Why Celebrity Abuser Cases Cut Deep for Survivors Like Me

I was recently at an event in a room full of Black people, jamming to soca, dancehall, reggae, and R&B. There were several moments where a big chune had us all singing in unison, and I revelled in that feeling of being connected to a bunch of strangers by the magic of music. It was bliss.

And then it wasn’t.

The DJ, who had been treating us to some R&B classics got on the mic and asked, “Y’all cool if I play some R. Kelly?” The unison in the room shattered.

I, for one, screamed out, “Absolutely the fuck not.” There were others, mostly women, who echoed my distaste for Robert Kelly and his music. But there were just as many enthusiastic voices asking the DJ to play his songs.

There was a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach—a deep discomfort with the reality that some people are able to separate the art from the artist. They can understand that R. Kelly is a prolific predator and still “Step in the Name of Love.”

But I cannot stand R. Kelly; I refuse to listen to his music. And not just him. I have a difficult time engaging with any art produced by a man that I know has been abusive toward women and girls. My mind always wanders to their victims. I think of what it’s like for them to watch others celebrate someone who harmed them. I consider how invalidating it must feel to know that their abusers’ talent is enough for some people to ignore—or outright deny—their pain.

I can connect to the grief of famous men’s victims because I understand their trauma.

I am a survivor of abuse, both as a child and an adult. Neither of my abusers is famous, but both are men who are well-liked and respected. They are charming and smart and talented in their own ways. And I have never named either of them publicly, in part because I am afraid that their reputations would protect them from scrutiny and subject me to doubt and dismissal.

Surviving abuse is hard enough. No victim should have to survive having their trauma disregarded.

But it happens all the time. I saw it happen with R. Kelly when people leapt to his defense and fought to keep his music on streaming platforms despite all the evidence against him. I saw it with the narratives spun to defend Bill Cosby’s legacy, including painting his victims as liars. I’m watching it happen as people drag Cassie’s name through the mud though Diddy is the one on trial. And I’m witnessing it with the people who are blaming Halle Bailey for not choosing a better partner instead of condemning DDG for abusing her.

Over and over again, I’ve seen high-profile victims handed the blame for their abuse. I’ve watched as fans stand by their faves regardless of the women they have beaten, raped, or otherwise hurt. I see the arguments that abuse allegations ruin men’s careers while no regard is given to how abuse ruins women’s lives.

I know that R. Kelly’s victims were not in the room that night when half a crowd cheered to hear his songs. I’m hopeful that Cassie and Halle are being protected from the digital cesspool of victim-blaming and abuse apologists on social media right now.

Thankfully, most survivors of famous abusers will not hear a majority of the on- and offline conversations about separating the art from the artist. But the victims of non-famous men will and do.

We are learning every day who in our social circle will make excuses for abuse. We are discovering how little the pain and trauma of women matters if the man who inflicted it is well-liked enough. We are debating with ourselves if it will ever be safe to tell our stories and speak our truths.

I wish that I had something more profound to say. Something that would protect victims, condemn abusers, and shame their apologists. But I don’t have the answers. Just the grief of my own experiences, my rage against gender-based violence, and a deep hatred for abusers and the people who defend them.

To my sisters in survival, please know that I see you. I believe you and I stand by you. Your abuser will never be charming or talented enough for me to ignore what he did to you. Your pain matters to me, and your strength inspires me.

To the people who separate the art from the artist, I am not telling you what art you should engage with. I cannot decide for you where to draw the line. But I do encourage you to consider that separation isn’t so easy for all of us and ask you to extend some compassion to those who are triggered by abusive artists.

And, finally, to those who have defended abusers because you like their music/movies/art and have ignored the harm they’ve caused their victims, I extend a hearty and unapologetic fuck you.