On the “other side” of this pop culture conversation, many refer to to rap and hip hop, Black genres, as the genres of misogyny. They cite rapists and apologists like R. Kelly and Rick Ross and lyrics and accounts concerning acts like NWA and other 90s and current day rappers and R&B crooners as evidence to the genre’s innate and blatant sexism and patriarchy. While it is necessary to call out acts and performers regardless of race and genre and to expose all rapists, misogynists, and apologists for what they are, hip hop is grossly misunderstood by people who don’t know the culture or the language and are invested in dismissing and pathologizing Blackness. And, to the point, it is telling how hyper-focusing on Black men and culture unfortunately compacts with an old Jim Crow politics of the savage, animal rapacious Black male.

This all comes together to paint a really sad picture: While we will easily point fingers at Black rapists, abusers, and misogynists, we’re yet quiet about the white men who behave exactly like them, if not worse. I could easily share a song on social media by The Stooges, David Bowie, or T. Rex, all artists I’ve been inspired by and love(d), without much hullabaloo from my progressively-minded friends. But if I were to do so for R. Kelly or Tyler the Creator, I would have a few people messaging me about being upset or triggered. The disparity is deafening.

Worst of all, in conversations that erroneously posit Black men as rapists and underage white (or in the case of Lori Maddox, light/passing) women as empowered by their dalliances with white men, women of color, especially darker and Black women, are put in an uncomfortable place of erasure.

Rape culture disproportionately affects the communities women of color exist in (working class/poor, queer and trans, sex workers, etc), and racism pushes us away from resources and restricts our access to economic and artistic empowerment. We have to deal with multiple forms of patriarchy, both internalized within our own communities and from white supremacy, heterosexism, etc in just our daily lives, let alone in pop music. We have to fight against colorism and hyper-sexualization, against legacies of our bodies seen as unrapeable because merely by existing, as once being property, we consent.

So when we are not recognized or seen as victims and are yet expected to take up campaigns that increasingly seem less like calling out rape and rapists and more about maligning our cultural spaces and people, what do you do? We’re neither rock star nor groupie, empowered nor victimized. Women of color fight for representation in every single measure, even in assault. Our communities are just reduced to the straight cis male-centric racist tropes of the men who rape and we’re expected to defend our race and not fight rape culture. Us women become non-existent. And the most violence happens to those who are not heard or seen.

So here I ask: Why give these white dudes a pass? Why use language that posits underage “baby groupies” as autonomous and consenting when they were not? Who are the women of color “baby groupies” of pop culture, regardless of the race of the men or the industry that assaulted or disenfranchised them? What are the names and faces of the women of color in the pop music industry and their narratives of exploitation and assault? Or do we only see vixens, gold diggers, and “strong” female pop stars or sultry overly sexual songstresses?