Volume 94: Unpacking R. Kelly

Before we get started, I want to warn you about this post. This post is not a social media-like piling on where I bend and sway to the keyboard terrorists because I don’t want to be their next victim. This post is for those who think critically, use context, can grasp multiple concepts simultaneously, and understand the world is not black and white. In short, this post is for adults. If you are a child masquerading as an adult, please close it now and move on. I’ll wait…

Only adults left? Cool. Let’s begin.

I hate R. Kelly. Well, maybe I don’t hate R. Kelly the man but, I hate what he has done and, more specifically, I hate what he represents. You see, as we ride our high horse of righteous indignation, pointing the finger of shame and judgement, we bear the blame of allowing his criminal behavior to continue. We kept buying the songs. We kept going to the concerts. We kept saying, “I like the music, not the man.” And we allowed his fame, and his celebrity, and his music to seduce us into a moral hypnosis while he systematically stalked, seduced, and raped underage girls.

I hate what R. Kelly did, and I hate myself for allowing it to happen.

Celebrity Worship

One of the arguments for R-uh speaks to his alleged abuse as a child. Here are my questions: Did his abuse short circuit his ability to determine right from wrong? Did it mean he had to continue the cycle of abuse by destroying the innocence and trust of young girls? And, did he find healing by committing heinous sex acts with multiple young girls?

The community around R. Kelly supported his behavior and, in a way, encouraged it. I have friends in Chicago who knew he hung around the high schools over 20 years ago.  As his celebrity grew, so did his ability to meet and seduce women. And, as his fame grew, so did our inability to tell him “no”. He was a celebrity. An entertainer. We liked his music and, by proxy, we liked him. We didn’t care what he was doing to nameless, faceless girls as long as we were able to “Step In The Name of Love“.

Crisis of Culture

As a minority group, R. Kelly placed African Americans in a precarious position. We have been conditioned to celebrate when one of us reaches a level of success. Sports and entertainment are the fields most celebrated by our culture. He was preying upon Black women, but what could we do? Mainstream America didn’t care and we couldn’t bear to see another Black celebrity taken down like James Brown or O.J. Simpson.

So what did we do instead? We tried to turn the shit-laced pig intestines of R. Kelly’s behavior into cultural chitlins. The egregious sex act became spoofed on The Chappelle Show and we laughed. Rappers like Redman mentioned it in songs when he said, “I shit on folks. The opposite of R.K.” Our culture decided to turn pain into pleasure, like we have so many times before. We turned our heads and hoped he would stop, even as we bought and watched bootleg copies of the “sex tape”.

Muddying The Water

If I were a member of mainstream America, I would be confused by the behavior of Black America. For example, we shut down and shamed a White woman for calling the police on a young Black girl selling water. Black Twitter descended upon her like a torch-carrying mob. But what about the Black girls R. Kelly was disrespecting and desecrating? We jumped on Harvey Weinstein and the #MeToo movement. We even created our own hashtag by throwing our Black fraternities into the mix. Yes, the flags of decency and morality were being waved by all and all were too happy to post about it. And yet, we bought the music and the concert tickets. We danced and we streamed. We failed to cast out one of our own because, “12 Play was the bomb!”

In essence, we paid the “Pied Piper” to abuse our girls and our women. He used our money to pay off parents. He used our money to pay for his lawyers. He used our money to pay the men who combed through concert halls looking for his next victim. He used our money to rent the homes where he built his dungeons and held his hostages. Artists continued to collaborate with him. Others sung songs written by him. We gave him awards and money and fame and couldn’t care less about the girls suffering in silence.

Conclusion

I felt dirty after watching the documentary. I didn’t watch it all. I couldn’t. I was angry and upset. I wanted to kill him and I wanted to cry. I beat my chest and made myself feel better by saying, “I’d never let that happen to my daughter!” But why was I ok with it happening to someone else’s? I used to love watching “To Catch A Predator” with Chris Hanson. It gave me great pleasure to watch a grown man try to explain why he was sexting with a 13-year-old child and then showing up to meet them with alcohol and condoms “to talk”.

But R. Kelly…

We are quick to lecture White bystanders about how their silence in racial issues feels like they are complicit.

But R. Kelly…

I wanted to not feel guilty about what happened, but I do. R. Kelly was our dirty little secret. Now that it’s out, what do we do?

I need a shower…

#My3Cents

Sillethoughts

“Peep my ver-na-cular cuz I don’t know how to act…“

Tagged: controversy, Morality, Music, Pop Culture, RKelly, scandal, Social Commentary

Posted in: Pop Culture, Social Commentary, Uncategorized