Two weeks ago much of the world mourned the loss of rock musician and cultural icon David Bowie. TIME Magazine honored Bowie by putting him on the cover page of their weekly issue, and a street in Austin, Texas was renamed after him. Amongst the mourning, conversations turned towards the fact that Bowie had once had sexual relations with 14-year old “groupie” Lori Mattix. The same people who have been posting about how the Huxtables are forever tarnished were sharing apologisms about David Bowie, with the narrative that “no one's perfect”, or that “the times were different.” New York Magazine, whose infamous July issue depicted dozens of Cosby’s victims on the cover, shared numerous articles honoring Bowie following his death. This got me thinking closely about the psychology of rape culture and why society continues to celebrate and award known rapists.

When white men rape, histories are rewritten, their careers continue to flourish, and their legacies remain unstained even into death.

It must be noted that neither Cosby nor Bowie considered themselves rapists. Part of rape culture feeds off of the predatory nature of male entitlement. We’ve been sold on the idea that anyone would be so lucky as to sleep with these powerful, rich, and famous men… So how could it possibly be rape?

Bill Cosby has openly admitted to using Quaaludes, a popular narcotic in the 1970s, to drug his victims. Quaaludes, as Hugh Hefner once charmingly mentioned to former girlfriend Holly Madison, were known as “thigh openers” during this time. Hefner, another sexual predator, happens to be close friends with Cosby and lives in the home where several of Cosby’s alleged sexual assaults on young women took place. Including the assault of a 15-year-old who stated that in 1974 Cosby forced her to drink beer and then took her to the Playboy Mansion where she was raped.

Hefner claims an event such as this would never have been tolerated in his home. But again, this is the same man that referred to narcotics as “thigh openers.” Not to mention that throughout the years, Holly Madison and several other Playboy Bunnies have shared similar experiences of being manipulated and coerced into fulfilling the sexual desires and other demands of Hefner. And yet, because we live in a patriarchal rape culture, Hefner is not seen as a rapist. Instead, the women are thought to be naïve for thinking that they wouldn’t or shouldn’t have to live under the sexual, emotional, and physical rule of a famous older man. After all, it’s Playboy and the Playboy Mansion. What did they expect?

The Playboy Mansion has become a symbol for gendered power dynamics in American culture. We see it as perfectly acceptable for an older man to lure young women onto his property with promises of fame and fortune—along with the unspoken rule that there will be sexual favors performed in exchange. So when women do leave and speak out against the mental abuse, trauma, and coercion they’ve experienced there, they aren’t seen as victims. Instead, they are seen as gold diggers who knew what they were getting themselves into. Their stories aren’t believed or validated. Rather, they have been viewed as scantily clad opportunists: cheap women trying to continue to profit off of a powerful man’s hard work.

As we begin to deconstruct rape culture, we must question what we understand both consent and sexual assault to mean. We must also look at how the women who speak out against the abuse are treated, when they have less power and/or racial and economic privilege than their attacker.

In our culture, youth is fetishized and sexualized. But it happens even more so in the entertainment industry, where younger is better, and barely legal is legal enough. When we hear that David Bowie “devirginized” a 14-year-old “groupie,” we’re supposed to think “How cool! Her first time was with David Bowie.” And then perhaps feel envy that our first sexual experiences were less glamorous and less memorable.

Except a grown man having sex with a 14-year-old child is rape. Calling said 14-year-old a groupie, or saying that she wanted “it” is not a sign of consent, but an example of how little consent is valued and understood in rape culture. You would think that one does not need to explain that a child cannot consent to sex with an adult. That even if upon reflection, the victim still believes sex was consensual, it does not mean that rape did not occur, because women in our society have been forced to internalize and adhere to rape culture.

In these incidents of famous men committing acts of pedophilia and rape, society has continued to embrace and reward predators. Woody Allen—a prime example—molested his seven-year-old adopted daughter, and also had a sexual affair with the then teenage adopted daughter of his long term partner Mia Farrow. It feels wrong to even call it a sexual affair. Soon Yi, who had experienced abuse and trauma from an early age, was only a young adult at the time, and Woody Allen was supposed to be a father figure to her. Farrow and friends of Farrow often spoke of being afraid of Allen, citing his connections to New York teamsters and status within Hollywood. He continues to be celebrated as a brilliant director, creating movies with A-list actors and major film studios. In 2014, the Golden Globes gave him a lifetime achievement award, followed by a standing ovation from the audience.

