Accountability over legacy: The flawed defense of Sean “Diddy” Combs
In light of Sean "Diddy" Combs' federal arrest on serious charges, his legal team's defense includes an unsettling appeal to his contributions to the Black community. This perspective implies a duty to support him, overshadowing his alleged victims. As discussions of racial inequality heat up, the article critiques the narrative that equates Combs' plight with broader racial issues, emphasizing the importance of accountability in the hip-hop industry and urging a focus on healing rather than legacy preservation.
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By Michael Arceneaux
After Sean "Diddy" Combs was arrested on federal charges that include sex trafficking, kidnapping and bribery, his legal team put out a statement.
It had all the things you'd expect attorneys to say to defend their client: He's an "innocent man with nothing to hide," and "he looks forward to clearing his name in court." Then somewhere in there, Combs' lawyers (I think we can safely assume with his urging) decided to add that he had "spent the last 30 years … working to uplift the Black community."
Anyone who cares about the advancement of the Black community should be offended. The message implies that Black people have a duty to stand by Combs at the expense of his alleged victims. And if we don't, then we'd be aiding in the takedown of one of a few Black men who broke down barriers and got a seat at powerful (White) tables in the business world.
His legal team seems to be exploiting the feelings of some of Combs' fans, particularly during a heated election cycle where issues of racial inequality are at the forefront. His supporters have repeatedly flocked to social media to point out that while Combs sits in jail, Donald Trump, a White man who has been convicted of 34 felonies and has been found liable for sexual abuse, is running for president.
I understand the sentiment, but both men benefitted from their wealth and power. And while we can't deny that Trump's Whiteness and his status as an ex-president have afforded him more abilities to fail forward — and that he needs to be held accountable — it doesn't mean Combs should get a pass in the court of law or public opinion. Not to mention, Trump's felony convictions are for financial crimes. The criminal allegations against Combs aren't exactly comparable.
And if we really want to add race into it, I'd argue that he may have taken more from the Black community than he's given it. I found his brand of advocacy to be hollow and self-absorbed as far back as my college days in the early 2000s, and so have some of the people he's worked with throughout his career. The most widely referenced examples stem from accusations that he made his fortunes by not fairly compensating his mostly-Black artists on his Bad Boy label.
To understand why Combs, his legal team and supporters feel it necessary to spotlight his place in Black history, it's worth looking at why a code of silence has long been prevalent in the hip-hop industry.
Among other reasons, many believed staying quiet was a way to safeguard one of the few avenues for Black people to build wealth and equity. While Black artists are the face of the hip-hop culture, the business side of the industry — such as the labels, recording studios and marketing — has traditionally been controlled mainly by White men.
As someone like Combs rose the ranks to occupy those corporate spaces and brought other Black people along with him, the community didn't want to jeopardize the accessibility and what it represented. Combs reaped the benefits of that power dynamic for years.
Consider that the indictment cites incidents "from at least in or about 2008, through on or about the date of the filing," and they include Combs "distribut[ing] a variety of controlled substances to victims to keep [them] obedient and compliant" and keeping videos "he filmed of victims engaging in sex acts with commercial sex workers." It was so abusive that "victims typically received IV fluids to recover from the physical exertion and drug use."
At the same time, he thrived and was celebrated. He launched a cable network in 2013 and bought a tequila brand in 2014. Vanity Fair ran a glowing profile on him in 2021. He received a lifetime achievement award from BET and reached billionaire status in 2022. A year later, MTV presented him with its Global Icon Award and New York City Mayor Eric Adams gave him the key to the city.
Now, his empire is crumbling, and his supporters want to make it a narrative about a Black man being taken down all because of his sex life.
Sure, the indictment highlighted parties that Combs referred to as "freak offs." Social media commentary and news reports predictably emphasized the name and the "supplies" law enforcement seized from his residence — namely, the 1,000 bottles of baby oil and lubricant. However, the public should resist sensationalizing that aspect of the case. It only feeds into the spin Combs and his legal team are trying to put on the charges. This case is not about kink-shaming him; it's about an alleged sexual predator being held accountable.
