Hip-hop is struggling to have its own ‘MeToo’ moment

One day in 2010, Sean “Diddy” Combs was in the kitchen of his Beverly Hills estate with his assistant Capricorn Clark. “Let me show you something,” he said, summoning his girlfriend, Casandra Ventura, into the room.

Turning to her, he issued a string of commands: “Sit down, stand up, turn around, walk over there, hand me that. Now go back.” His girlfriend obeyed his every word.

“Did you see that?” said Combs to his assistant. “You won’t do that. That’s why you don’t have a man like me.”

This account, shared by Ms Clark (also known as Cassie) in her testimony during Combs’ recent eight-week trial, gave a glimpse into his dynamic with his partner – and a sense of what was happening behind closed doors.

Ms Ventura, an R&B singer who was previously signed to his record label, testified that throughout their long-term relationship, Combs – who was 17 years her senior – beat her, blackmailed her and coerced her into drug-fuelled sex sessions with escorts. He had, she continued, controlled her life.

Central to the trial was the claim that Combs, 55, a multimillionaire music mogul once credited with bringing rap into the mainstream, forced his partners to engage in elaborate sexual performances, known as “freak-offs”, that he directed, often filmed and arranged with the help of his staff.

Last week, he was found guilty on two counts of transportation to engage in prostitution. He was acquitted on the more serious charges of racketeering conspiracy and sex trafficking.

After the verdict was announced, Ms Ventura’s lawyer, Doug Wigdor, said that by coming forward, she had “brought attention to the realities of powerful men in our orbit and the misconduct that has persisted for decades without repercussion”.

But now, campaigners, survivors of sexual violence and insiders within the music industry are asking: Why did it take so long to hold Combs accountable?

And, in light of Hollywood’s MeToo movement that uncovered and helped root out sexual harassment and abuse in the film industry, and which began nearly a decade ago – is it now time that the music industry, or more specifically, hip-hop, had a MeToo movement of its own?

Cristalle Bowen is a rapper from Chicago who was part of an all-female trio called RapperChicks. “The Diddy trial only highlights what many of us already know,” she says, referring to the struggle to hold powerful people to account.

In 2022 she wrote a book about misogyny in the industry. The tagline is: Navigating Hip-Hop and Relationships in a Culture of Misogyny. “Being the token women on labels and in crews leaves you susceptible to, at the very least, name calling,” she claims. “At the most… you’ve been abused in some way.

“When there is money involved, it becomes tricky. From hush money to stalled careers to the way we all see survivors treated… It’s a difficult task.”

Campaigners and industry insiders who spoke to the BBC say that sexual abuse and harassment exists across all genres in the music business, not only hip-hop. They point to a culture of silence, where they claim that predators are protected and victims risk being blacklisted, sued or fired.

Caroline Heldman, an academic and activist, agrees. She is co-founder of the US-based Sound Off Coalition, which advocates for the elimination of sexual violence in music, and argues that there is a history of using “threats to push out women artists who are targets of abuse by men”.

“The music industry has followed a playbook for dealing with sexual abuse that shields predators, including musicians, producers, managers, executives, and other behind-the-scenes players, from liability,” she claims.

Non-disclosure agreements (NDAs) – legal contracts that stop people from sharing certain agreed-upon private information – are used legitimately in the industry, for example to help protect commercial secrets. But some argue that these are being misused and can contribute to a culture of silence in cases of abuse.

“[It] makes for a very difficult decision for a lot of victims,” says Arick Fudali, a New York-based lawyer. One of his clients is Dawn Richard, a singer who testified against Combs at the federal trial and has an ongoing lawsuit against him.

“I’ve had clients who have declined that and chosen to file their lawsuit publicly,” he adds. “They can receive less money than if they had just settled privately and confidentially.”

Ms Bowen argues that she has seen this happen first-hand. “Moguls write the cheques and artists need the cheques – there’s usually no checks and balances when mogul money is involved.”

But, there may be other reasons for not speaking out.

And in hip-hop specifically, some survivors of abuse and experts we spoke to argue that this culture of silence is exacerbated by the combined forces of racism and misogyny, and a desire to fiercely protect a genre that has created rare avenues to stardom and financial success.

