Pixie Dust and Politics

An image of Disney World | Photo courtesy: CNN

There comes a point in life when the world starts to look different. The stories you once adored don’t feel the same, the lessons they taught seem too simple, and the things you never thought to question suddenly demand answers. For me, Disney was the cornerstone of my childhood—its films shaped my imagination, my values, and more. Wrapped in nostalgia and warmth, it felt like magic. But growing up means learning to look beyond the surface. It’s realizing that the magic isn’t as innocent as it once seemed. 

Disney has spent decades presenting itself as a beacon of joy, a company built on dreams and wonder. But beneath the fairy-tale exterior is a corporation that, like any other, prioritizes power and profit over principles. From exploitative labor practices to creative censorship, racial stereotypes to aggressive monopolization, Disney’s history is far messier than it would like you to believe. At some point, you have to ask: What does it mean to love something that refuses to live up to the ideals you learnt from it?

The Darker Side of the Dream

For all its magic, Disney , at its core, is a corporation. And corporations, no matter how nostalgic or comforting they may seem, have their shadows. It has always sold itself as a dream factory, a place where imagination thrives and where, as the saying goes, “dreams come true.” What it doesn’t advertise is what happens behind the curtain.

Take the 1941 animators’ strike—one of the first major cracks in Disney’s carefully curated image. Walt Disney, once just another artist, had by then become a boss, unwilling to pay his employees what they deserved. Animators, the very people responsible for bringing Disney’s magic to life, protested low wages and brutal work conditions, only to be met with the company labeling them as “ungrateful.” It’s a story that echoes even today, as reports surface of Disney theme park workers struggling to afford basic necessities despite working for a company that makes billions.

Then there is  Disney’s habit of swallowing everything in its path. It’s no longer just the house of Mickey Mouse—it’s an empire. It owns Star Wars, Marvel, Pixar, 20th Century Studios, National Geographic, and Hulu. This monopolisation has led to a slow but steady homogenisation of media. The company’s treatment of Marvel’s VFX artists is a recent example—overworked, underpaid, and given impossible deadlines, they finally voted to unionise in 2023. It was long overdue.

But Disney’s ethical failings don’t stop with labor practices. The crows in Dumbo, with their exaggerated speech and minstrel-like performances, reinforce harmful stereotypes. Peter Pan’s depiction of Indigenous people reduces an entire culture to a cartoonish fantasy, complete with offensive language and stereotypical behaviors. In Aladdin, the exaggerated, villainous features of the antagonists contrast sharply with the more Westernized designs of the heroes, reinforcing a racial hierarchy. While Disney has since championed diversity with films like Moana and Coco, the sincerity of these efforts remains questionable. Representation sells, and Disney knows it.

But while representation is important, the question remains: how much of it is genuine, and how much of it is just another way to profit off of inclusivity?

Even its centennial celebration, Wish, failed to recapture its former magic. Meant to honor Disney’s 100-year legacy, the film felt eerily artificial, with critics likening it to an AI-generated product. Instead of telling a new story, Wish recycled past Disney motifs in a soulless attempt to cash in on nostalgia. It reinforced what many already feared—Disney cares more about preserving its brand than creating meaningful films.

Rewatching with Open Eyes

The first time I watched Inside Out 2, I cried. Not just because of the stunning animation or the heartfelt storytelling, but because it understood something deeply personal—what it means to grow up, to face new emotions, and to navigate the overwhelming uncertainty of adolescence. It captured the chaos of change, the push and pull between who we were and who we are  becoming, and the uncomfortable reality that growing up means learning to live with emotions we once tried to suppress.

It’s a beautiful message, one that resonated with me and I assume many. And yet, when I rewatch it with everything I now know about Disney, I feel a strange disconnect. Because the film is about embracing every part of yourself, even the messy and difficult emotions, but Disney  has long buried its own truths. It has profited from nostalgia while treating many of its workers as disposable, prioritising cost-cutting and corporate control over creative freedom.

This isn’t to say that Inside Out 2 isn’t a good film. It is. But knowing what I know now, I can’t watch it without thinking about the people behind the magic—the animators who spent countless hours bringing it to life, yet may never see fair rewards for their work. The joy of the film is still there, but it feels different now, overshadowed by the reality of exploitation. The stunning animation, once just a marvel, now reminds me of the industry’s harsh conditions. It’s frustrating, even infuriating, to realize how invisible this labor remains. And when workers go on strike for better pay and conditions, it’s hard not to wonder—how can we celebrate these films without acknowledging the people who make them?

Where does that leave us?

There’s a point in everyone’s life when childhood illusions begin to crack. When things you once loved take on a different hue, not because they’ve changed, but because you have. For some, it happens when they learn about the true history behind Thanksgiving. For others, it’s when they realize the celebrities they once idolised have deep, troubling flaws. And for many of us, it happens when we begin to see the companies behind the stories we love. When you’re a child, Disney feels like a force of nature—something that exists just to bring you joy. But as you get older, you start to realize that it’s not a selfless entity. It’s a business. A very powerful one. And powerful businesses rarely operate without controversy.

So where does that leave us? Some people choose to stop supporting Disney entirely. They cancel their Disney+ subscriptions, avoid new releases, and refuse to give their money to a corporation that has repeatedly put profits over people. Others take a more complicated stance, continuing to enjoy Disney films while acknowledging the flaws of the company behind them.

Neither approach is right or wrong. What matters is that we remain conscious consumers—that we don’t let nostalgia blind us to reality. Disney may sell magic, but it is not magic itself. It is a company like any other, capable of both wonder and wrongdoing. And it’s up to us, as viewers, to decide how we engage with that knowledge. Because the stories we love don’t exist in a vacuum. And the weight of knowing is something we all must learn to carry.

(Edited by Giya Sood and Srijana Siri)