Because as a Black male, I’m still often asked “You think Cosby did it?”
Underneath any response to the question lies a more intimate attempt to establish a common bond amongst us: “You can’t believe that [cis] Black [heterosexual] men, like you and I, could have been the impetus, the actors, the dismissers of such widespread rape, sexual violence, and lifelong trauma.” Most of us in social consideration take this to be more a form of an entertaining opening for joviality than an accusation of continuing an intergenerational legacy of gendered, sexualized violence. Some of us, in response, feel ennobled to take a position affirming his guilt, while slyly absolving, distancing ourselves from being victim to this legacy.
I answer seldom a word. Because even in calling us to task, it can only be meant to obscure the ultimate call that speaks to my own soul, a lifelong task inescapably difficult to manage: Yes, I have been party, been contributor, been complicit within the struggle that the women affected by his actions now survive. The struggle that upends painfully embodied lived experience wrapped within declarative statements to quizzical, conspiracy-laden interrogations. The struggle which subverts a collective search for justice into an individual retreat from retraumatization. Beyond the narrow scope of American legality, especially in matters of sexual consent, lies the web of connection and causation that inevitably brings the sins of another across our mouths, our hands, our hearts.
In nature, the clouds that form and sway above us all are borne out of what evaporates from the ground to which gravity binds our lives. With all of the exchanges of violence and grief that pervade our daily existence, I imagine that even a partly cloudy day where just enough sun breaks across the landscape is an accomplishment. I can’t convince myself of the fantasy of a clear blue sky as storm clouds multiply into deeper, darker shades of grey. I believe that we all should be aware of the weather and prepare the vulnerable for refuge. Yet I refuse to search for an umbrella to save myself from the impending storm. When it rains, I want us ALL to be outside. Maybe it can help cleanse us of past sins. Maybe it can help us grow towards a more joyful future.