Originating in the African-American and Latino communities of New York City in the 1970s, hip-hop became a mouthpiece for liberation and resistance against the authorities and social injustice.

“Hip-hop allowed young black people to tell their own stories on their own terms, it gave that generation a voice,” explains Mark Anthony Neal, professor of African-American studies at Duke University, particularly when popular culture was offering a limited portrayal of black America.

It’s now the most commercially successful music genre in the US, leading in album sales and streaming numbers. “Rappers are the new rock stars,” says Thomas Hobbs, a writer and co-host of a hip-hop podcast, Exit the 36 Chambers. “They’re the people now most likely to fill arenas.”

As an artist and businessman who ran an empire that encompassed fashion, alcohol and TV as well as his label, Bad Boy Records, Combs – who has an estimated net worth of about $400m (£293m) – has been championed not only for helping hip-hop become commercially viable but for creating jobs and opportunities, particularly for black men.

Throughout his career he has been vocal about “black excellence” – platforming achievements – as well as highlighting struggles within the black community.

This was something his legal defence raised in court, saying: “Sean Combs has become something that is very, very hard to be. Very hard to be. He is a self-made, successful, black entrepreneur.”

Outside court during his trial, fans erupted in cheers after he was acquitted of the more serious charges and onlookers debated aloud whether he had been unfairly targeted. “Of course he was. He’s a powerful black man,” one said.

For weeks, others had been wearing and selling “Free Puff” T-shirts, after Combs’ 90s stage name, next to a speaker blaring out his music.

Sociologist Katheryn Russell-Brown has described a phenomenon she calls “black protectionism”.

“Those who have managed to obtain large-scale prosperity, in spite of legal, political, economic, educational and social barriers, are given the status of racial pioneers,” she wrote in her book, Protecting Our Own: Race, Crime, and African Americans, which was inspired by the OJ Simpson case.

“It is, therefore, predictable that black people as a group are suspicious when criminal charges are brought against members of its elite, protected class.”

Black women in particular carry the fear that speaking out could reinforce harmful stereotypes about their community, argues Treva Lindsey, a professor in the Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies Department at Ohio State University who researches misogyny in hip-hop.

“When we portray hip-hop as uniquely sexist, or sexually violent, or harmful, that has repercussions for black people of all genders,” she says.

And yet across the entertainment industry more broadly, a retrospective focus is slowly happening now, in part because of shifts in attitudes.

Recent changes to law in some US states have also enabled people to take action over alleged historic misconduct.

New York and California passed laws in 2022 called the Adult Survivors Act that for one-year only allowed people to file sexual abuse claims, regardless of when the alleged incidents took place.

Ms Ventura filed a lawsuit against Combs in November 2023, accusing him of physical and sexual abuse. It was settled the following day, and Combs denied the claims.

He now faces more than 60 civil cases from men and women accusing him of drugging or assault, spanning his entire three-decade career.

In a statement, Combs’ team has said: “No matter how many lawsuits are filed, it won’t change the fact that Mr Combs has never sexually assaulted or sex trafficked anyone – man or woman, adult or minor.”

He is, however, one of several hip-hop titans of the 90s and 00s to have been accused in a relatively recent wave of allegations.

Music executive and producer Antonio LA Reid, who worked with artists including Usher, Kanye West (now known as Ye) and Rihanna, was accused of sexual assault in a lawsuit filed in 2023. He denies all claims against him.

Meanwhile, Russell Simmons, co-founder of hip-hop label Def Jam Recordings, has faced allegations of violent sexual behaviour by more than 20 women since 2017, all of which he has denied.

Drew Dixon, who is former vice president of Artists and Repertoire (A&R) at Arista Records, is among them. She has claimed she was abused by both Mr Simmons and Mr Reid when she worked in the music industry in the 1990s and 2000s.

She told The New York Times: “You’re not just going up against the person who assaulted you,” she said. “You are going against everyone who benefits from their brand and revenue stream.

“Those forces will mobilise against any accuser. It’s daunting.”

