I don’t listen to R Kelley. Even on the radio. It is my
silent protest against a pedophile. Avoiding Michael Jackson is more difficult.
He is an institution to most Americans and beyond reproach…at least people seem
to think he is beyond reproach. Woody Allen is easier for me, I don’t like him
and don’t have any inclination to watch his movies and I wouldn’t know Roman Polanski
if he slapped me on the butt and called me sweetheart.
All of those men have the horrible distinction of being
accused (and widely believed), if not convicted, of being sexual abusers/rapists
of some kind. And with their lack of convictions trailing behind them, and
their “genius” pushed out in front of them, there has been an extended debate
about whether their personal lives should detract from their artistic ones.
One of my oldest friends asked me about Bill
Cosby today. My immediate answer was that he’s a rapist asshole and I followed that by acknowledging
that we, societally, support rape culture. We are so busy fretting about Bill Cosby’s
legacy and discussing the impact his greatness has had on comedy and television
and black people…I wonder who the hell is worrying about the impact his
raping has had on his victims.
While I don’t believe a person is only the worst thing that they have
done, I am conflicted when the worst thing you have done leaves a string of
traumatized victims in your wake while you were able to bask in money and fame.
Absolution of those crimes because of money and fame seems despicable.
The truth is, if someone makes amazing art, sings like an
angel, or portrays the human condition in film in a way that moves people…the
art does live on. The art doesn’t change because our knowledge of the person
changes. But damn, our support of that person should.
I grew up with the Cosby Show. I’m of that generation. It was lovely to see a family on TV that so
closely resembled mine, a brown family that just like the white ones, had a happy
ending at the end of the half hour. But giving a generation a warm-and-fuzzy
in the 80s doesn’t absolve Bill Cosby of his Quaalude-filled past, and it
certainly isn’t more important than the horror he’s thrust on a trail of women
so extensive it is has tipped the scales into a full blown crowd.
I know the dangers of convicting someone before all of the
evidence is in, but this isn’t a legal proceeding, Bill Cosby has managed to evade those,
all that is left is the court of public opinion. And for those that believe
that 40
women’s voices aren’t enough proof of wrong doing, Bill Cosby’s admission
should be. But if nostalgia, of a pretend father as the head of a pretend family
espousing values that in real life he shat on, takes precedence over real women
then…well…I don’t have words…
If we continue to worship at the altar of Mr. Pudding Pops because
he broke new ground so many decades ago then we are telling me and every woman
before and after me, it doesn’t matter if someone violates our bodies and minds,
as long as he’s funny or talented or rich when he’s doing it. I have three
nieces…and I’ll be damned if I let them learn that lesson from me. I’ll call it
rape and him a rapist and politely decline his reruns.
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