Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party (26 page)

Journalist

If people cannot write well, they cannot think well, and if they cannot think well, others will do their thinking for them.

–George Orwell

I
wrote for the Furman University newspaper. My stories were very dull, the college was adding a new wing to the science department, the bell tower was getting painted. But, I loved sitting at a typewriter like Clark Kent.

Suddenly, I was a fake journalist on
SNL
. One show in 1988, I did a story on the Update Desk about “terrorists” and went to the park with my baby Scarlet to see if could find any. I showed a video of her swinging and sliding; my report concluded, “Nope! No terrorists!”

When Reagan went to Reykjavík in 1987 to end the Cold War, I did a handstand on the Update Desk with a flag on my butt to show how much freedom we had compared to Russia. We didn’t notice the evil right under our noses, silently creeping into our colleges, TV shows, movies, and staining the fabric of our culture with evolution, atheism, humanism, and socialism. We were too busy enjoying the peace and opulence passed onto us by our parents, the Greatest Generation.

In the back of my mind, I knew the Bible said Lucifer was the god of this world, my Baptist church told me we were living in the end times, and my Dade Christian high school predicted communism would take down America from within by weakening our culture with sin. But I was too busy being a young actress trying to survive in my little world, keep my baby alive, and pay my bills.

Now I’ve had a political awakening, and realized that freedom isn’t free. Someone’s got to get out there and fight for it. I looked around for the middle-aged people. They’re the ones who do all the boring stuff: pay mortgages, change the oil in the car, replace the air conditioner duct, find the circuit breaker, talk politics… Then, I realized
I’m
the middle-aged people! It’s up to me. Armed with only a Bloggie, a tripod, and a bow, I slapped the attitude “press pass” on my chest and plopped into the battlefield. I went to Occupy New York. I interviewed a Muslim terrorist. I got Cuban refugees to recount their escape from communism, only to find it here. I met presidential candidates, and I did an exposé on the new Murfreesboro Mosque. I toured the Washington Monument before it was “struck by lightning” and closed to the public. I asked four Park Rangers what was inscribed in Latin on the topstone. None would answer me, even the 25 year veteran employee. Finally, with camera in hand, I asked the Park Ranger boss why no one could tell me what was inscribed on the monument, or what Bible verses were carved into the staircase walls that were roped off from the public. Ponytail flying, and red-faced with anger, he shouted at me, “We aren’t allowed to talk about Christianity! We have to be tolerant to all religions!” In other words, history is being rewritten. The public is not allowed to know that “Laus Deo” is written atop the Washington Monument. It means “Praise be to God.”

I appeared on an internet show that was the conservative alternative to
The View
. When the show started to take off, a socially-liberal/fiscally-conservative producer was hired to make our show a financial success. On her first day of “producing,” she looked me straight in the eye and shouted, “Stop talking about religion!” It felt like a kick in the stomach.

“Which religion?” I asked obstinately.

We all know she meant Jesus. That’s the only “religion” that bothers people. Liberals even support Islam—the religion that treats women like dogs and kills homosexuals! Of course, I was allowed to use “Jesus” as a curse word. That’s politically correct.

I couldn’t believe I was being “silenced” on a conservative show: the only place I could speak my views unrestrained, you would think. After only one day, the new producer was destroying our message in an effort to get a “broader audience” and make more money. The next day on the set, the topic was “Why is America exceptional?” Someone said it was because of our “diversity.” Another said, “Our freedom.” No one mentioned God. I had to speak from the heart. I refuse to be silent. I said, “Well, I was told by someone on this show not to talk about God anymore, but I must say that America is exceptional because it was founded on Judeo-Christian values, the Ten Commandments, and the verse, ‘Whatsover thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might.’ The Pilgrims, our forefathers, did things the best they could to glorify God.”

Silence.

“Well, you don’t have to agree,” I continued. “But that’s what I think.”

I changed outfits and got ready for the next episode. But when I returned, my chair was gone. I asked the producer if I was in this episode.

She said, “We don’t have enough chairs.”

I told the conservative boss what happened. After a lot of discussion, I was given my own show,
The Victoria Jackson Show
. He said I was allowed to say anything I wanted to. He gave me a raise and a contract.

My professional reputation has never included the word, “difficult,” but if I’m not allowed to say our country needs God on a Conservative Talk Show, then where am I allowed to say it? These are the little battles that happen every day on the spiritual battlefront. Politics and religion intertwine. Every issue comes down to a moral issue: the debt, budget, defense, health—all decisions are shaped by a person’s worldview. If you base your opinions on “man is God,” you will vote for abortion, homosexual marriage, more debt, redistribution of wealth, government control, and an atheistic education system. If you base your opinions on God’s Word, you will vote the opposite. I’m mad at the uninformed Christians. But then again, I used to be one of them.

Jesus wants us to be salt and light, not to hide in the choir.

That’s why I asked Andrew Breitbart in 2009 if I could start submitting blogs to his Big Hollywood web site. My first one was a teary rage against the Judd Apatow movie,
Year One
. I couldn’t believe how filthy it was. I had taken my teenager to it and walked out. Probably not a good career move for me, since Apatow is a Hollywood powerhouse, but encouraged by fellow patriots, I continued my rants and here are a few of those early journalistic endeavors that recounted my adventures as a beginner political activist.