Sil Lai Abrams, who is a writer and gender violence activist, began working as an executive assistant at the Def Jam music label in 1992. She is one of the women who accused Mr Simmons of sexual assault. He has denied all allegations.

“It’s harder for women of colour to speak out against abuse in the music industry,” she argues – something that she believes still applies today. “[Women have] been conditioned to see abuse of power and sexual harassment as the price one pays to work in the industry.”

Then there is the question of the response from the public if people do speak out. When Ms Ventura first filed her lawsuit against Combs, she faced widespread abuse. Memes on social media accused her of being a gold-digger. Some in the hip-hop industry criticised her too.

“Quit trying to expose people for money,” US rapper Slim Thug said in a video shared with his two million followers on Instagram in 2023.

Only when CNN broadcast security camera footage dating back to 2016 which showed Combs grabbing, dragging and kicking Ms Ventura in the hallway of a hotel did the sentiment towards her change.

Slim Thug publicly apologised for his comments.

Combs responded in a video statement posted on Instagram, saying: “My behaviour on that video is inexcusable. I take full responsibility… I’m committed to be a better man each and every day… I’m truly sorry.”

“Before the video of Combs beating her came out and people couldn’t deny the evidence, people said Cassie was a liar,” says Dr Nikki Lane, assistant professor in Gender, Sexuality & Feminist Studies at Duke University.

Yet Dr Lane argues that more still needs to change. “Black women’s bodies are constantly traded upon within the culture of hip-hop as tropes to be ridiculed”.

Dr Lane points to the example of rapper Megan Thee Stallion, who was shot in the foot in 2020.

Fellow rapper Tory Lanez is currently serving a 10-year sentence for the assault, but after the incident, the artist Drake was criticised for lyrics in his 2022 song Circo Loco – “This b- lie ’bout gettin’ shots, but she still a stallion” – which seemed to refer to the incident.

There remains the question of what happens to the art – and indeed the music – when an idol is convicted of serious crimes.

R&B singer R Kelly was sentenced to 30 years in prison in 2022 for sex trafficking, racketeering and sexually abusing women and children, but years later, his music remains popular. It generated about 780 million audio streams in the US since January 2019. On Spotify, he has around 5.2 million monthly listeners.

“There are still people [who] defend R Kelly,” says Mr Hobbs. “I won’t be surprised if Diddy’s streams, just like R Kelly’s, stay high.”

“There’s a kind of cognitive dissonance” from fans, he argues. “These songs become so embedded in people’s lives that they find it very difficult to get rid of them… [they’re] part of people’s DNA.

“So, I think some people are able to look the other way.”

The bigger question, perhaps, is how should the industry react? After the MeToo movement began in 2017, at least 200 prominent men accused of sexual harassment lost their jobs, and changes were made to workplace policies.

However, the Combs verdict in itself is unlikely to lead to wider changes, according to Prof Lindsey. “I think what happens in this moment is Diddy, kind of like R Kelly in the R&B black music pantheon, is seen as exceptional… and not indicative of something else,” she says.

“There isn’t a cultural reset where we look inward and ask: ‘How does this happen?'”

But that is exactly what is missing, argue some others in the industry, including Ms Abrams. “What is lacking is a political environment against which survivors can count on to change the material conditions that allowed someone like Combs to act with impunity,” she says.

Following MeToo in Hollywood, certain changes were introduced, including making intimacy coordinators more of a standard practice when filming sex scenes. Some music insiders now hope that migrates over to music video sets.

The Sound Off Coalition is calling for new company rules that require people in positions of power in music to report accusations of sexual assault.

Tangible measures are what matter, argues Dr Lane. “The only way for me to believe that there’s been a reckoning would be to see changes in laws, policies, and actual business practices of the industry… [Ones] that are not based on how long Diddy goes down for.”

For all the latest reaction and analysis on the verdict, you can listen to the Diddy on Trial podcast available on BBC Sounds.

Additional reporting by Florence Freeman and Fiona Macdonald

Top picture credit: Rich Polk/NBCU Photo Bank via Getty Images

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