Honor Labor Day: #BoldlyBeg 4 UBI
Feeling conflicted this Labor Day. I’m trying to do the right thing. But our American Civilization continues to punish those who labor in solidarity with fellow workers. During a pandemic. Given today’s stark reality, I’m forced to urgently ask you to join me and #BoldlyBeg. For Universal Basic Income (UBI). Advocated by even conservatives and libertarians such as Milton Friedman and Ayn Rand.
For those of us who need it, the shame is not ours. If your financial survival does not depend on unemployment benefits or a basic minimum income, I challenge you to identify three fellow humans whose UBI you can support. You don’t have to pick me. But pick three. At a minimum. Before you go to sleep tonight.
Why am I conflicted? I’m a six-foot tall white dude, living and working in Hollywood. I even have an IMDb page. That said, I own no car. I have no real estate. I share a studio, so privacy can be sparse. I have no 401k or IRA. Those awesome parties you hear about? Not where you’ll find me.
Nevertheless, I clearly enjoy a healthy degree of privilege. I’m not hip-deep in sewage water because the NYC subway is my best option. My home wasn’t swept away in a hurricane. I’m not a woman in Texas raped by the town’s “Man of the Year” last month. When I see a police officer, I don’t wonder if today is the day I die. I’m not stranded in Kabul.
I also recognize I may never fully comprehend the entire scope of the privilege I experience. And I’m about to ask for help. Financial help. Am I whining? Doesn’t feel right.
But as a member of a labor union, I notice that my concerns are not unique to me. As someone who depended on unemployment benefits to pay rent during the pandemic, I’m not the only one this weekend wondering how to make up the difference. In a pandemic. That never really ended.
And with new, more contagious strains evolving, and so many still refusing to mask, vaccinate and avoid super-spreader events, there’s a distinct possibility this pandemic could get worse. And winter is coming.
So if I need help, just like so many others, the question is: What To Do? Clearly, our governments, our institutions, those with resources and/or power, our “safety nets” — ALL have not quite risen to the challenge. What party flag one vigorously waves? Wildly irrelevant. Something has to change. So the responsibility (by default) falls upon the rest of us to create change. We the people. Who lack enough resources and privilege. To survive a pandemic.
If I must ask for help, can I do so in a way that might encourage others to do the same? I certainly don’t have all the answers. If I did, I would not need to write this article. If I ask for help in a way others can duplicate, then it’s not just about me. You can hate me. Or despise my life choices. Perhaps you're reminded of someone more worthy. Good! Ask yourself how YOU can help THEM. If you do that, the Eagle Scout in me will feel like putting myself out here in this vulnerable, unsexy, swipe left, pathetic Oliver-Twist-begging-for-a-second-bowl-of-porridge kind of way . . . was worth it.
I’m a SAG-AFTRA union actor who mostly performs as a background artist. Or to use the commercial production term familiar to most people: “extra”. (Yeah, like that Ricky Gervais show. Back when Bowie was still alive.) Because of legal peculiarities in labor law, I can be one of a handful of union background actors on set. Amid the other 50 non-union actors. When I joined the union, I noticed I was cast as background . . . quite a bit less.
Performance was never my “dream”. After decades of trying to please imaginary deities as well as mere mortals by pursuing various sales careers, The Big Short aka The Great Recession of 2007 liberated me. If I was gonna be broke with multiple untreated traumas, comedy and acting made sense. Not to achieve fame or fortune. Just to get through the damn day. And not take my own life.
Yeah, I’ve been in the hospital for suicide ideation. More than once. Which reminds me: if you are having any dark thoughts or feeling hopeless, you can always call 800–273–8255 or chat with the Suicide Prevention Lifeline. I have. More than once. It wasn’t completely satisfying. Nor did it solve my long-term problems. But I’m still alive. And that was the point. It bought me time. Time to find the help I needed. Help frankly we ALL need. Every so often. As heroes like Simone Biles and Naomi Osaka courageously remind us.
Why do we continue to feel hesitation and deep shame before asking for life-saving help?
As a union actor, I’ve experienced quite a bit of pressure in Hollywood to work “off the card”. This means working for a lower wage and zero union protections. It’s a clear violation of our Global Rule One: No Contract, No Work. But background actors in LA do it every day. For survival. Some even take advantage of a labor law loophole and go “Fi-Core”, which legally allows them to work both union and non-union jobs. But however one chooses to join SAG-AFTRA and then work non-union, the result is the same: it completely undermines collective bargaining. I won’t do it. I joined SAG-AFTRA for a reason.