Many, including myself, have been writing about the need for the music industry to have a #MeToo movement for years. Hopefully, the reckoning is finally here.
If you love and respect hip-hop, you should want anyone who harms the culture to be held accountable. Now is the time to worry not about saving Combs' legacy but about how to undo the damage he's done within the art form.
Exposing the hidden: Combs indictment sheds light on sex trafficking
By Barbara McQuade
Victims of sex trafficking, it is said, are often hiding in plain sight. I was reminded of that truism this week when Sean Combs, the music mogul also known as "Puff Daddy" and "Diddy," was indicted for alleged conduct dating back to 2008. The offenses include racketeering conspiracy, sex trafficking and transportation to engage in prostitution.
According to the indictment, Combs forced women "to engage in frequent, days-long sexual activity with male commercial sex workers" in events "Combs referred to as 'Freak Offs,'" which prosecutors described as "elaborate sex performances that Combs arranged, directed, and often electronically recorded." The potential sentence for the charges ranges from a mandatory minimum of 15 years to life in prison.
During a press conference on Tuesday, Manhattan US Attorney Damian Williams was asked why it took so long for law enforcement to intervene in the allegedly long-running scheme. Williams deflected the question, instead focusing on the current charges. But one reason that sex rings can endure for years is that bystanders fail to recognize what is occurring right before their eyes.
The myopia is caused by common myths about sex trafficking. People imagine victims bound and gagged, in handcuffs and chains and held captive in a dungeon. Instead, the victims usually walk openly in public, side by side with their traffickers. Even when help is nearby, victims don't run away. It can be difficult to explain to a jury why a victim would stay with someone who is forcing them to engage in commercial sex acts.
In the cases I saw when I worked as a federal prosecutor, traffickers bait their prey with one or more tactics. They might provide lavish gifts, addictive drugs or promises of a glamorous career in modeling. The trafficker then uses those enticements as leverage against his victims. Nude photos created under the guise of creating a modeling portfolio are held over a victim's head as potential revenge porn. Drugs are used to keep a victim, now addicted, dependent on the trafficker for another hit. Threats of physical harm and even beatings are used to coerce the victim into submission that may appear voluntary to onlookers who see the victim only in public.
The indictment accuses Combs of engaging in precisely these kinds of acts against his victims — "obtaining and distributing narcotics to them, controlling their careers, leveraging his financial support and threatening to cut off the same, and using intimidation and violence." The indictment also alleges that some of his employees — his private security team, household staff, and personal assistants — acted as intermediaries and concealed the abuse. I would expect to eventually see charges against these associates, perhaps after prosecutors explore whether they'll cooperate in the prosecution of Combs.
But what about witnesses who weren't on his payroll? What about the airport personnel and catering staff who must have seen some of this activity? Or the hotel guests or employees who likely heard something when Combs kicked and dragged one of his victims in the hallway of the InterContinental Hotel in Los Angeles, a crime caught on surveillance cameras and revealed by CNN?
Most often, witnesses stay silent because they don't realize what they are seeing. They may know that something is amiss, but write it off as a private argument. And when the offender is someone of wealth, fame and power, the reluctance to believe what they are seeing is even more pronounced.
An indictment like this one can raise awareness of how sex trafficking really works, which, in turn, can help reduce this horrific crime. There are now training programs to help employees of gas stations and hotels recognize the signs of trafficking — the person appears fearful of their companion; has outward signs of injury, such as bruising; appears to have been denied sleep, food or medical care; or seems to be under the direction or control of another person, such as asking permission to use the bathroom. Signs in women's restrooms provide resources for victims of sex trafficking. These efforts are worthy, but only a start.
A case like the Combs indictment is not only an effort to bring an alleged offender to justice and to rescue his victims. It can also provide a teachable moment for the public. Not all victims of sex trafficking are in ropes and chains. Some are walking right before our eyes.
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