Sunday night I went to the Golden Globes. As Meryl Streep's date.
I had not personally met Meryl Streep before I checked my voicemail and heard her soft voice, familiar from so many of my favorite films, introducing herself. There she was, asking to discuss the possibility of attending the Golden Globes together. Yes, Ms. Streep, we can definitely discuss that.
And so I found myself on Sunday night, wearing a black floor-length gown, having been immaculately made up by Meryl's hair and makeup artist, stepping onto a red carpet lined by more cameras and flashing lights than I had ever seen.
I am not an actress. I am not a director, producer, or screenwriter.
I am an activist, and the executive director for the National Domestic Workers Alliance. For the past twenty years, I have been organizing and advocating for our nation's domestic workers. They are the nannies that take care of our children, the housekeepers that bring sanity and order to our homes, and the home-care workers that care for our parents and support the independence of our disabled family members.
There are more than 2.5 million women in the United States who make it possible for us to us do what we do every day, knowing that our loved ones and homes are in good hands. Many of them are immigrants and women of color. And while they care for what is most precious to us, they are deeply undervalued and vulnerable to abuse, in large part because domestic workers, along with farm workers, aren't adequately protected under decades-old (and historically racist) labor laws.
My work at the Alliance has included fighting against sexual harassment and assault of domestic workers. So when 300 prominent women in Hollywood formed Time's Up, inspired by the #MeToo movement and the letter of solidarity they received from Latina farmworkers, I knew that something big was happening. The tone had shifted from shock to determination, and women were reaching out to find their allies.
And so I became Meryl Streep's "plus one" at the Golden Globes. When I walked into Meryl's hotel room for our first meeting, the kettle was boiling. Over a cup of chamomile tea, we sat together and talked about how best to honor survivors and share the stories of domestic workers the following night. She also asked her long-time hair and makeup artist, Roy Helland, to come and meet me to go over what I would need to get ready for the event.
On the night of the awards, after taking a shot of vodka for courage, we stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of countless cameras, shared our message with the media, and cheered others on who were doing the same. Because I was not the only activist brought as a guest: there was Tarana Burke, creator of the #MeToo movement, who came with Michelle Williams; Mónica Ramírez, co-founder of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas (the National Farmworker Women's Alliance), who attended alongside Laura Dern; and Saru Jayaraman, co-founder of Restaurant Opportunities Centers United, who arrived with Amy Poehler — to name a few.
The red carpet, usually a rich kaleidoscope of brightly-colored couture, was a sea of black dresses worn as a symbol of solidarity with survivors of sexual harassment and assault. And while black can be a somber color to wear to an awards show, on this night — believe me — there was nothing more spectacular than these strong, talented, and determined women. We were together in strength, and our unity created, in Meryl's words, a "thick black line between the past and the present."
On Sunday night, the fight against sexual violence expanded. The focus shifted away from the abusers to the survivors and the solidarity among women across industries, across economic strata, and across communities. The exchange between us helped us understand how we could create not only a moment, but a movement with space and a role for every woman, where every survivor could feel supported.
I received enthusiastic texts from Allison, my colleague from Barbados and a third-generation domestic worker living in Brooklyn. "I'm so excited and proud of this moment in time — know we are standing with you and the amazing sisters you are with," she wrote, sending along photos of her TV screen. She helped win the first Domestic Workers Bill of Rights in New York state. "This is for you!" I told her. And also for Jacklyn, a young black woman survivor in the South who came to activism through the #MeToo movement. And Mily, a Latina who has organized women working in the fields of California for more than three decades. These women have been leading this fight for years, organizing to build power, petitioning (successfully!) to change labor laws, and speak their truths. There is much to be learned from them, and to be gained by integrating these experiences with the unique storytelling power held by women in the entertainment industry.
During her acceptance speech for the Cecil B. DeMille Award, Oprah told us that her mother had been a domestic worker — a house cleaner — just like any one of the members of the National Domestic Workers Alliance. And in that moment, everyone in that room felt connected to the millions of domestic workers who fought, like Oprah's mother did, to gain the respect and dignity they deserve. When Oprah named the domestic workers, farm workers, factory workers, and restaurant workers, she shared her stage with the millions of women and people who are underpaid, undervalued, and forced to tolerate harassment and abuse because they have, as Oprah said, "children to feed and bills to pay and dreams to pursue."
In the work of organizing we always say that a victory isn't a victory if no one feels it's theirs. And if you want change, you have to first envision it, and then name it to summon it into existence. We want women — all people — to have dignified and safe workplaces. When women's workplaces are dignified, we see laws that include protections for everyone — no loopholes, no exclusions. When women's workplaces are dignified, we see women have safe and accessible ways to report harassment, where they are believed and their abusers are held accountable. When we all have dignified work, women won't have to choose between paying rent and their own personal safety.
My once-in-a-lifetime experience at the Golden Globes is over, but something new is beginning. In Meryl's words on the red carpet, "courage begets courage," in a virtuous cycle. Domestic workers organizing inspired her, Tarana Burke and the #MeToo movement inspired Michelle Williams (and so many others), farmworkers inspired women in entertainment to widen their focus, Oprah's mother inspired her, my grandmother's caregiver inspired me, the courage and determination of survivors inspired other women to come forward. And of course, on Sunday, Oprah inspired us all.
Time's up. I can't wait for our next step.
Ai-jen Poo is the executive director of the National Domestic Workers Alliance and author of "The Age of Dignity: Preparing for the Elder Boom in a Changing America" (The New Press). She would like to acknowledge the other activists who were at the Golden Globes on Sunday: Tarana Burke, creator of the #MeToo movement, who attended with Michelle Williams; Mónica Ramírez, co-founder of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas (the National Farmworker Women's Alliance), who attended with Laura Dern; Saru Jayaraman, co-founder of Restaurant Opportunities Centers United, who attended with Amy Poehler; Marai Larasi, executive director of Imkaan, which addresses gender-based violence against black and minority women in the U.K., who attended with Emma Watson; Calina Lawrence, a Native artist and activist in the Water Is Life Movement, who attended with Shailene Woodley; Rosa Clemente, a Puerto Rican racial and gender justice activist from New York, who attended with Susan Sarandon; and Billie Jean King, who founded the Women's Tennis Association, who attended with Emma Watson.
