You Were Black When You Did It

This post discusses sensitive topics including sexual abuse, victim blaming, and manipulation.

Unless you’re Patrick Star, you’ve probably seen what’s been all over social media lately about Diddy— or whatever he goes by now. The man’s got fifty’leven names. First of all, let me state this: one thing about me is that I keep up with pop culture. I’m also… chronically online.

There are some recurring takes that I just can’t seem to get behind, mainly because they defy common sense. Also… let’s not start throwing words like “defamation” around. Everything is public record and in court documents, so there’s no need for ‘allegedly.’ The proof was in the baby oil— I mean, pudding.

Let’s talk about the Black man’s legacy first. And before anyone gets defensive, hear me out. The first example that comes to mind: R. Kelly. When he was finally found guilty, the outcry about freeing him and the claims that his conviction was part of some agenda to destroy the Black man’s legacy were deafening. It wasn’t just about his guilt or innocence anymore; it was about the collective fear that yet another Black man was being “taken down” by the system.

But let’s be real—innocent people go to jail every day, sure, but that’s not what we’re talking about here.This rhetoric about “protecting the Black man’s legacy” in cases like this is dangerous. It paints all Black men with the same brush, making it seem like any criticism—no matter how justified—is part of a larger attack on the entire race. But protecting legacies shouldn’t come at the expense of ignoring the damage these men have done. We’re talking about men who’ve committed atrocities, men who had the cheek, the nerve, the gall, the audacity, and the gumption to record their crimes because they knew money could solve their problems. Power insulates these men, and they know it. So I’m not about to join the coddling club… and neither should you.

Let me make this clear: an explanation is never a justification. If you were abused, if you were failed by the system, if the world was unfair to you—fine, those are valid conversations to have. But why, then, perpetuate that same cycle of abuse? The men in question knew they were Black when they committed their crimes. They weren’t thinking about the legacy of Black men then, and they alone are responsible for tarnishing their legacies—not the justice system, not the public, and certainly not the victims who had the courage to speak out.

The notion that abusers, rapists, molesters, and predators deserve redemption simply because they are Black and made a name for themselves? That’s not just misguided—it’s harmful. It creates a hierarchy of who is allowed to be held accountable based on race and status, instead of focusing on the harm they’ve done. It tells victims, especially Black women and girls, that their pain is secondary to protecting the image of the Black man. And it has to stop.

Too often, conversations around Black men in power focus on shielding them from scrutiny rather than holding them accountable for their actions. This is the same mentality that leads to sweeping things under the rug for the sake of the “greater good,” but whose good is it really serving? It’s not helping the victims, and it’s certainly not helping the community heal or grow.

Mind you, this goes beyond famous Black men. Your family or someone you know might be protecting a father, brother, cousin, uncle that is a child molester, a rapist, or an abuser of some kind.

Let’s not confuse justice with persecution. Yes, the justice system is flawed—we know this. But that doesn’t mean every Black man who is rightfully convicted is part of a larger conspiracy. Some are just guilty. And while we should continue to fight for the innocent Black men who are targeted, we can’t do so at the cost of excusing those who commit atrocities within our own communities.

So, no, I won’t be part of the movement to redeem men like R. Kelly or the “Diddler” simply because they’re Black. Their crimes are their own. If we want to protect the Black man’s legacy, we need to do it with integrity—by holding people accountable, by rooting out the rot, and by making sure we don’t sacrifice truth for the sake of image.

Another thing that doesn’t sit right with my spirit is the victim-blaming. Every time I go online, there’s another video or post questioning the victims—how they “should’ve known better” or “why did Cassie stay?” HUH? Let’s pause for a second. Why are we so quick to ask these kinds of questions, rather than holding the abuser accountable? The way I see it, these comments reflect a deep-rooted problem: we’re more comfortable blaming victims for their circumstances than confronting the uncomfortable reality of violence and manipulation.

Victim blaming is not just harmful—it’s a deliberate diversion tactic that shifts the focus away from the real issue. By questioning the actions of victims, we end up protecting the abusers. And let’s be clear: abusers thrive in environments where their behavior is downplayed, excused, or ignored. When we ask why someone stayed in an abusive situation, we’re indirectly excusing the abuse itself, as if leaving is always that simple. It’s not.

We need to collectively turn on our thinking caps and recognize that this way of thinking serves no one but the perpetrators. It reinforces the cycle of abuse by creating shame around the victims, making them feel like they’re somehow responsible for what happened to them. This is how abusers maintain power—by making their victims feel isolated, doubted, and unsupported by society.

Cassie, like so many others, stayed because abusers are skilled at manipulation. They don’t just exert physical control; they gaslight, isolate, and emotionally wear down their victims. It’s not as simple as just walking away. Victims stay for reasons we may never fully understand, but that doesn’t mean we get to judge them for it. The real question is: why are we not asking why the abuser did what they did? Why are we not holding them accountable for creating an environment so toxic and damaging that someone felt trapped?

Instead of blaming victims, we should be asking: What is wrong with a society that still questions the actions of those harmed rather than the actions of the abuser? We need to eradicate this harmful rhetoric because it only perpetuates the silence and suffering of victims. It doesn’t just serve abusers—it emboldens them.

It’s time to stop shaming victims and start supporting them. When we shift the narrative from “Why did they stay?” to “Why did the abuser do this in the first place?” we start dismantling the systems that allow abuse to continue. It’s not the victims who need to be interrogated. It’s the people committing these acts and the society that keeps letting them get away with it.

That’s all for today folks. Rant over.