Fame doesn’t make people untouchable but neither should whiteness

Parasocial relationships 

While, on the one hand, parasocial relationships can be harmful in terms of how much access people believe they should have to people they’ve never actually met, something which pop-country singer Chappell Roan has railed back against, it also serves to humanise many of the people who had previously been idolised and therefore unreachable.

There’s something pleasingly unbreakable about the idolisation of someone whose life is so different from yours, precisely because you’d never expect to bump into them on the street. 

But, with the intense use of social media and (often self) imposed surveillance into the lives of people who would otherwise be perfect strangers to us, valued in terms only of their fame rather than their interpersonal relationships and life decisions, celebrities have become (however falsely) known to us. 

They live amongst us, albeit through the screens of our phones, relatable and familiar, eliciting our adoration and empathy simultaneously, prompting us to feel genuine pride for their achievements and horror at their misdeeds, as if our relationship were reciprocal. As if they knew we existed at all. 

Perhaps this is part of the reason why celebrities who have behaved poorly and/or committed crimes are facing backlash in public opinion, as well as genuine lawful consequences. If we have to be reprimanded by a certain set of rules for our behaviour, it’s only fair that someone who has built their celebrity status on presenting themselves as ‘just like us’ should experience the same repercussions we would.

Rap’s repercussions 

Combs is another name in a string of celebrities held legally accountable for their actions. Again, as Charlie pointed out in his article, ‘when looking specifically at hip-hop culture, various names over the years have been permanently tarnished’.

He’s right, of course, recalling the likes of R. Kelly, Suge Knight, Kanye West, and Fetty Wap, celebrities who’ve also paid to an extent in terms of their disgraced public image for their own hostile or illegal behaviour. 

Yet, this focus on hip-hop, a predominantly black owned and produced music genre and culture, also makes it impossible to ignore the racial element of these convictions. Particularly if we look at the misuse of lyrics in drill music specifically to prosecute young black men and find them culpable of crimes they otherwise have no evidence of being involved in.

We need only compare recent headlines to see how, although some black celebrities are being (rightfully) held accountable for their actions, many white celebrities are still seen as untouchable.

Take Trump, for instance, ‘who was elected after bragging about grabbing women’s pussies without their consent and who has more than 15 charges against him.’

If you can’t bear to look at him, take a look instead at Prince Andrew, who still lives in luxury after being accused of sexually assaulting a minor with wealthy white man Jeffrey Epstein, who conveniently died in his jail cell before he could be tried against sex trafficking charges.

Disgusted yet? How about comedian Russell Brand, who pled “not guilty” to four charges of the sexual assault and rape of four seperate women, or Fox News’ Roger Ailes, accused of sexual harassment by more than 20 women who had worked with him.

Cases like Combs’ may show how fame is no longer a guaranteed get-out-of-jail-free card, (or how it may only offer protection up to a point), but it also makes obvious the reality that the consequences are more likely to be worse if your skin is dark. 

This imbalance exposes the racism inherent within the judicial system. By stigmatising those based on race but critically not by fame, and continuing to protect those whose culture is stolen from those whose culture has been pillaged and appropriated, a culture of even more vicious white supremacy is bred, with the black man as the scapegoat. 

The othering of culpability 

Certainly the assured prosecution of celebrities just because they’re black is neither completely consistent nor wholly true. 

Look, for instance, at the hordes of concert-goers to Chris Brown’s latest tour, a man who has been arrested and convicted for felony assault, involved in an alleged hit and run accident, and who plead guilty to a misdemeanour assault during his parole.

Even Brown’s fans, many of whom are women aware of this behaviour, find a way to disengage from it. Amongst their reasons are his music, because he’s “pretty cute to look at”, because “no one has the perfect relationship behind closed doors”, and the fact that he’s apparently “paid enough” for what he’s done.

While Chris Brown may be yet another man whose gotten away with allegations of rape and sexual assault as well as several restraining orders, incarceration statistics suggest that it was his fame rather than his skintone which made his freedom possible; since in the UK white individuals form 73% of the prison population, despite constituting 86% of the UK population.

According to Hectic Teacher, custodial sentences are also notably longer for black and asian people than for white individuals and, in 2023, ‘black individuals were arrested at a rate of 20.4 per 1,000 compared to 9.4 per 1,000 for white individuals.

 

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The myth of hypersexuality around black men specifically leads to their demonisation as rapists in particular, serving to bolster false racial stereotypes which contribute to prejudice and discrimination. These fearmongering tactics thus facilitate hostile, racist attitudes and scapegoat black men, creating a despised monolith of an ‘othered’ demographic from whom white women need to be “protected”.

In reality, it is often the white man who craves greater protection for his crimes.

Thanks to the tri-nexus of their racial, gender, and socio-economic power, and the way that this power intersects with the systems through which our racist, patriarchal, and classist society is ran, the white man knows, from experience, that they’re far less likely than a black man to lose their unearned privileges, despite having so much more to lose.

As essayist Michel de Montaigne wrote in 1580, ‘there never was any opinion so irregular, as to excuse treachery, disloyalty, tyranny, and cruelty, which are our familiar vices. We may then call these people barbarous, in respect to the rules of reason: but not in respect to ourselves, who in all sorts of barbarity exceed them.’

Celebrity worship culture may be waning, but rape culture is still rife. Fame doesn’t make someone untouchable, but neither should whiteness.