Belonging to a labor union is not something I take lightly.
My traumas began growing up born-again christian (that was not a grammar mistake — asking me to capitalize it absolutely triggers me — Also, I write as I speak in conversation or before a live audience — deal). Part of my unofficial and uncertified recovery process involved writing my poem Son of Elmer Gantry’s Bitch. My father, a small business owner who dedicated his life to Jesus by selling life insurance, taught me in no uncertain terms that labor unions were evil. Almost as evil and destructive to Western Civilization as “the homosexual agenda”. The acceptance I desperately sought from my parents involved Sunday School, Boy Scouts, and articulating conservative republican talking points I gleaned from National Review and The American Spectator.
I literally chose my college for political reasons. (Who does that?!) Which clashed with my romance for films like All the President’s Men. Precisely when I refused to cease publication of my indie student newspaper. Before a Firing Line debate held at my college, I once spent 30 minutes alone with my hero at the time, William F. Buckley, Jr. (Who is that? No, I get it. I’m obligated to explain. Lemme guess, I’m also expected to embrace without scrutiny what someone’s uncle just posted on Facebook. Copy that.) I wrote a letter on physical paper from a tree to Mr. Buckley, because Twitter wasn’t a thing yet. He replied, curious as to why any student at my college would have quarrels with the administration that couldn’t be settled “over a glass of sherry”.
I found myself suddenly and without warning . . . expelled. My name and reputation were assassinated in local and national media by opposition research hired by a multi-million dollar academic campaign. I was not a political candidate. I was a 19-year-old kid in college. A student editor. Expelled. Weeks after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Clutch your red, white and blue and let that sink in for a moment. Especially those who identify as “curious” or “investigative journalists”. It’s been four decades. I still see you.
https://twitter.com/TheMarkRoman/status/1399479062460989441?s=20
Quickly I found myself on the FBI’s Subversives List. Meaning I can never serve in the military. Or hold any kind of security clearance. This is what seizes my thoughts every time I see or hear “Support Our Troops”. When I encounter an unhoused human and discover they are a veteran, I’m reminded that my country believes I’m not good enough to be in that position. A veteran. A human worthy of serving and defending America.
For most of my adult life, vivid peer pressure demanded I shrug off my college experiences. Lately, though, I’m noticing American Civilization is starting to take mental health seriously. Slightly.
In the meantime, I was forced to create my own solutions. To survive the traumas. Performing stand-up comedy and acting has helped tremendously. When I joined SAG-AFTRA and the union jobs available to me shrank, I found supplemental income busking as my Lt. Frank character. But the pandemic canceled my busking.
I was looking forward to returning to the Los Angeles college & NFL football tailgates, where Lt. Frank had become part of the culture there. Recent events pushed my mental health to the point where I knew I’d be calling the Suicide Prevention Lifeline soon. In a recent urgent call with my aunt, I rattled off the pros & cons of performing as Lt. Frank at the USC and UCLA tailgates this past Saturday. I realized that although I desperately need the money, the threat to my own health as well as the health of others, including fellow SAG-AFTRA members and other cast and crew on set in future work was too great. So I accepted that the new Covid variants canceled my tailgate busking. Again.
I don’t take Covid lightly. I was vaccinated in May with the J&J. Then one night I went to bed early. A call from the production’s doctor woke me. I had tested positive. No need to arrive on set in the morning to work. In fact, please don’t. I was instructed to quarantine for 10 days. Central Casting put me on their temporary “Do Not Cast” list for 10 days. I’m grateful I’m still alive. No hospitalization. But my symptoms, which I first attributed to lack of sleep working several long days, made me rather useless. For two weeks. A bad cold with terrific fatigue. To add insult and further injury . . . to injury . . . when I certified for my unemployment benefits with California EDD, my benefits were reduced. Because I reported that I couldn’t work. Due to illness from Covid-19. EDD lumps that in the same category as “choice to take day(s) off for religious reasons”.
Meanwhile, I’m currently pursuing a check I’ve yet to receive for one of those long workdays. Not some indie film shot on an iPhone in some dilapidated studio slum in Van Nuys. Major studio. Established show with multiple seasons. I had to file a claim with my union. But the pandemic has the claims system backed up. I may be forced to file a complaint with the California labor commission. Waiting doesn’t pay my rent, buy my groceries or prevent the shut-off of my phone or internet.
