No career is worth a life
Welcome to Created By, a digital series by Hollywood Workers for Peace highlighting the stories of Hollywood laborers who are challenging our industry to end its support of state violence and imperialism.
Throughout this series, you will find essays on subjects such as being an anti-Zionist in Hollywood amid heightened censorship, explainers on the importance of connecting struggles like the genocide in Sudan and police brutality in the United States, Q&As with organizers and activists in our industry, updates on protests, and more.
You can read our previous entry in this series here.
If you have a story you’d like to publish with us or an idea for a story you think we should cover, please email us at: wgaforpeace@gmail.com. If your story is approved, you will work with experienced editors to prepare it for publication, with the option to publish anonymously or with your name attached. In solidarity!
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By Ruth Hanson
It was the summer of 2023, and the streets were alive with the sounds of whistles, boomboxes, chants and cowbells. The Hollywood writers’ strike had been going on for months. By mid-July, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) were joined by actors, directors, artists, animators, and supporters on the picket line.
As a Pre-WGA writer (someone who is angling to join the guild but cannot do so yet) and indie author, I was happily among the crowd. Writing is who I am, and has always been. As far back as elementary school, I lost myself in my imagination, penning journal after journal of fantastic characters and worlds that I could shape any way I pleased. As a young adult, I became fascinated with the craft behind the discipline, and the intricate inner workings of the industry of movies. I cut my teeth on romance novels from the time I was nineteen years old. I’ve written for various independent publishing houses and have published a handful of titles, including a bestseller and award-winner. In addition to my books, my eyes were set on the screen, and I managed to win scholarships and grants to graduate Cum Laud with a screenwriting degree.
Despite the frustration with the studios, there was a feeling of unity and community. People joined together, laughed together, marched together, all for a common goal. When the strikes ended, there was celebration all around. Only just breaking into the industry myself, I was hopeful that such strength in solidarity would last; that as creatives, we would remain united in the face of injustice big and small. And then October happened.
When the news of Israel’s bombardment broke in Palestine, I could feel my world come to a screeching halt. I had always tried to remain conscious of news abroad, but seeing the footage coming from Palestine was beyond the pale. I saw mothers praying over their children in body bags. I saw fathers running barefoot through war torn streets, pleading to know if their families were okay. I watched white phosphorus spread across the city like an airdropped pesticide. I saw hospitals reduced to rubble. I saw children holding rusty pots, begging for food. Libraries and universities with centuries of history gone in seconds. Babies left to waste away in abandoned maternity wards.
During the strikes, CAA — one of the biggest and most prolific agencies in the industry — responded with keen interest to a project of mine. For months, the agent and I built up a rapport. I told them about my various other projects, kept them in the loop about advancements and awards, and they seemed more than happy to hear about all the work I could bring to the table. In addition to possibly representing my books, the opportunity existed that I could also get my screenwriting represented. So. while I didn’t get too ahead of myself, I was so close to that next step in establishing my name I could almost touch it. But while I waited, life moved on.
Once the genocide began, I decided to participate in a charity drive to raise money for Palestine Legal; a US firm that supports Palestinian refugees in the states. I played several games on stream (and won one!) which drew in donating crowds to reach our goal by the end of the day. I even offered a piece of commissioned writing as a prize for a silent auction. Altogether, we raised thousands of dollars, and I was proud to be a part of something that made a difference, no matter how small.
This stream was public. Not only did I advertise it before, during, and after, many other contributors also advertised it. In addition, I spoke out publicly about the atrocities I was seeing, re-posted and uplifted Palestinian voices, and tried highlighting charities and drives for eSims and aid. Plainly put, I was not shy about where I stood on the conflict.
And then I got an email. It was from the CAA agent. The one with whom I’d spent months chatting, who had requested my book’s manuscript in full. The email I received was a very simple, two sentence rejection. They were sorry, but they would not be moving forward with my work.
When I received the email, I was stunned. I was used to rejection, but I was more shocked at the abruptness of it all. How impersonal and formal it was. In my confusion, I asked for any feedback. Maybe my writing just wasn’t for them? They responded promptly with “no notes at this time.” And that was that. I didn’t think much of it, chalked it up to another pass. and moved on with my day. Then, a week later, I saw Susan Sarandon, an A-lister and Hollywood legacy name, get dropped by CAA for appearing at a pro-Palestine rally. Suddenly, the pieces fit.
At first, I was angry. I made a public statement to passionately reiterate where I stood. But as the days ticked on, I began to grow wary. I was an out-of-work writer with barely anything to my name. I’d grown up in this town, and knew its capacity to leave have-nots in the dust. I had spent my whole life building and building and building, and in a matter of months, I saw someone take a wrecking ball to all my progress.
I became paranoid and reclusive. There was one other opportunity just on the horizon that I knew any political dissent may jeopardize. At the same time, I felt horrid. I had always grown up with unshakable morals of right and wrong, but now I faced the very real possibility of losing everything I’d worked so hard for by sticking to them. That solidarity I felt in June was long gone, and I was more alone than I’d ever been. If I wanted to make it in the business, it became a very real possibility that I’d need to shut the hell up and keep my head down. As a survivor of child abuse, it was a method I was very familiar with.
But as I quieted, I watched as more and more voices got louder and louder. The news got worse, but less of us were silenced for pointing it out. More of us called for peace, for an end to Israel’s occupation, for a permanent and imminent ceasefire. The rising voices, crashing against dissent, against discipline, against consequences, forced me to face the truth. That evil prevails when good men do nothing. That silence is what they want.
As more of us put pressure on companies working with Israel, more of us put pressure on politicians ignoring the voices of their constituents in favor of political gain. I felt reinvigorated. I was reminded of those few hot months outside of Warner Brothers, chanting and whistling and singing to disrupt the system. I had taken the time I needed to think, and had come to this sobering conclusion: no career is worth a life.
I realize that I am in no way the most affected by the genocide and imperialism in Palestine. But while mine is not the most important story, it is a piece of a larger puzzle of muzzling outrage within a community that should otherwise champion those that are. I am thankful that you read about my experience, but I encourage you to also listen to those who need you the most. Only by decentering the individual and embracing the community can peace and safety finally be achieved. This is bigger than a celebrity, bigger than a politician, bigger than a blue check mark. The loss of community is the loss of humanity. The loss of your voice.
When Hollywood Workers 4 Peace reached out to me to share my story, they gave me the option to do so anonymously. The threat of blacklisting is still very much real. And as I had recently closed yet another film option, my professional reputation would be on the line. But no career is worth a life.
My name is Ruth Hanson. Ceasefire now.
Ruth Hanson is an author/screenwriter born and bred in Southern California, and a native Angeleno. A writer of horror, comedy, and queer romance, Ruth is an eternal optimist, and often weaves narratives of social justice in with her work. She has had success in the world of indie publishing with titles like The Kiss of 89 and Urban Arcane. Her most popular title, The Railwalkers, became the best selling novel of her publishing house, and was later adapted into an award-winning pilot of the same name. Ruth strives to incorporate themes of justice, community, and the voices of the marginalized into every manuscript.