Even to this day, Woody Allen remains untouchable. And when he dies, his life will be commemorated much like Bowie’s has been—with articles praising his body of work; reflecting on how much we as a culture will miss him; and as with all “heroes”, how imperfect yet endearing he was. Imperfect, because when white men are rapists, it is seen as a flaw—not a desirable one, but an accepted one nonetheless.

However, when Cosby dies, we can be sure that he will be remembered as the man who let the entirety of the Black community down. White America still views the fictional Huxtables as the only example of a positive black family—one of the few times we’ve seen a Black husband and wife raise a family together without having to struggle. White America believes that Cosby was the father figure that we, as fatherless children, never had.

But Cosby is no leader to the Black community. He actually despises us. And as someone who grew up in a nuclear home with two loving parents, I didn’t need the Huxtables to know that Black love and the Black family exists. So now that Cosby is an accused serial rapist, I feel no allegiance to him, and see no reason to defend him or his legacy.

Let him be exposed for the rapist that he is. Let's condemn him in the media, dishonor his name, and take away whatever accomplishments or honorary titles he may have been given. But also, let’s just not forget to do the same for David Bowie, Hugh Hefner, Woody Allen, Roman Polanski, Jimmy Page, James Franco (who, within the past couple of years, attempted to arrange a hotel hook-up with a 17-year-old girl), Bill Clinton, Ben Roethlisberger, Jerry Sandusky, Terry Richardson, Gerard Depardieu, Donald Trump, Bryan Singer, Jerry Seinfeld, and the many other white men of power and fame who continue to rape and sexually abuse women and girls with impunity and protection.

We often use the words “allegation” or “alleged” when discussing these men’s crimes, since this is proper and protective protocol employed by the media, but this is often used as a dismissive tactic toward victims. Whenever someone is raped—whether their rapist was famous or not—we question the validity of their claim. It is easier for people to give the rapist the benefit of doubt than it is for them to believe the one who has been abused.

For example, Dylan Farrow courageously wrote an open letter regarding the sexual abuse and trauma caused by Woody Allen. The letter was published in The New York Times under Nicholas Kristof’s column where he prefaced her open letter with a disclaimer stating, “It’s important to note that Woody Allen was never prosecuted in this case and has consistently denied wrongdoing; he deserves the presumption of innocence.”

When we intersect and factor in race along with privilege, we see that when a rapist is white—especially if his victim was a person of color—it is more difficult for his accuser to seek justice, or even believed. We need to have an intersectional approach to deconstructing rape culture; one that includes race, gender/gender nonconformity, class, documentation status, body type, mental and physical abilities, and age. And while all rapists deserve to be punished, not all rapists will be. Especially when you consider race, class, and other variations of privilege.

We must continue to have these uncomfortable conversations and be honest with ourselves about the people we admire and, most importantly, the people we love. Rapists benefit from silence and are protected by doubt. We must understand that we all perpetuate rape culture and have internalized it as well. We must ensure justice and support for all victims.

We must hold all rapists accountable.

Photo: Everett Collection / Shutterstock

Bobby London is co-host of On Resistance Radio on 90.7 FM KPFK and a Los Angeles based writer and journalist. You can find her writing on ThisIsBobbyLondon.com and on CounterPunch.org.

@SunnyDaeJones

Ever since the public learned that Bill Cosby’s lead defense attorney is Monique Pressley—a black woman—his pending Pennsylvania sexual assault case has mutated from overtly damaging to covertly revealing the seldom spoken-about oppressions that are pervasive within the Black community: classism, rape culture, misogyny, and internalized inferiority complexes to keep the list short. The HBCU grad has been revered as a pillar of Black Excellence and a pinnacle of Black woman success. The overall tone of the Black community has not only been of acceptance, but outright celebration of her accomplishments. I must admit that her expertise, no-nonsense approach, and zeal for her client seem appealing… until, of course, one has truly absorbed what she represents.

Bill Cosby is once again in the spotlight. Over 40 women have come forward accusing him of sexual assault—some of the accusations from as early as 1969. And this week, documents from court dispositions were unsealed, revealing that Cosby admitted to giving drugs to women so that they would have sex with him in 2005.

by Kioshana LaCount

Fourteen years ago, I was raped.

