By Gabrielle Lawrence-Cormier
Last November, when Meek Mill surfaced on my timeline following the release of his well-regarded latest album Championships, I decided to give it a listen. I scrolled through the track list and wasn’t surprised to see several well-known abusers and rapists listed as featured artists.
A lot of men hate women. And a lot of musicians, artists, and entertainers regularly collaborate with violent men because unfortunately, sexual violence and the oppression of women aren’t career dealbreakers.
There are little to no societal repercussions for collaborating with abusive men because white supremacist patriarchy is literally powered by sexual violence, and thus, we’re conditioned to overlook and/or celebrate harm-doers and their actions while chastising their victims.
Admittedly, Championships is a good album with sophisticated narrative structure. It’s not just beats and tough bars for Billboard’s sake. We see Meek grappling with multiple facets of his identity by looking back at his experiences within a wider angle of context. Musically, he’s tightening up his lyricism, and finding range as a vocalist.
Though he seems reluctant to take full responsibility of his platform, Meek uses title track “Championships” to rap about the violence and trauma many Black children experience growing up in “ruthless neighborhood[s] where [they are] not protected by the police,” and their everyday lives are shaped, in part, by racism, classism, and other resulting oppressions.
But the album’s biggest weakness, and Mill’s developing political formation, comes with his extremely limited understanding of gender justice and its necessity in achieving racial equity.
Throughout the album, he perpetuates women as merely sexual objects, and perhaps his reliance on the longstanding practice of deeming women, Black women most of all, as undeserving of humanity is a tell-sign into his willingness to work with predators and harm-doers.
The music industry is a notorious hotbed of sexual violence. Recently, dream hampton’s six-part docuseries Surviving R. Kelly reanimated a growing trend in exposing the ways entertainers abuse and exploit women and young girls. R. Kelly’s harm-doing is well known, yet he maintains widespread support from fans and peers alike.
Some artists support these acts of oppression outright, like Kendrick Lamar, who threatened to pull his music from Spotify after the failed rollout of the hateful conduct policy. Others participate in the covert endorsement of deflection, what-about-isms, and collaborations.
Though a few other entertainers who are men have spoken up about their indictments of R. Kelly’s behavior, much of the outcry about the need for justice has come from Black women and queer folks. Meek Mill responded to the documentary and expressed his disdain about “so much filthy shit in this industry nobody will ever speak on.”
Nevertheless, of the fifteen collaborations on Championships, three artists have been publicly accused of encouraging or committing sexual assault and intimate partner violence.
Fabolous was in the spotlight just months before the album release for felony charges stemming from an alleged attack on his longtime girlfriend Emily Bustamente, where he “reportedly threatened to hit Emily in the head with a baseball bat and kill her over text message. He then allegedly punched Emily in the face seven times, resulting in the loss of her two front teeth” according to an article in the Rolling Stone.
Rick Ross, Meek Mill’s mentor, has repeatedly been called out for his lyrics that perpetuate rape and rape culture, and was sued in 2015 for an incident involving an affiliated body guard allegedly sexually assaulting an unnamed women.
Kodak Black awaits trial for sexual assault after being accused of raping a teenage girl in South Carolina. He received even more attention in December for walking out of an interview with Hot 97’s Ebro after being called out for his behavior. And though Ebro claimed that he and the famed radio station take “sexual assault seriously,” subsequent actions speak to the contrary.
Three sexual predators and enablers as artists are still three too many, and these are just the predatory men we know of.
And while it’s important to call attention to artists who collaborate with known abusers, a double standard is clear in that we have this expectation of women artists. We saw massive uproar in response to Nicki Minaj’s collaborations with convicted sex criminal 6ix9ine last year. She’s been rightfully criticized called out for her endorsements, yet the same cannot be said of several men in the industry.
As his reach and influence continues to grow, it is important that Meek no longer affiliate himself with known abusers, especially as he ventures into racial justice efforts, campaigns, and causes.
Artists using their platforms to advocate for racial justice, but ignore their influence in the music industry as it concerns the safety and respect of women’s bodies is irresponsible. For me, the imbalance and disconnect limits the artist’s personal growth.
Refusing to to collaborate and cross-promote with domestic abusers, predators, and rapists who play a part in terrorizing the very communities they rap about barely making it out of, is a social and cultural necessity for racial justice.
While we can uplift Meek Mill and others like him as role models and influencers, we must also demand accountability. This includes calling them out for their carelessness and dismissal of Black women when speaking up about issues affecting the Black community, and their willingness to work with the people who abuse and harm us.
They have the power to minimize harm for Black women and others who are hyper-marginalized, and we must be firm in asking why they refuse to do so.
Gabrielle Lawrence is an artist writing to explore, and even when she isn’t doing the most she is still in the spirit of much. Follow her on Twitter @gabrielle__l or visit gabrielle-lawrence.com for more info.
