In the weeks following the horrific revelations made in Lifetime’s bombshell six-part docuseries “Surviving R. Kelly,” the fallout has been immense.
The 52-year-old R&B superstar, accused of alleged sexual and physical abuse with underage girls spanning nearly three decades, has parted ways with Sony Music Entertainment and its subsidiary RCA Records, following protests over his conduct.
But while a day of reckoning seems to be finally at hand for Kelly, the hip-hop and R&B world has yet to truly have the #MeToo moment that has rocked Hollywood, professional sports, the video-game industry and the journalism biz.
Rapper Kodak Black is awaiting trial this April for allegedly pinning down, biting and raping a woman in a South Carolina hotel. But despite such serious allegations, the tattooed 21-year-old “Tunnel Vision” hit-maker is still treated like an A-lister.
Kodak has been a frequent VIP guest of college football’s Florida Gators and the NFL’s Baltimore Ravens and is still working with some of the biggest artists in the music industry, including Migos’ Offset and “Sicko Mode” headliner Travis Scott (“ZEZE”), pop superstar Bruno Mars (“Wake Up in The Sky”) and platinum rapper and criminal-justice activist Meek Mill (“Tic Tac Toe”).
Veteran music executive Antonio “L.A.” Reid was ousted from his CEO post at Epic Records in May 2017 amid multiple allegations of sexual misconduct. But such alleged abhorrent behavior hasn’t stopped the disgraced visionary behind the likes of Usher, TLC and Pink from being re-embraced by the recording industry.
Reid has raised over $100 million for his latest label venture Hitco Entertainment. His first high profile signing was Big Boi of Outkast, the iconic hip-hop group Reid originally discovered in the early ’90s.
Hip-hop royalty Nas, whose ex-wife and singer Kelis has accused the successful tech-venture capitalist of mental and physical abuse during their five-year marriage, has experienced little fallout from the disturbing revelations. The Queens emcee’s 2018 release “Nasir,” produced by Kanye West, was his 12th top-10 album on Billboard.
And then there’s controversial rapper XXXTentacion, who was shot dead last June. He had been publicly praised by Mill, West and Erykah Badu and was posthumously featured on the soundtrack to the Oscar-nominated, animated hit film “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse” — despite being charged with aggravated battery of a pregnant woman, domestic battery by strangulation and false imprisonment.
One anonymous female editor recalls a 2011 photo shoot during her time at hip-hop magazine XXL where she pushed back against the sexual advances of a certain platinum rap superstar signed to Bad Boy Records.
“As I looked down at my notes during [the interview] and began preparing my recorder, he went in for a kiss,” says the veteran music journalist, who still refuses to name names for fear of being shunned by the rap industry. “I ended up pushing him off. A few days later, I found out said rapper and his manager had been badmouthing me post-incident, saying they thought I was some young, easy thot that wanted it.”
So why the slow-walk to hold the hip-hop industry accountable? “There’s just certain things in our culture that we just don’t talk about,” says Jackie O Asare, a veteran music publicist who has represented such acts as Lil Jon, Three 6 Mafia and Mya. “Hip-hop tells us to man up, deal with it and keep it moving.”
There are other reasons, of course. Hip-hop, which has surpassed rock as the most popular music genre in the US, is still fueled by largely street, male-dominated energy and has struggled to shake off some of its misogynistic past.
But the most telling reason R. Kelly and others have been able to operate with impunity for years is because most of their victims have been women of color — more specifically black women.
The hip-hop and R&B world has yet to truly have the #MeToo moment that has rocked Hollywood and professional sports.
White women who have come forward against powerful industry titans such as Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein (currently facing five counts of rape and sexual assault) and ousted chairman and CEO of CBS Les Moonves have largely been painted as brave, credible witnesses. The black and brown victims of Kelly and other urban music figures are often times dismissed as gold diggers who should have known better.
It’s a sobering reality that Chance the Rapper admitted in “Surviving R. Kelly” when he apologized for working with him.
“Black women are exponentially a higher oppressed and violated group of people, like just in comparison with the whole world,” Chance said, adding: “I didn’t value the accusers’ stories because they were black women . . . I made a mistake.”
It goes even deeper than that. For years, African-Americans have felt the need to defend black men against outside attacks given that we have often times been historically portrayed in a negative light through the lens of the media. It’s a natural reflex for many black people.
Even Golden Globe-winning TV and film actress Taraji P. Henson initially defended R. Kelly on social media, implying that more people were trying to silence him than Weinstein, insinuating racial bias, before walking back her claims. “LET ME BE CLEAR,” Henson later clarified on Twitter, “KELLY IS GUILTY AND WRONG AND SHOULD BE MUTED PERIOD!!!!!”
As Chance The Rapper, Henson and others continue to prove, the #MeToo moment for R&B and hip-hop — and the overall black community — is a long, complex and painful journey. And it starts at home.
Keith Murphy is a veteran Chicago-born journalist and editor who has written for VIBE, Esquire, OZY, ESPN’s The Undefeated and BET
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