It was late fall 2001. I was in the first semester of my 9th grade year in high school. I was14 years old. My parents had just gotten divorced, and I’d recently transferred to a new school district for a fresh start and to escape the bullying I’d endured for years at my old school. I was walking to my local Boys and Girls Club branch after school when some kids invited me over to their house for a few minutes. I was really excited that these kids – older than me – wanted to hang out with me. In my naiveté I was flattered and excited that I – a freshman, new transfer, and kind of nerdy kid – was being invited to hang out with the “cool kids.”
It only took about an hour for me to realize that this was the worst mistake I’d ever made in life. In that hour, my entire life changed. One of the boys at the house (the brother of the girl who’d invited me over) forced himself on me, taking my virginity and most of my self-worth with him. After it was over I did what any traumatized victim would do – I ran, as far away and as quickly as I could get.

I never spoke to any of them again.

I also never told anyone what’d happened to me… at least not until years later.

This wasn’t out of some misguided attempt to protect my rapist – although most people would like to think that. It wasn’t even so much out of guilt, although I did feel some measure of guilt for a long time. No, it was mostly because I didn’t see the point in telling anyone. I didn’t think anyone would believe me.

I was afraid to tell my parents because I didn’t want to get into trouble. My father had told me once the year before that if I ever told him someone had raped me he wouldn’t believe it because he felt I was “big enough to fight anyone off.” I realize now, so many years later, that he didn’t really mean that at the time. But as a scared and damaged 14 year old, I felt exactly that.

I also didn’t want to tell my parents because I didn’t want to hurt them. As I mentioned, they’d recently been divorced and my mother, especially, was dealing with serious bouts of the depression that accompanies letting go of a failed marriage. I didn’t want to add additional stress and anguish to her life, so I kept it to myself. I’d come to the conclusion from years of watching other women that this was probably my best bet anyway – like I said, who was going to believe me?

It took about ten years or so for me to finally come clean with my mom about what had happened to me. We cried and talked for a long time about what happened and why I never told her.

I’ve still never been brave enough to tell my dad.


I’m writing this because you need to know that it isn’t that easy.

Rape is a crime that I can liken only to murder. It kills a part of you from the inside. The only difference is that murder victims are able to escape their suffering at the end of the crime. I, on the other hand, will carry these scars with me forever.

I still remember every little minute detail about that day, from the denim Tommy Hilfiger dress I was wearing, to the faint smell of bleach and Fabuloso on those green tiles in the bathroom where he found me, to the sickening feeling of dread in my stomach as he pressed that sharp blade into my neck and warned me not to make a sound as he did his work.

I remember all of it.

It’s the reason that I’m 28 years old and I still sleep with the television on every night – because I’m afraid of the dark.

It’s the reason that my first instinct when entering into a room with unfamiliar people is to immediately look for several mode of exit.

It’s the reason I have panic attacks sometimes when people – especially men – try to hug me or touch me without my permission.

It’s also the reason I do this work. It’s the reason I wanted to create a safe space for Black women somewhere in the world. And it’s the reason I go so hard for my sisters every single day of my life.

1 in 6 women are the victims of rape in their lifetime. 18.8% of Black women and 24.4% of mixed-race women experience the same trauma that I’ve been made to endure, according to RAINN (Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network).

So many of us never report – never call our attackers out for what they are.

I don’t begrudge any of us for that – it is not our responsibility to hold an attacker accountable for his/her crime. Our criminal justice system has a demented way of forcing rape survivors to relive their trauma over and over again, putting each experience and memory on trial when/if we do ever decide to come forward with the truth.

I want you to think about that the next time you hear from one of Bill Cosby’s victims. Instead of framing her as a “gold-digging hussy” trying to ruin a man’s career, I’d like you to just think of her as a person. Think of her as your mother, your sister, or your daughter. And think of how you would feel if someone said the same things you’re saying about that survivor to one of the women in your life.

Survivors don’t owe you an explanation or an apology for how and why and when we decide to disclose our status as survivors – if at all. We don’t owe anyone anything.
To those criticizing the women who have been victimized by Bill Cosby and others, I hope that you’ll take a critical look at yourself and think about the damage that you could be doing, not only to those women, but to the potential survivors all around you that you may or may not know about. Think about what your dismissal of these women’s experiences is teaching your daughters and your sons about consent, agency, and their value/worth as people.

