Oprah's Golden Globe acceptance speech is going to go down in HERSTORY! (Full Video)

One of the most moving acceptance speeches ever,

by Garrett Pattiani
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REESE WITHERSPOON:  There are a lot of people known on a first name basis, but there's only one person whose name is a verb, an adjective, and a feeling.  And that is Oprah.


When you say her name, everybody stops and listens.  Just try it.  Say to the person next to you right now, "Oprah just texted me the funniest thing."  Trust me, they're going to stop everything and look at their phone.

I got to work with Oprah on our movie "A Wrinkle in Time," where we spent four hours in the makeup trailer almost every day.  Guys, if you can find a way to be stuck in a small space with Oprah for four hours, do it.  It's like going to Wharton Business School combined with a spiritual retreat, all in one.  I learned everything from how to make the best English muffin, to what it's like being the only woman as a board member at a huge company.  And her hugs?  OK, Oprah's hugs could end wars, solve world peace.  It's like your oldest, dearest friend has just seen you after the longest journey of your life.  It's that good.  When she hugs you, it's the greatest thing ever.  Just ask Gayle, she'll agree. 

When I learned I'd get to introduce Oprah tonight, I began asking people, "If you could say one thing to Oprah, what would you say?"  And they all said different things, but every answer started the same:  Tell her thank you.  Tell her thank you for teaching us, for inspiring us, for encouraging us.  Thank you for seeing us." 

So, Oprah, thank you for your grace and your generosity and your wisdom.  And thank you for your powerful contributions to the world of film and television.  In this and everything you do, you've changed our lives.


(Clip shown.)

OPRAH WINFREY:  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 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.


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's 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 have 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.  Thank you.

Garrett Pattiani