There’s a scene in the fictionalized David Bowie biopic Velvet Goldmine where Christian Bale’s character, a closeted teen living with homophobic parents, points at a glammed-up Bowie surrogate on TV and screams, “That’s me.” A similar shock of identification, where budding desires and inclinations are suddenly seen blooming in full color, spread across young queer fans of New York punk duo PWR BTTM during their rise to prominence over the past few years. Seeing Ben Hopkins and Liv Bruce—both queer vocalists, guitarists, and drummers—rip up a stage in thrifted dresses and dollar-store makeup offered recognition for those who felt like they might be queer but maybe couldn’t imagine themselves celebrating it just yet.

All this was thrown into crisis when, days before the release of the band’s second album Pageant, allegations that Hopkins had a history of sexual assault and harassment began circulating on Facebook and Twitter. (A 2011 photo of Hopkins smiling by a swastika drawn in the sand was also distributed, which the band had previously addressed.) Fans demanded comment from Hopkins, and the band issued a statement asking anyone who believed their consent had been violated to reach out via an email address they said would be operated by an impartial mediator. “The allegations come as a surprise, but we are trying to address them with openness and accountability,” read the statement.

The band immediately received criticism for putting the onus on survivors to come forward, and for blaming “a culture that trivializes and normalizes violations of consent” instead of taking responsibility. Soon, musicians began publicly contradicting the notion that these allegations were news to the band. Sadie Dupuis of Speedy Ortiz and Sad13 tweeted that one of Hopkins’ alleged victims had confronted the band in February and “was met with inaction.” T-Rextasy, an opener on PWR BTTM’s summer tour, stated that “someone came to us privately and warned us that they had these experiences with Ben” months ago; like the tour’s other opening acts, T-Rextasy dropped out. Soon there would be no tour at all.

On Friday, Pageant’s street date, Jezebel ran an interview with an anonymous woman claiming that Hopkins sexually assaulted her multiple times after taking her home from a PWR BTTM show. When asked, the band issued no further comment—but its label Polyvinyl did. “There is absolutely no place in the world for hate, violence, abuse, discrimination, or predatory behavior of any kind,” read the statement, which announced that PWR BTTM had been dropped, offered full refunds for Pageant, and promised donations to RAINN and the Anti-Violence Project. Polyvinyl also pulled *Pageant *from stores and streaming, as did PWR BTTM’s former label Father/Daughter (on Apple services, at least). Swiftly and decisively, PWR BTTM’s platform was erased.

For those who sought much-needed comfort and community in PWR BTTM, the allegations struck a sickening note. This was a band that asked for gender neutral bathrooms at its shows so trans and gender-nonconforming attendees could feel safe. A few days after last year’s mass shooting at an Orlando gay club, Ben and Liv played a show benefiting the Pulse Tragedy Community Fund at the nearby Backbooth Bar. And when Trump won the election, Ben assured PWR BTTM’s Twitter followers that “queer is invincible”—one of many shows of solidarity played out in song and social media by the band since forming in 2013. The very quality that set PWR BTTM apart—their stated commitment to creating safe queer spaces—gave them the platform to allegedly abuse those they claimed to be protecting. This profound hypocrisy sets PWR BTTM’s situation apart from other sexual assault allegations within the music industry, which tend to surface more slowly and are rarely met with the same degree of shock.