To my fellow survivors, I send you nothing but love and light today, and every day. You are beautiful and special and deserving of love, whether you feel like it or not. You don’t owe the world an explanation and you have nothing to feel ashamed of.

You never need to apologize for how you choose to survive.

I love you.

Photo: Randy Miramontez / Shutterstock.com

Kioshana LaCount is a 20-something professional hailing from the Deep South (Alabama). She is the Founder and Co-Executive Director of The SpeakLove Project, a nonprofit dedicated to creating safe spaces for Black women in the online and offline communities. In her free time she writes, crafts, and advocates. Feel free to contact her at Kioshana@thespeakloveproject.com, or via www.TheSpeakLoveProject.com.

Jewel Allison is one of the lastest women to come forward with allegations of sexual assault against Bill Cosby. Like dozens of others, Allison says the famed comedian and television personality drugged and raped her in the 80s.

Dear Phylicia Rashad,

I am disappointed in you.

Any Black woman can tell you that her womanhood and her Blackness are inextricably linked. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that many of the people leading #BlackLivesMatter actions are Black women. We know that our communities are subject to racist justice systems. And so we also know it can be hard to accept the truth that some Black men—like your beloved Bill—are capable of horrible acts, especially when it comes to violence against women.

Phylicia Rashad is a celebrated actress perhaps best known for her role as Clair Huxtable on "The Cosby Show." Since the reemergence of decades old sexual assault claims against her former TV husband, Ms. Rashad has remained mum.

by Valerie Jean-Charles


This year has been a great year for feminism. Whether it be the social justice movements led by Black women to protect and uplift Black lives in the midst of oppression, or simply Beyoncé standing righteously in front of the word “feminist” in bright, bold letters. Women—Black women—have been winning. Yet, we have also taken some major hits: Internet trolls, white feminists stealing and undermining our work, and controversies. Looking back two of the most major stories of the year in our community have twisted my insides with disgust, and have also led me to ponder the issues we face in our own community in moving the feminist/womanist movement forward.

by Leah C.K. Lewis


It seems every skeleton in the closets of notable African American men is coming out. Historically, there have been claims of domestic violence against men like Miles Davis, James Brown, Ike Turner, and Bill Withers (who will be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2015).

by Inda Lauryn


The recent news that neither Darren Wilson nor Daniel Pantaleo would be indicted for their killings Michael Brown and Eric Garner respectively, is heartbreaking. The weeks following the grand jury decisions have been marked with action: more protests, civil unrest, and conversations in an attempt to explain how this happened in our “post-racial” times.

by Rosalind Bentley and Ernie Suggs for AJC

The Cosby Chair for the Humanities, a prestigious endowed professorship at Spelman College, funded in part by a $20 million gift that Bill and Camille Cosby gave to the school in the 1980s, has been suspended indefinitely while the comedian and actor deals with almost daily allegations of sexual assaults.

The year, Beverly Johnson celebrated the 40th anniversary of her historic appearance on the cover of American Vogue. The supermodel was the first Black woman to be featured on the US version of the magazine.

And while Johnson has had many other successes over the years, including a renowned line of hair products, she says she's been keeping a secret.

by Candace Simpson


Trigger Warning: Discussions of rape and sexual assault

The news of sexual assault allegations against Bill Cosby has taken over everyone’s social media timelines. I have learned not to invest my energy in this particular story and its details, as the conversation quickly spirals out of control or reason. I am more concerned with public narratives of rape and rape culture, as the way people have been discussing the sexual assault allegations prove many still hold harmful and problematic views about sexual violence. Thus, I’ve discovered six important lessons for public discourse on sexual assault.

by Michelle Denise Jackson



When I woke up yesterday morning, my News Feed had erupted with status updates and headlines in response to this video, which features Don Lemon more or less suggesting to Joan Tarshis how she could have avoided being raped by Bill Cosby in 1969. According to good ol’ Don, women can avoid being forced to have oral sex by “biting” their attacker’s penis. He gave Tarshis this “advice” on his show.

by Aprill Hawkins

To this day, there is nothing I love more than a good “The Cosby Show” marathon. I will cancel every plan I have to post up on my couch and watch the lives of the Huxtables unfold. Watching “The Cosby Show” is a wonderful experience of nostalgia, and who doesn’t love a trip down memory lane. But with the recent accusations of sexual assault against Bill Cosby, I’m not sure I will ever enjoy it like I once did.