Yahoo News Culture Shift: I’m a Writer Facing Eviction. Do I Regret the Strike? (Guest Column)
For over five months, I’ve stood shoulder-to-shoulder with my union, the Writers Guild of America. Our protest has brought a flawed industry reliant on our creativity to its knees. Our fight, and that of the performers of SAG-AFTRA, wasn’t just about insulating ourselves from AI and other disruptive technologies; we demanded recognition and fair compensation for all of us, not just the stars. CEOs lament financial difficulties and tout profitless balance sheets, but the truth is that top executive salaries are soaring higher than ever. Meanwhile, with rocketing costs of living in cities like New York and Los Angeles, so many scribes, actors and crew have turned to side gigs like Uber driving to cobble together an annual income, echoing challenges faced by workers across sectors plagued by a corporate ethos that idolizes short-term profiteering and unchecked greed.
But corporate greed, in my case, is a snake that bites twice. In June, 40 days into the strike, a termination notice appeared on the door of my rent-stabilized Brooklyn apartment. My new landlord is exploiting my bicoastal career and two years of COVID lockdowns as pretext to evict my family from our home of 20 years, even though throughout it all I never missed a rent payment. I’m far from alone: Over 10,000 similar cases have flooded NYC housing courts since 2021, with landlords using the effects of the pandemic to circumvent affordable housing laws that allowed me and so many artists to build careers in New York City.
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So back in July, when Deadline published an article where an unnamed Hollywood executive suggested prolonging the strike until writers start “losing their homes,” it felt like a personal attack. Such callousness reveals the rot within corporate culture that extends far beyond Hollywood and harks back to a system that overlooks the lives it impacts.
As an Iranian immigrant who started working at 14, I’ve navigated the tumultuous waters of the media and entertainment industries without a financial safety net or family guidance. I chose passion over security and — despite continued warnings from loved ones and the implicit feedback from the industry — discovered that my outsider perspective and “otherness” were my superpowers, not weaknesses.
By conventional measures, my journey in Hollywood has been marked by notable success. Over the past four years alone, I’ve produced two critically acclaimed seasons of primetime TV (CBS’ United States of Al) and even wrote, directed and produced my first feature during the pandemic, which premiered at the New York Film Festival and has been screening in esteemed museums around the world. I’ve even secured generous grants from noteworthy foundations, enabling me to support and uplift artists from historically marginalized communities, providing them opportunities I never had.
And yet, at the age of 50, I find myself facing a grim reality: After 148 days on strike, I am broke and on the verge of eviction.
It was with an overwhelming sense of relief and joy that I read the Sunday night email from the WGA negotiations committee about a pending deal with the AMPTP to my wife and two sons (ages 10 and 6), who came to several pickets with me over the summer. Relief that it’s all over, and joy for standing strong for our careers and the industry we love. But when we stopped jumping for joy, I was surprised to find that a worry-induced agitation remained in the pit of my stomach.
Much like long COVID, we are just starting to see the true impact of these strikes. The uncomfortable reality of a Hollywood strike is that when it’s all over, returning to work for the vast majority of writers, actors and crew means resuming the scramble to secure their next gig, with no guarantee of income in sight. That’s business as usual for writers nowadays. Even the lucky few (myself included), with development deals or projects halted in production, will reenter the rat race of hustling to set up future projects so as not to hit a lull.
At this moment, as a deal is being finalized, we must remember that everything bad in Hollywood disproportionately impacts BIPOC artists without established careers. Already navigating an industry that often marginalizes their voices, BIPOC artists bear the brunt of these strikes and will suffer the impact for months and years to come. The systemic barriers they face, from limited access to industry networks to misrepresentation in media, are compounded by the challenges of uncertain employment and financial instability.
Some of my most heartwarming experiences came at WGA meetings in the early days leading up to the strikes. On two occasions, two senior writers — both white men with secure pensions and a healthy retirement to look forward to (courtesy of previous strike action) — declared in front of thousands of members and leadership that they were fighting not for themselves but for the new generation of writers, many of whom hail from historically marginalized communities. These were moments that I will never forget.
For me, the fight to keep a roof over my family has underscored the vulnerability that success can mask. When the strike began, I appreciated the WGA Strike Fund and the Entertainment Community Fund as a safety net for more vulnerable colleagues. But two weeks ago, after being warned to expect to be served eviction papers in early October and a costly legal battle, I submitted my own fund applications. So even amid relief at the strike ending, our family dinners now include bracing our boys for the inevitable knock on the door or tap on the shoulder followed by the dreaded, “You have been served.”
With that very real threat looming over our heads, some may ask — as has been insinuated in some recent articles and chatter — was the strike worth it? My wife and I are faced with a similar question as to whether it is worth it to bear the cost of the fight to keep our apartment, when we could take the meager payout offer from the landlord and move out. These are difficult questions I could not have anticipated a year ago, nor would I be in a position to answer ahead of this very particular moment in my life.
The strike served to remind me of the universal truth: Our collective welfare requires investing in people, not profits — lest we risk sidelining the very people who build the industries and communities required to sustain our economy. The solidarity that I experienced in those early WGA meetings and that forced the AMPTP back to the negotiating table is about to be tested as “business as usual” resumes. I, for one, am hopeful, because in the past five months of the strike, I have felt a spark of something new, something bigger than writers and Hollywood, something that points to a global struggle all artists and workers face.
I’m committed to nurturing that spark and fighting for a future where every worker’s value is recognized. Do I regret the strike? Should I abandon my home and community for a “buyout”? I do not and will not. Not because I am privileged and can afford it; neither could be further from the truth. Rather, after months of solidarity, it is abundantly clear that equitable success will demand our deepest vulnerability and unshakeable determination, long after the headlines have moved on. This is the spirit in which I share my story. We may have won the battle, but true success requires that we continue to stand together in the fight for opportunity and dignity for all, creating space for stories that echo our diverse experiences and shared humanity.
Only united can we foster a society where all our dreams have room to flourish and thrive. In the meanwhile, I hope you’ll remember those who will suffer for the fight they have waged in the last five months, and wish my family luck in our battle to keep our home and community of the last two decades.
Mahyad Tousi is a working writer, filmmaker and founder of Starfish, a hybrid social enterprise committed to empowering underserved artists by financing their ideas and nurturing their entrepreneurial visions. To learn more, visit www.starfish-fund.org.
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