We are all Breitbart Now.
That is the sentiment blazing across the conservative blogosphere as patriots ask, “how on earth can you replace someone as innovative, dynamic, passionate, committed and indefatigableÂ as Andrew Breitbart?” Â Answer: you can’t. Â But literally thousands of patriot bloggers, media watchdogs and citizen journalists in this country would not even be on the trail right now if not for the man who blazed it before them.
Breitbart’s legacy is the army of conservative activists who are committed to picking up the torch and finishing the fight he started.
I should state right here that when I first started off on my Grand Hollywood Adventure, I was a socially left leaning, moderate fiscal conservative, proudly independent, ignoring party affiliations and casting my ballot for whoever I thought was best for–or, in any case, would do the least damage to–my beloved country. Â […]
Then, on September 11th, 2001, everything changed.
I remember watching the collapse of the first tower and feeling–literallyÂ feelingÂ the breath just leave my lungs, my chest filling with a terrible, ghastly void; a sense of distant screams in a windswept wasteland and loss loss loss oh my God all those people all thoseÂ peopleÂ theyÂ murderedÂ all thoseÂ thousandsÂ ofÂ people… Â […]
I was greeted by coworkers in various states of shock, portable TVs turned to the news in all the offices.Â Like every American,Â I was approached by a number of colleagues who wished to vent and commiserate.
But unlike every American, Â my coworkers expressed little or no anger toward the terrorists who had committed thisÂ atrocity.Â Rather, theyÂ directed their vitriol towards American Imperialism, American foreign policy, American arrogance, American warmongering, American racism and, most of all, our American President, the evil, unfathomably stupid, idiot Christian, bumbling Texan oaf, George W. Bush.
And what did I say?
Not a damn thing.
I was just shocked silent. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Were these peoplecrazy?
At one point, one of my fellow writers must’ve noticed that I wasn’t expressing my state-mandated, required ration of Bush-hatred, and confronted me like some rabid Dominican at the height of the Spanish Inquisition, “So what do you think?” she hissed, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me, as if vetting me for any possible variance from the accepted party ideology, “What wouldÂ youÂ do ifÂ youÂ were the President?” Â […]
What I actually said, after a bit of hemming and hawing and averting of the eyes, was, “I’m just really, really glad that I’m not the President, because I don’t knowÂ whatÂ I’d do.”
(NOTE: Deliver the above in a Goofy uh-huh-yuk-yuk dopey-aww-shucks drawl to appreciate the full “Who, Me? No Ma’am!” gutlessness inherent in the speaker.)
She glared at me for a moment, as if attempting to x-ray my soul to determine whether or not I was a fellow-traveler, or something…Â else. Finally, she walked out to go write a check to PETA or shit herself over Global Warming or something. I was, for the moment anyway, safe.
Over the ensuing years, I continued to remain silent whenever confronted by the toxic, batshit-crazy, knee-jerk, anti-intellectual, when-in-doubt-blame-America Leftism that pervades Hollywood. I saw what happened to others if they spoke up or disagreed. I actually witnessed one writer, who foolishly expressed his support for the war in Iraq, set-upon and viciouslyÂ beratedÂ by no less than six crew-members for almost 20 minutes straight.
That night, he found his car had been keyed in our secure lot.
Hmm… mustve been a random vandal.
Incidentally, though he had a storied career, an amazing list of credits and is one of the most versatile, talented writer-producers I know, the jobs gradually dried up for him and now he can’t, as they say, get arrested in this town.
Toadies in the MSM assert that there is no Blacklist in Hollywood. And they’re right.
It’s not necessary because Hollywood is a very, very small, very, very ruthless town, where a few key words spoken in the right ears can absolutely wreck a career–code-words like “difficult,” “high-maintenance” and “uneven.” Â When you can obliterate a fellow professional with a few well-chosen phrases, why maintain something as crude and inelegant as a Blacklist.
How dare anyone even suggest that there’s a Blacklist againstÂ conservativeÂ performers?
Blacklists are for mouth-breathers.
Blacklists are for knuckle-draggers.
Blacklists are so… so…Â Republican.
And so I kept my mouth shut. And a funny thing happened: The longer I was forced toÂ withholdÂ my opinions and beliefs, the brighter they burned in me. Funny. Oppression has a way of doing that in the oppressed.
Ask any Soviet defector…
For years, I bit my tongue, nodding and making non-committalÂ sounds while listening to the mostÂ virulentlyÂ noxious Leftist spew imaginable: Explicit rape-murder fantasies directed toward Palin, Coulter, Malkin and Ingraham; blithely expressed wishes of cancer, assassination and mutilation of Bush, Cheney, Limbaugh; the snide denigration of “civilians” (i.e. anyone not in the entertainment business) in the “flyover states” (i.e. everywhere except New York and east of the Golden State Freeway–Pasadena, for instance is a “flyover state”); and, of course, the endless venomous,Â profanity-laced screes againstÂ the Tea Party. Â […]
Then I met Andrew Breitbart.
Andrew introduced me to others–lotsÂ of others–in the industry who shared my belief in the exquisite beauty of the American Constitution, my love for this country and my firm conviction in its exceptionalism.
Not dozens of people, mind you. Not even hundreds.
There areÂ thousandsÂ of us.
But there areÂ tensÂ of thousands ofÂ them.
So we keep a low profile, quietly taking heart when the Gary Sinises, the Patricia Heatons, the Lionel Chetwynds, the Adam Baldwins achieve a degree of success so solid, so bulletproof, that they can step out into the light and openly express their opinions without fear of crippling reprisal from the Trolls.Â Not that they don’t pay a price–imagine how much more famous and wealthy each would be if they were strident Liberals. Â […]
I saw the hashtag thread #IAmAndrewBreitbart and drew some cheer from it. I mentally debated whether to add to the thread and thought, “Ahh, to hell with it. One tweet. Nobody’ll even notice.”
Besides, I had no choice. The tag was a play on the signature line from Spartacus, and I was a writer-producer on the first season ofÂ Sparatcus: Blood and Sand. It seemed preordained.
And thusly I tweeped:
“I wrote Spartacus, and #IAmAndrewBreitbart”
I got a response. Clever stuff. Typically mindless Leftist-style zombie-chant:
“HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDÂ HE LIED AND HE DIEDHE LIED AND HE DIED”
Stupid stuff. A bullshit schoolyard taunt designed to get a rise out of me. Wouldn’t have phased me any other night.
But something snapped.
12 years of silence. 12 years of cowardice. 12 years of humiliating self-censorship. 12 years of hiding what I think, who I am and what I believe in order to protect myÂ livelihood.
And Andrew Breitbart is dead.
It all just started bleeding out of me, white hot, 140 characters at a time. All my rage. All my indignation. Like the jetting pulse from a slashed carotid, for the whole world to see.
Then came the emails. And the Follows. 1,000 in about an hour. My jaws clenched, tears blurred my vision as I typed (as they blur them now as I type): My hero is dead. Andrew Breitbart is dead.
Long live Andrew Breitbart.
Read the whole thing at Into The Black Box