be together as we transform.
As streaming services and limited-series TV shows have transformed into the norm, the Writers Guild of America and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers began negotiating a new contract to address pay, residuals, and other issues to replace a three-year deal that expired May 1. Attempting to aid the divide, the WGA said it sought improvements valued at $429 million annually, while the studios offered increases valued at about $86 million. Ultimately, of the 21 WGA proposals, the Alliance for Motion Picture and Television Producers — which represents the big media and streaming companies — had agreed to only six by May 1. Therefore, an agreement was not reached, and the majority of the WGA’s membership voted to authorize a strike that began May 2nd, 2023. Chris Keyser, a co-chair of the WGA negotiating committee, stated, “We will not accept a deal that does not address ... the changes in the business that have made it impossible for writers to earn a living … we will not make a deal with them until we have protections.”
In my own life, I find the illusion of predictability in writing. Whether it’s truly there or not, I appreciate the artform allowing me to have a sense of control over a storyline to cope. Yesterday, for example, I wrote 5 poems about a situation I have no control over, and yet writing my own ending has made me feel more comfortable for whatever outcome arises. Over the course of time, as I’ve found my voice, I’ve felt inspired to share my poems with anyone who will listen. I love that writing has given me a way to articulate colorful and loud emotions, to share them, and relate to others. The stories people tell are important – they are an extension of their existence. Therefore, how dare we now be in a situation where those extensions are at stake.
I urge all of you who consume any sort of entertainment to appreciate the length at which storytellers sacrifice themselves to bring you a sense of certainty – while they live in everything except it. If you wish for a life where we can “relax gradually and wholeheartedly into the ordinary and obvious truth of change,” proceed in solidarity and advocate for artists, so we can change for the better.