The calculation included who would be watching. In 1973, before the era of home video, streaming, and social media amplification, the Oscars broadcast was one of the largest single-audience events in American television. Approximately one in three American adults was watching. The statement made in that room would be heard by more people, simultaneously, than any speech at a political rally, any press conference, any statement released through traditional public relations channels. The Oscars ceremony was, in the most literal sense, the highest-profile moment available in American popular culture.
Brando had determined what he wanted to say. He had written eight pages. Then he needed someone to say it.
The choice of Sacheen Littlefeather was not arbitrary. She was not merely a convenient proxy; she was a person with standing in the cause being protested. She was young and relatively unknown, which meant that the attention would not be divided between the political statement and her personal celebrity. She was, by her own account and the account of those who worked with her in the Bay Area Native American community, genuinely committed to the issues being raised. She could speak to the cause from her own experience and identity, not merely as a messenger for someone else’s words.
The logistical arrangements were made under significant time pressure. Brando approached her the day before the ceremony. She said yes. She had less than twenty-four hours to prepare for one of the most watched moments in American television.
The speech she was given — eight typed pages — was prepared by Brando but delivered, in the end, in none of its original form. She read it in a car, by flashlight, on the way to the ceremony. She was told by producer Howard Koch backstage that she had sixty seconds. She made a decision: she would say, in her own words, what was essential, and she would invite those who wanted more to seek it outside.