Oprah Winfrey brought down the 2018 Golden Globes Hall on Sunday night, in a rousing nine-minute speech that paid tribute to civil rights figure Recy Taylor
Oprah Winfrey declared that “time is up” for the men who have long silenced women and promised today’s girls that “a new day is on the horizon.”
Oprah Winfrey was accepting this year’s Cecil B. DeMille Award – She opened her speech with an anecdote about watching Sidney Poitier win his Oscar in 1964 (“I’d never seen a black man being celebrated like that”), before recounting her early days on A.M. Chicago and how Quincy Jones championed her to be cast in Steven Spielberg’s The Color Purple.
Oprah then moved into the topic of the night — the #TimesUp movement, in support of which all of those in attendance wore black.
She cited the story of Recy Taylor, an African-American sharecropper who, at age 24 in 1944, was walking home from church in Abbeville, Ala. when she was abducted and raped by six white men. The NAACP sent Rosa Parks to investigate and (unsuccessfully) pursue charges against the assailants. Taylor died last month at 97.
“For too long, women have not been heard or believed if they dare to speak their truth to the power of [brutally powerful] men,” Winfrey said. “But their time is up.”
“A new day is on the horizon!” she later said. “And when that day finally dawns, it will be because of a lot of magnificent women… and some pretty phenomenal men, fighting hard to make sure that… nobody ever has to say, ‘Me too’ again!”
Winfrey’s speech drew a standing ovation, bathed in many tears from those in the audience.
Here’s the video and full text of the speech
The following is the full text of Oprah Winfrey’s speech as she accepted the Cecil B. DeMille Award at Sunday’s Golden Globe Awards:
Hi. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you all. OK. OK. Thank you, Reese. In 1964, I was a little girl sitting on the linoleum floor of my mother’s house in Milwaukee watching Anne Bancroft present the Oscar for Best Actor at the 36th Academy Awards. She opened the envelope, and said five words that literally made history: “The winner is Sidney Poitier.” 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’d never seen a black man being celebrated like that. And I have tried many, many, 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 the 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 inspire me, who challenge me, who sustain me, and made my journey to this stage possible. Dennis Swanson, who took a chance on me for “AM Chicago.” Quincy Jones, who saw me on that show and said to Steven Spielberg, “Yes, she is Sofia in ‘The Color Purple.’” Gayle, who has been the definition of what a friend is. And Stedman, who has been my rock. Just a few to name.
I’d like to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press Association because we all know that the press is under siege these days, but we also know that it is the insatiable dedication to uncovering the absolute truth that keeps us from turning a blind eye to corruption and to injustice —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 and engineering and medicine and science. They’re part of the word of tech and politics and business. They are athletes in the Olympics, and they are 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 a mother. She was just walking home from the 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 10 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 dared to speak their truth to the power of those men, but their time is up.