The American Spectator

“It’s a free country,” I shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”

This is one of the worst little recent examples of how people here feel about Republicans (and Republican Jews, who simply blow their brains out, to use an old hippie phrase ). But rants, screaming about how we’re trying to control women’s bodies, draft their sons out of their BMW’s and send them to war, scowls and frowns at Morton’s, hysterical calls from the network when I appeared on TV backing Right to Life — these are real. Feeling like outsiders, feeling as if we’re going to get our cars keyed if we have Bush stickers on them, getting trash thrown on our yard for having up a Bush sign — these are real. Getting denied screenplay credits because I worked for Nixon, those are totally real.

Yet, we’re here, meeting in smoky places, greeting and giving the secret sign in the fog out by Zuma Beach, more of us every day. And in the words of the Civil Rights song I used to sing when I marched for voting rights in Cambridge, Maryland, “We are not afraid. Deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome some day.” Even in Los Angeles, even in Malibu, even in Hollywood. Tremble, Barbra, tremble. We are right outside your gates, with our truth. We are not afraid and we shall overcome.