Giving black women a voice
Docu-series a real-life horror story of abuse endured at the hands of R&B superstar
AS DISCOURSE about sexual violence becomes more nuanced, people who were once termed “victims” are now “survivors”.
The Lifetime documentary series Surviving R Kelly zeros in on that shift, but with more distinction than you would expect. A six-part series detailing decades of allegations against the aptly named Pied Piper of R&B, Surviving R Kelly is a horror story. Here, the monster isn’t just the titular man, but the systems in place that allegedly continue to enable his predation of under-age black girls.
Executive producer Dream Hampton brings together a number of people to tell their stories – not just survivors and their family, but clinical psychologists as well as former members of Kelly’s entourage, including his brothers (one of which is imprisoned), his ex-wife and the former associate who says he falsified the papers that infamously let Kelly marry late singer Aaliyah at the age of 15.
The makers of Surviving R Kelly seem keenly aware of the scrutiny these women will face as they fight for justice; each interview is conducted as carefully as a deposition and every survivor comes across as poised, intelligent and reflective.
They were talented, trusting girls who dreamed of becoming performers, who saw Kelly as a mentor, and whose childhoods were cut short by sexual and psychological abuse. They had families who cared deeply about them but who now describe feeling powerless to stop the machinations of a raging narcissist and his circle of enablers.
Black women are centred in the narrative. Racial issues permeate every facet of this tragedy and this docu-series dissects them in all their complexity, from Kelly’s exalted status within the black community to the apathy his accusers have faced for decades.
And then, there are the young women who remain with Kelly to this day. In the series’ two harrowing final episodes, cameras follow parents as they attempt to rescue daughters they haven’t seen in years.
The phrase “telling on yourself” comes up a fair amount in these episodes, as psychologists and music experts dig into the ways in which Kelly’s music let him manipulate the culture.
Making his “wild sexual life” (as the pee tape was characterised at the time) a centrepiece of the epic Tales From the Closet is just one example of Kelly defusing the bomb that was his bad behaviour. The series captures how easy it was to write off borderline creepiness in the pre #Metoo era.
The rise of the #Muterkelly movement and an increase in notable figures within the music industry speaking out indicate that these allegations are being taken more seriously – if not by the court system, then at least by those who previously ignored them.
Kelly and his legal team are threatening to sue over the show’s allegations as the show documents in its final episodes, but real change seems possible.
The most hopeful part of the show may come from the participation of John Legend, who recently tweeted about why he had no problem whatsoever with being interviewed for the series.
Legend’s rejection of the “brave” label is smart: the real bravery is seen on the faces of the black women who made their stand here, talking about what happened to them and/or those they love.
Surviving R Kelly ultimately implicates everyone who has ever bought an R Kelly album, attended one of his concerts, marvelled at the spectacle of his bonkers “hip hopera” Trapped in the Closet or even laughed at a late-night joke about the tape.
As a culture, we have prioritised our own enjoyment over these survivors’ suffering. If we can’t take back our complicity, we can at least help their fire spread. It offers compassion for its villain by providing context for his actions, devoting a big chunk of the first episode to the abuse he says he experienced as a child.
Surviving R Kelly is all about making sure the black women who have gone unheard get a chance to speak. It is brutal viewing. But it’s so good to know it exists.