My first glimpse that something extraordinary was happening this summer came in May, when I was asked to speak at a rally outside 30 Rock, where I write comedy for a show I love with friends I adore. What I encountered when I got up to the podium was staggering. More than a thousand writers, actors, and allies from across the labor movement had poured onto 49th street. The raucous crowd included nurses, teachers, teamsters, and retail workers. Our struggle was theirs, and theirs was ours. The crisis we were facing was existential. It was their crisis, too.
It was at that moment that I realized just how wrong the studio propaganda had been. We hadn’t picked the worst time for a strike; we’d picked the best time. Which is to say, any time that your bosses refuse to properly recognize your value as a worker, or offer you a litany of excuses for why you can’t have the fairness and dignity that you deserve. “We don’t have the money.” “It’s not a good time.” “Have you told your grandparents to audition for The Bachelor?”
Faced with the reality of a strike, all of those lies evaporated. Their excuses and false bravado crumbled. And much like the contestants on Naked Attraction, the companies were laid bare for all to see.