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[ Cheers and applause ]
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-I'm so happy it was you. Thank you.
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Ah.
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
Thank you all.
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Thank you.
Okay, okay.
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."
[ Applause ]
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.
[ Cheers and applause ]
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've inspired me,
who've challenged me, who've sustained 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's been the definition of what a friend is.
And Stedman, who's 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...
[ Cheers and applause ]
...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.
[ Applause ]
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,
in engineering, in medicine, in 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 a mother.
She was just 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 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.
And for too long, women have not been heard or believed
if they dare to speak their truth to the power of those men.
But their time is up.
[ Cheers and applause ]
Their time is up!
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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 and now
to know that a new day is on the horizon!
[ Cheers and applause ]
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.
Thank you.
[ Cheers and applause ]
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