“Bill Cosby rape.” Comedian Hannibal Buress once told us to Google said phrase during his now-viral stand-up show, and we did. Not only did people scramble to the Internet to dredge up past reports, but in recent weeks more women came forward, accusing Cosby of taking advantage of them in strikingly similar ways. Some observers remain speculative, however — if these incidents occurred ages ago, why didn’t the victims speak out sooner?
The truth is that victims have been speaking out — some for years, others for decades. We just haven’t been listening. The title of Barbara Bowman’s op-ed for the Washington Post speaks volumes, presenting us with a question that demands for careful deliberation, all the while possessing a glaring, almost-obvious answer: “Bill Cosby raped me. Why did it take 30 years for people to believe my story?”
Cosby is, arguably, one of the most talented comedians of our time. “The Cosby Show” was revolutionary, paving the way for both the progression of the contemporary sitcom and black television as a whole. His depiction of a loving, quirky family man transcended the television screen and weaved its way into our hearts, winning over young and old alike with its light humor and relatability. When mentioning the allegations to my mother and my roommate — 46 and 21 years old, respectively — I was greeted with the same exclamation in the same indignant tone: “Bill Cosby? No way!”
We coalesce celebrity status with the possession of pristine, untouchable personas. We associate artistic success with elevated moral character. It is difficult for us to equate Bill Cosby with the words “rape” and “molestation” because we’ve spent the past few decades associating him with monikers like “America’s television dad” or “one of the greatest comedians alive.” To introduce a new sobriquet — criminal — would mean tarnishing the image that so many Americans have grown to love. Cosby is an advocate who gives motivational speeches around the country and encourages black youth to take responsibility — there’s no way that someone like him could commit rape, and with such a frequency, right? Wrong.
Pushing Cosby’s allegations to the sidelines is the reason that victims often decline to come forward — the fact that celebrities have power. They know people. They possess avid followings. This narrative — women afraid to speak out due to societal pressure and widespread denial — continuously rears its head with every emerging claim. We’ve heard these very words from Cosby’s victims: “Hey, this guy knows a lot of big guys.” “I was afraid of the consequences.” “Who’s gonna believe this? He was a powerful man.”
Imagine your assailant being loved by many, protected by his prestige and affluence. Imagine attempting to share your story and being met with doubt and suspicion because the person you are accusing is well regarded by the media and public. When asked why her daughter initially kept hush, Bowman’s mother delivered seven curt, straightforward words that detailed three decades of humiliation, self-hatred and eventual healing: “He was Dr. Huxtable. Everybody loved him.”
Let us cease relating Cosby to solely his art. Let us view him as the man he actually is, lest we continue this vicious cycle of censored victims and safeguarded stars. It’s been 30 years, but it’s time to talk about these women’s stories. Let’s start believing.