First, let me apologize—not to any one person in particular, but to the social media space as a whole. To anyone who posted about Jay-Z and the potential of his misdeeds, I’m being nice here. Let me be clear: I didn’t attack anyone for their position. I didn’t defend Jay-Z with wild theories or added spins. In fact, the thrust of my position was simple: I don’t know, and I refuse to throw shade or accusations on anyone without proof, without absolution.
We should all be worth that, and I mean all. Hands on a 13-year-old? That’s nasty work. Even writing that sentence feels nasty. Let me wash my mouth out while you Q-tip your ears for goodness' sake. But I can’t Scarlet Letter someone like that without knowing for sure. He’d have to wear that for life, I was thinking. Dude has kids—daughters, in fact. I’ve got a daughter. I remember what she looked like, how her mind worked at 13—ugghh. Sick. Nah, we gotta wait and see.
That was my position. My pinnacle.
I also wondered aloud, and within the social media space: What’s the rush? Why was everyone so desperate to desecrate this man? The acts—and I won’t pollute your reading eyes or dirty the voice in your head by repeating them—are heinous. Ain’t no other way to describe them. So if he did what he’s accused of, he will be punished. His condemnation will be thorough, swift, and without question.
But my argument remained: What’s the rush?
There’s a snowball forming, a train coming, an untamed inertia. Let it ride, and let’s see. Two outcomes: either we rid the world of an absolute scumbag, or he’s innocent—which I contended, strongly but respectfully, was a real possibility.
And ultimately, my final point was this: No one was ever going to come back and apologize to him for the vitriol thrown his way. People act as if celebrities aren’t real—as if Jay-Z isn’t an actual human being who walks around with emotions and thoughts. Like the conspiracies, rumors, and lies aimed at him don’t affect him. Like his celebrity somehow shields him from his humanity.
But he is human. He does bleed, feel, absorb, live, and breathe—all of it.
And it’s that realization that has me essentially apologizing to all the people whose posts I opined on. Not because I think my position was wrong—especially now that the accuser has changed her initial statement. It’s more of an evolved position on my behalf. I’m seeing things from a vantage point I hadn’t considered before. And now that I have, it’s clear to me: “Fuck Jay-Z.” (In my Nas voice.)
There’s darkness in Puffy. We’ve seen it. But Ready to Die? It still slaps.There’s darkness in R. Kelly. We all saw it. But 12 Play? Come on.I say I’m compassionate toward Mary J. Blige and her struggles with addiction and abuse, yet I’ll still say that My Life—born from her darkest moments—is her best work. One of the main albums that defined a generation.
But here’s the real kicker—people like Puffy, R. Kelly, and Cosby knew exactly what they were doing.
Puffy knew that putting hands on Cassie was wrong.R. Kelly knew that having sex with a minor, on camera, was wrong.Cosby knew that slipping pills into someone’s drink was wrong.
These weren’t accidents. These weren’t mistakes born of ignorance. They knew—and they did it anyway. Why? Because they could. Because they knew they’d get away with it. And then, when they got caught, they turned around and asked us to see their humanity.
Imagine that. They committed heinous acts, knowing full well they were hurting people, and still had the audacity to plead with us: “I’m human. I make mistakes. Understand me. Forgive me.”
Where was that humanity when they were violating others? Where was that compassion?
And then there’s Jay-Z. He’s not Puffy. He’s not R. Kelly. He’s not Cosby. He was loud, proud, and quick to beat his chest about what he didn’t do. I remember hearing him immediately challenge the accuser to file criminal charges. Bold move. Confident. Exactly what an innocent man would do. I thought to myself, “He’s standing on business. He’s protecting his name, his family. He’s doing what any innocent man would do.”
But the longer I sat with it, the more that same confidence became telling.
Because when you’re banging your chest about what you didn’t do—what you didn’t know—you’re also admitting to inaction. You’re waving a flag about the spaces you sat still.
You didn’t do it? Okay. But what did you do?
Did you look the other way? Did you stay quiet? Were you in the room, knowing what was happening? Were you outside the room, hearing about it, but saying nothing? Were you part of a culture that protected “the acts” with silence?
Jay-Z could be as innocent as the 13-year-old was when she stepped into that limo. He could be free of the acts themselves. But if he sat there, knowing—if he knew a 13-year-old was being violated—he’s culpable. And fuck him for that.
And that goes for anyone else who knew about Puffy’s bullshit. Beyoncé, you knew? Fuck you. Ellen DeGeneres, you knew? Fuck you too. Anybody who suddenly feels safe enough to share their stories now—why didn’t you say something then? Because you knew. That’s why. You didn’t stay late at the parties? Why not? Because you knew. Fuck you too.
This shit didn’t just affect Puffy’s victims. It affected countless people—some of whom will never recover. And there’s a bunch of so-called heroes walking around who knew all about it. Fuck them too.
I get that self-preservation comes first. It’s human instinct. It’s why Jay went so hard to protect his name, his family, his safety. But what about someone else’s?
So, yeah. Fuck you, Jay-Z.
And yet, I know when The Blueprint or Reasonable Doubt comes on, I’ll still listen. I don’t know the man personally. But for this? For sitting silent? For placing his humanity at the forefront—demanding compassion, empathy, and fairness—while refusing to extend that humanity to others?
He’s wack for that.
Because when you know and do nothing, you’re part of the problem. Period. One Love
Smirk
