Monsters and Men
No More
There is a new movie about Michael Jackson coming out. Interesting timing, as more stories and cases of sexual predation against minors and women are exposed in the media. From the Epstein files to the recent murder charges brought against musician d4vd, unspeakable harm against vulnerable human beings is being brought into the light, and even so we continue to romanticize or uphold men who have done harm.
Depending on who you ask, Jackson was many things, one of which was a pedophile. Ask another and you might hear that Jackson was, and remains, one of the greatest artists of our time. That Jackson was traumatized by fame, by his family, by whiteness. That Jackson is a tragic figure, bedeviled by fame, harmed as a child, and who most likely harmed children as a trauma response.
Jackson has been dead for some time, and perhaps we will never know for sure whether he harmed children or not, but that is beside the point. The mere possibility of this harm should invite reconsideration, rather than unequivocal disavowal of any potential wrongdoing.
Whether the claims of sexual abuse can be proven or not, I find it odd that now is the time we receive a “sanitized” version of Jackson’s past, a film without any mention of the allegations (for legal reasons), a film scrubbed of any hint of possible perpetration. When we create biographical films of historical figures and leave out the facts—allegations were made, whether proven true or not—we rewrite history.
I did not watch Leaving Neverland, the 2019 documentary detailing Jackson’s alleged abuse, not because I don’t believe the survivors, Wade Robson and Jimmy Safechuck, but because I could not bring myself to watch. As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, I couldn’t go down that road. Whether Jackson did what the subjects of the documentary claim or not, grooming, at the very least, took place. It bears stating that the film is now unavailable on HBO Max, due to the Jackson estate suing HBO for violating a nondisparagement clause.
Positional power allows grooming to occur, and when you add fame to the mix, a heady cocktail of impunity is created; what should be viewed as inappropriate—like grown men “befriending” children”—is glossed over, as I assume must have been the case with the musician d4vd, a 21-year-old man with a 13-year-old “girlfriend.” A girl who is now dead, found murdered and dismembered in the trunk of d4vd’s Tesla. Celeste Rivas Hernandez was 13 when she met him and 14 when she was killed.
The musician has pleaded not guilty, though prosecutors have “voluminous evidence that will take time to share, including child sex abuse images taken from Burke’s phone with a warrant that must be handled sensitively” (AP News). It is a truly harrowing and disturbing case, the details of which I will not go into further here, but highlight because yet another child has been harmed by a powerful man, the news of which has been released at the same time a film about an alleged pedophile has been released.
No More
Fame insulates, but only if you’re male. Fame didn’t protect musician FKA Twigs from gender-based violence at the hands of her then-boyfriend, Shia LaBeouf, an actor notorious for his violence. Prior to various documented charges against LaBeouf, in 2014 he was cast, at the age of 28, in a Sia music video alongside then-12-year-old dancer Maddie Ziegler. Though Sia apologized for the video and indicated that LaBeouf and Ziegler represented different parts of herself, the two actors, a child and a grown man, are practically naked, both clad in beige underwear, physically grappling inside a cage. The video normalizes inappropriate behavior between a man and a child, depicting moments of tenderness and violence in equal measure, practically a five-minute montage of what grooming looks like. Disturbingly, the video has over 1.4 billion views.
Even more disturbing is the emergence, merely six years later, of FKA Twigs’ filing against LaBeouf, which revealed grooming, intimidation, and unspeakable violence. Since the 2020 filing, he has gone on to star in several films, sending a clear message that Hollywood doesn’t care if artists harm women and children.
We’ve been told that books like Lolita are works of art. That we must separate the man from the music. That we can enjoy art by men who violate the most vulnerable among us. Roman Polanski, R. Kelly, Woody Allen, Diddy, Shia LeBeouf, Michael Jackson; just a few examples of men who used power and fame to their advantage, enabled by a media machine that only cares about profit.
This messaging allows men like the above and younger generations of men, like d4vd, to operate with impunity. And of course, it’s not only the artists. Money is a powerful insulator, interchangeable with fame, allowing the likes of Epstein and the current president to violate girls and women without repercussions.
It is a terrifying time to be a girl, a woman, yet when has it not been? Perhaps the only difference now is that transgressions can be brought to light via social media when traditional media can’t or won’t cover a story. Perhaps that is the (only?) benefit to social media, its immediacy and breadth, allowing survivors to share the truth. And yet, these platforms are controlled by the very insulators and perpetrators of harm, billionaires who can continue on business as usual, no care for the harmed, so long as their bottom line is met.
All of this is unspeakably sad and enraging, the loss of innocence and life, the rampant degradation and outright murder. But perhaps now, more than ever, there is the possibility of, if not repair, then justice. Similar to the reckoning of the #MeToo movement, our current moment, this ravaging loss, has the possibility of inciting change.
As consumers of art and media, we have a choice. We can attend a screening of Michael, listen to R. Kelly’s music, watch Woody Allen’s films, or we can opt out. We can instead listen to and amplify the voices of survivors, invest in their art, preserve their memories, ensure that this harm never happens again.
We can hold monsters accountable, disenfranchise their streams of revenue, dry up their wells of support, disavow the revisions of history. No one is famous without attention, without money. By removing our attention and money, by demanding that lawmakers protect us instead of powerful men, we refuse to participate in, and demand accountability from, a system that is all too content to eat up women, children, and minoritized human beings for profit. We can say, No more.
The Finds
Action. Learn about what is happening in Sudan and how to help. Gender-based violence is being employed as a tactic of war, with women and children suffering the brunt of this trauma.
Listen. “Video Girl” by FKA Twigs.
Got something to say?
I don’t want to hear about it
So you’re feeling the fame?
I hate the things you’re going through now
What you gonna do?
Watch. 100 Nights of Hero on the Sundance Channel. A modern feminist fable written and directed by Julia Jackman, 100 Nights of Hero is a surreal, hypnotic tour de force where agency and love prevail. We need more films like this.
Read. Kin by Tayari Jones. Nothing short of a triumph, Jones’s new novel is a transcendent, heartbreaking meditation on friendship, Black girlhood, and “the complexities of being a woman in the American South” (from the book jacket). Following best friends and motherless daughters Niecy and Annie, Kin reckons with the pain of being Black and female, while celebrating the bonds of friendship, the possibility of expansion, and the joy of being truly known and loved. Each page offers a sentence that rings true to the heart of what it means to love someone, to live: “I had Annie and as long as I had her, I didn’t know what it felt like to miss somebody.”
Thank you for being here. Until next time.
In solidarity,
Emma