What I find especially frustrating is that before I caught Covid, I was booking more work with greater regularity. Almost as if the last decade of journeyman background acting work on many TV, film, and commercial productions, of consistently showing up early and taking direction well — was paying off. I didn’t even have to submit myself for a casting call. Central Casting would just text me and ask about my availability. Based on the trend of the last few months, I anticipated that I had a good shot of earning enough to survive after the federal unemployment benefits ended.
I lack the resources to hire the legal team and forensics pros necessary to prove how I contracted Covid. I’m no Scarlett. And due to contractual obligations as well as my respect for production privacy, until the creation hits screens, I’m not going to share what I’ve worked and how. If you cannot find it on my IMDb, I’ve got nothing to say. But when I see news like this, it makes me wonder about the celebrities on the next TV show or film I work. Or have worked. Are they vaccinated? Are they tested? Did they follow the Covid Safety Protocols mandated by production? I do because it's the right thing to do and I don’t want to get fired. Not every production these days involves a Sean Penn or Tom Cruise to enforce Covid safety without remorse.
I have no choice. I’m not a celebrity. (At least, not in the way you’re thinking. Technically, I was ruled one by a federal judge. When he dismissed my defamation suit. Against that college. The one that expelled me. While I was a student editor. I’ve found that particular flavor of celebrity currency to be less than helpful.)
I’m doing what I can, under the circumstances. There are some industry resources available to me. I’m waiting for return calls and/or completing applications. There’s a turn-around time. Some of weeks. And they are deluged by requests for financial aid. By people with small children who just lost their home to a hurricane. Feels weird going there when I’ve got a dry place to sleep tonight. As does my college graduate son. I just used what savings I had to pay September’s rent. What about October?
I knew I had to replace the busking income the pandemic canceled. Also, as a labor union member, I have a responsibility to save for future strikes.
Like many gig workers, my income is a puzzle. My ebay is a recent piece. Like any business, it takes time to build. I’ll mark down stuff dramatically (like my Up to 55% OFF Labor Day Clearance) only to sell a handful more items. Then months later I’ll finally sell the unsold items, previously on sale. At full price. Nature of the business, I’m finding. So if you find something you want at my Hollywood 90028 on ebay, or know someone who might, that helps, too. But I’ve found my ebay isn’t enough to pay all the bills. Not yet.
If I’m not earning enough as a union actor, while Fortune 500’s blatantly hire non-union commercial talent for both background and principal (the actors on screen doing the talking), I have to find alternatives that keep me in Solidarity with my union siblings. I’m one of the almost 27% of SAG-AFTRA members who voted for new leadership last week. I still need to read The Politics of Glamour, but I strongly suspect a through-line can be drawn in my union from Ronald Reagan to Chuck Heston (I shook his hand at the Firing Line debate after my WFB pow-wow) to . . . a producers guild member who identifies as an actor, Tom Hanks. It is crystal clear that SAG-AFTRA background artists like me are not heard nor respected by the union. But as my phenomenal fellow member and union leader Shaan Sharma reminds me, it’s not “the” union. WE the members are the union. And we have quite a bit of long-term work before us.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CM-VmtSJGkg/
The pandemic viruses continue to evolve. Unemployment ended. Just in time for Labor Day. (In case you were not clear how your elected official truly feels about labor.) Winter is coming. Meanwhile, 55 Corporations Paid $0 in Federal Taxes on 2020 Profits. I’m a union worker who has held signs outside my local Trader Joes to encourage essential grocery workers to organize (yeah, many are surprised TJ’s ain’t union). Alec Baldwin was unavailable. So I volunteered. I enjoy union protections that essential workers at Amazon, Uber and Door Dash don’t. I’m doing what I can with the resources I have as a decent labor union worker and citizen.
Therefore, I have absolutely no shame.
As I #BoldyBeg for private donations.
To make up the difference.
For the vital Universal Basic Income our “civilization” has yet to legalize.
If you need UBI like me, steal my request and make it your own. Share this article and your UBI request page. But only with everyone you know. If you find improvements on the model, do it. Let the rest of us know what works!
If you do NOT need UBI, you just volunteered to find 3 humans who do. It doesn’t have to be me. But find 3. And give. Generously. Because whatever “safety net” you imagine exists — it’s exhausted. Reforming governments and institutions moves too slow to meet the moment. Those with more have an obligation. To do more. NOW. Pick up your phone and Venmo three people RIGHT NOW. Not only do the rest of us ask for it. We proudly, sincerely, and boldly BEG for it. We see you. We continue to watch your actions. Remember Gangs of New York? That scene near the end? In the really nice part of town? As the chandeliers shatter? That was based on history. What will happen in real life to our“civilization” . . . tomorrow?
Your move . . .