Cockroaches in the Hospital on Your Chest

Around my fiftieth birthday, I was focused on my Bucket List. There were only two things left that I had not accomplished. The first was to play an “airhead” on a sitcom. Of all the roles I’ve played, many of which I wasn’t suited for, strangely, this one has eluded me. The second Bucket List item was to attend a weekly Bible study. So I joined Crown Valley’s Wednesday Bible Group, and the rest of the week I pursued airhead roles, which means I sat around waiting for an audition. I got about one a year. That year I got an audition for
American Pie IV
, but I turned it down because of the sexual content.

At one Wednesday Bible study, I was sitting between Mavis, her Chihuahua Pedro, and Sonia, an Iranian who lived in Russia for five years before receiving legal US citizenship. I asked Pastor Joel, “Why does the Bible say Jesus was from the lineage of King David, if he had no blood from his father in Him, since he was born of a virgin?” Pastor Joel excitedly replied, “Turn to Matthew 1 and Luke 3! Mary and Joseph were both descendants of David, as you can see by these genealogies. So, the Old Testament prophecy was fulfilled that said the Messiah would be from the priestly (through Nathan) and kingly (through Solomon) lineage of David. The blood of Mary which was from David ran through Jesus.” Oh. I had always wondered about that.

As we were leaving, Sonia and I started talking about the forty-eight pages of “hate speech” I received on
The Huffington Post
for my last
Big Hollywood
article. Sonia said, “When people can’t defend their position on an issue, they attack you personally.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I would love someone to talk me into being a liberal. But they can’t give me one good reason. Take socialized medicine for instance—the ‘Healthcare Reform’ that the President is trying to shove through the Senate as quickly as possible. They can’t give me one good reason I should want it. I mean, they say it will be cheaper, but that’s not true, because our taxes will go up to pay for it.”

Sonia told me that when she lived in Communist Russia, her friend with appendicitis was sent to the hospital. She told Sonia that cockroaches crawled over her chest at night. She explained that with socialized medicine, desperate patients resort to an “underground” system. Sick and dying people make deals illegally under the table for immediate treatment that they cannot get from the healthcare system, either because it is too slow delivering or because it refuses to give it at all. Deals involving your life! She compared it to the police force there. She said that when you are pulled over for speeding, the police expect you to slip them a folded up bill under your driver’s license. Sonia said, “Did you hear the story about the professor and the classroom? It explains communism so well. The professor told the class that after every test, all the students’ grades would be averaged, so that all would receive the same grade. So, after the first test, the ‘A’ students who studied all night and the ‘F’ students who partied all night were averaged, and all received a ‘C’. As the semester went on, the ‘A’ students quit studying, and eventually everyone in the class received an ‘F’.”

With no competition, humans atrophy to the lowest common denominator: the bare minimum to get by. The reward is always the same whether you work hard or not, so why bother? If capitalism dies, and there is no competition for patients, then doctors will study and work as little and as poorly as possible, as will all hospital-maintenance workers. Hence the cockroaches.

I walked to my car in the parking lot humming the theme from
Camelot
. At least I got to live in a magical place called America. I’m an eyewitness who can tell people under Communist oppression about a faraway land of freedom where people who worked hard were rewarded. And everyone tried to outperform each other, so everything was top quality. Houses, cars, pools, and food—they were all the biggest and best in the world. And people respected God and humbly thanked Him for their blessings. But gradually, the people started taking their blessings for granted. They started to expect rewards without working for them. They felt entitled. Even the strangers who moved into the land felt entitled. No one thanked God. They even started to mock Him. Bible studies started to be referred to as “hate speech” gatherings;
Leviticus 26
was a crumpled, yellowed page blowing in the wind.

I put my dog-eared Bible in the back seat of my car and stared at it. Someday we might both be “underground.”

My friend Liz said, “I think there needs to be a call-to-action rather than just resolving that this is our fate. Obama, who shouldn’t be President in the first place, is systematically destroying this country. It used to be called
treason
. He’s
not
upholding the Constitution — that’s treason! And we’re just watching as though it’s all right!”

“Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll stay in the fight.”

Alhambra Town Hall Healthcare Meeting:
August 12, 2009

I’m sitting in the parking lot, a poster board and black Sharpie in hand. Frank Pastori is passionately discussing the very current, very urgent Obamacare catastrophe with callers on 99.5 FM. Particular to this catastrophe is the
1017 Healthcare Bill
, which we have come to protest. In an attempt to describe Obamacare, I consider writing on my poster: Nationalized-Universal-Single-Payer-Socialized-Government-Controlled-Healthcare-Insurance-Reform-Thing. I settle on “Obamacare.” I call in to the radio show. My voice is higher than usual and a bit shaky. It takes lots of energy to protest. All my endorphins are zinging. “Hi Frank, I’m here at the…” I have a flashback to
SNL
: adrenaline rushing through my veins, Steven Tyler just down the hall, script in my hand, and my two inspiring posters of Madonna on my dressing room wall. That day at
SNL
, I would have never predicted that in seventeen years I would be sitting in a Honda Civic, with a head full of super-boring healthcare facts, watching old people walk by, while squeaking out on a poster: “What’s the Rush?” (afraid we’ll read the bill?).