TV show icon, Oprah
Winfrey unraveled emotions at the 2018 Golden Globe awards with a speech
as she accepted the Cecil B. DeMille Award at Sunday’s ceremony. Her speech
revolves around the story of Recy Taylor, a Black woman, who never
received justice after being abducted and gang-raped by six white men in
Alabama.
"In 1964, I was a little girl sitting on the linoleum floor
of mother’s house in Milwaukee watching Anne Bancroft present the Oscar for
Best Actor at the 36th Academy Awards. She opened up the envelope and said five
words that literally made history “the winner is Sidney Portier.” Up to the
stage came the most elegant man I had ever seen. I remember his tie was white
and, of course, his skin was black and I had never seen a black man being
celebrated like that. And I have tried many times to explain what a moment like
that means to a little girl, a kid watching from the cheap seats as my mom came
through the door, bone tired from cleaning other people’s houses. But all I can
do is quote and say that explanation in Sidney’s performance in Lilies of the Field: “Amen, amen,
amen, amen.”
In 1982, Sidney received the Cecil B. DeMille award right
here at the Golden Globes and it is not lost on me that at this moment, there
are some little girls watching as I become the first black woman to be given
this same award. It is an honor—it is an honor and it is a privilege to share
the evening with all of them and also with the incredible men and women who
have inspired me, who challenged me, who sustained me and made my journey to
this stage possible. Dennis Swanson who took a chance on me for A.M.
Chicago. Saw me on the show and said to Steven Spielberg, she’s Sophia in ‘The
Color Purple.’ Gayle who’s been a friend and Stedman [Graham] who’s been my
rock.
I want to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. We
know the press is under siege these days. We also know it’s the insatiable
dedication to uncovering the absolute truth that keeps us from turning a blind
eye to corruption and to injustice. To—to tyrants and victims, and secrets and
lies. I want to say that I value the press more than ever before as we try to
navigate these complicated times, which brings me to this: what I know for sure
is that speaking your truth is the most powerful tool we all have. And I’m
especially proud and inspired by all the women who have felt strong enough and
empowered enough to speak up and share their personal stories. Each of us in
this room are celebrated because of the stories that we tell, and this year we
became the story.
But it’s not just a story affecting the entertainment
industry. It’s one that transcends any culture, geography, race, religion,
politics, or workplace. So I want tonight to express gratitude to all the women
who have endured years of abuse and assault because they, like my mother, had
children to feed and bills to pay and dreams to pursue. They’re the women whose
names we’ll never know. They are domestic workers and farm workers. They are
working in factories and they work in restaurants and they’re in academia,
engineering, medicine, and science. They’re part of the world of tech and
politics and business. They’re our athletes in the Olympics and they’re our
soldiers in the military.
And there’s someone else, Recy Taylor, a name I know
and I think you should know, too. In 1944, Recy Taylor was a young wife and
mother walking home from a church service she’d attended in Abbeville,
Alabama, when she was abducted by six armed white men, raped, and left
blindfolded by the side of the road coming home from church. They threatened to
kill her if she ever told anyone, but her story was reported to the NAACP where
a young worker by the name of Rosa Parks became the lead investigator on her
case and together they sought justice. But justice wasn’t an option in the
era of Jim Crow. The men who tried to destroy her were never persecuted. Recy
Taylor died ten days ago, just shy of her 98th birthday. She lived as we all
have lived, too many years in a culture broken by brutally powerful men. For
too long, women have not been heard or believed if they dare speak the truth to
the power of those men. But their time is up. Their time is up.
Their time is up. And I just hope—I just hope that Recy
Taylor died knowing that her truth, like the truth of so many other women who
were tormented in those years, and even now tormented, goes marching on. It was
somewhere in Rosa Parks’ heart almost 11 years later, when she made the
decision to stay seated on that bus in Montgomery, and it’s here with every
woman who chooses to say, “Me too.” And every man—every man who chooses to
listen.
In my career, what I’ve always tried my best to do, whether
on television or through film, is to say something about how men and women
really behave. To say how we experience shame, how we love and how we rage, how
we fail, how we retreat, persevere, and how we overcome. I’ve interviewed and
portrayed people who’ve withstood some of the ugliest things life can throw at
you, but the one quality all of them seem to share is an ability to maintain
hope for a brighter morning, even during our darkest nights. So I want all the
girls watching here, now, to know that a new day is on the horizon! And when
that new day finally dawns, it will be because of a lot of magnificent women,
many of whom are right here in this room tonight, and some pretty phenomenal
men, fighting hard to make sure that they become the leaders who take us to the
time when nobody ever has to say ‘Me too’ again."
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