“All these big deviants are catching hell in 2024. It’s up for all of them. It don’t matter if you’re Diddy, or whoever…all lies will be exposed [sic],” the comedian Katt Williams confidently declared in a podcast with retired American football player Shannon Sharpe in January, discussing prominent rappers accused of sexual crimes.

So far this year, Williams has been vindicated. Following the uncovering of the Diddy sexual abuse scandal, fellow artists Kanye West and The-Dream have similarly been accused of rape and sex crimes in recent days. The emerging pattern is most obviously reminiscent of how 2017 allegations against Harvey Weinstein ignited the #MeToo phenomenon.

That this #MeToo reckoning has been so delayed is a question pondered upon in the years since Weinstein’s exposure as a prolific sexual abuser. After all, there have been numerous documented allegations and cases of rap industry power players engaging in forms of sexual misconduct, such as T.I and Russell Simmons.

One factor, perhaps an uncomfortable one, behind the reluctance to lift a microscope to the world of hip hop is that it is dominated by black Americans. Many African American public figures have adopted the attitude that to criticise their conduct, especially once they have attained status and recognition in a society that historically excluded them from such things, is to attack their black manhood more broadly. To them, it is little more than a witch hunt. This is a view adopted by actor Eddie Griffin, who has said that “black male stars don’t leave this industry clean”, and singer Akon, who defended Nelly from rape allegations by saying: “half the time, [women] will set up a charge just for us to settle out.”

Another reason for the rap community’s muted response might be that most of the victims in these cases are black women who have long been treated as the bottom of the pile, so much so that sexual exploitation against them is ignored relative to other female victims. In addition, these women are more likely to remain silent about their own torment, not just because of their powerlessness, but also a communal pressure that — in the words of Drew Dixon, who accused Russell Simmons of rape — she “didn’t want to let the culture down” and potentially contribute to a discourse that denigrates black men as a group.

Sheri Sher, another accuser against Simmons, explained: “As a black young woman growing up, you learn to nurture and stand for your hood, especially black men, men of color in there, and how dare you come out and try to put him down when he’s already being put down by society and police? How dare you? So you had a silence and a code that you had to keep.”

Yet, despite the racial optics, these patterns of abuse are fundamentally the same whether in hip hop or Hollywood, whether perpetrated by Diddy or Harvey Weinstein. These men believe that with their power and status comes the right to any woman they want at a time of their choosing, an attitude that comes into contact with an abundance of attractive, aspirant young women whose currency within the industry is their good looks.

Hip hop, ever since its inception as an underground art form, has faced opprobrium from outside critics for misogyny and sexual objectification, and in response rap’s tight-knit community has sought to defend the honour of the art form. A collection of big-name artists and moguls being exposed as sexual abusers seems to validate the stigma. But instead of confronting this problem, a code of silence that would brand speaking up as akin to “snitching”, whether out of fear or self-preservation, took root. At least, perhaps, until now.

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Ralph Leonard is a British-Nigerian writer on international politics, religion, culture and humanism.

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