Equivocating Like a Motherfucker: An Open Letter to Chuck D

Sir,

I’ll start with the prerequisite praise. You and the rest of Public Enemy played a pivotal role in centering my blackness. It is why the purpose of this letter is so disappointing.

As we all know, R. Kelly, after two-plus decades of being a serial sexual predator, was finally convicted on racketeering and sex trafficking charges. For almost the entirety of this time, starting with the “sex tape” that was child pornography, Kelly has been the focal point of several debates.

Guilt or innocence.

Consent.

Separating art from the artist.

To name a few.

All these debates seemed to hold a common thread. Mitigating the impact of a monster. The reasons for this mitigation spans a wide array of needs. For some, it’s the reluctance to give up the nostalgic love for some of their favorite songs. For others, it’s a general distrust of authority. For others still, it’s the fear of reconciling that they perpetrated acts of abuse; that they are also pedophiles and rapists.

This understanding makes your apparent prioritizing R. Kelly’s treatment and humanity over that of his victims disheartening, especially when coupled with your stance on Bill Cosby.

To be frank, you and other Black men like you are why Black women don’t trust us with their victimhood, much less their protection — because the truth is, for many of us, in lieu of the power proffered by white supremacy, patriarchy is a suitable replacement. It is a sad byproduct of subjugation. As a result, we question and attack any and everything that could result in evaluating who we are and the trauma we cause.

One of the most perplexing things for me is how the man who in his book said, “The United States is like one big jail for Black people, because we’re locked into a mentality and a mindset that limits our potential. It has us against us” suggests a realm where prison is the means for anyone’s rehabilitation?

I’d like to believe that your political views haven’t strayed but so far, which leads me to think this argument is flawed at best and disingenuous at worst.

I admittedly do not know how much prison helped Ike Turner or Rick James. But, the truth is, I don’t need to know. They aren’t R. Kelly. Neither of the men you mention has ever been accused of anything as heinous as human trafficking, sexual assault, or the rape of minors. Neither of them forged documents to marry a fifteen-year-old. Neither of them recruited a team of people to assist in the serial grooming of young women.

In short, all sins are not created equal.

Meanwhile, thought and concern for R. Kelly’s victims is conspicuously absent. No mention of the lives R. Kelly so tragically affected. The prioritization of cishet Black men above all other Black people is why we aren’t trusted. Our collective lean into the power of patriarchy has separated us from the rest of the Black family. As Damon Young put it, Straight Black men are the white men of Black people.

More accurately, Black men are becoming (or have become) the white women of Black people. More and more, we are actively choosing to embrace our singular privilege instead of aligning with our marginalized brethren and sistren in the same manner white women are embracing the spoils of whiteness over their womanhood.

I have come to learn that the easiest way to gauge whether or not my stance on anything has merit is to look at those who agree with me. I have more than once looked at those who sided with me on a particular topic and realized that there was something wrong.

These are the men (and women) who, for whatever reason, are invested in R. Kelly’s humanity over those he has hurt. These are the people who blame R. Kelly’s victims. These are the people who will call Black girls fast instead of questioning the adults who court them. These are the people standing behind you.

Let that sink in.