What We Saw On Video Matters More Than The Sean Combs Verdict

When news broke that Sean “Diddy” Combs was found guilty of transportation to engage in prostitution but not guilty of sex trafficking and racketeering conspiracy, I knew exactly how this would play out. Some people would grab onto that partial verdict like a lifeline, ignoring every piece of truth we’ve seen and heard about who this man is and what he’s done.

Here’s what I know: regardless of what the prosecution charged, we saw violence with our own eyes. Last year, from a 2016 surveillance video, we saw a man chase down, assault, and terrorize a woman. We saw him try to spin it. We saw him issue a hollow apology, not one rooted in real accountability but in crisis PR and damage control. 

What I also know is that our legal system is never the final word on whether something happened. Courtrooms are about what can be proven under narrow burdens of proof. But life, real life, is not always that neat. Some truths are so clear they do not need a courtroom to confirm them.

This is not new. Time and again, we watch powerful men with money and nostalgia attached to their names dodge real accountability because too many people would rather protect an image than protect real people from harm. It happened with R. Kelly. It happened with Bill Cosby. It happens with Chris Brown. It’s happening now with Diddy. And if we’re honest, no verdict—not even a completely guilty one on every charge—would change the minds of some folks so long as they like the man’s music, the vibe, the memories attached to a particular song.

We need to sit with how dangerous that is. We can’t keep screaming “Protect Black women!” on our timelines while holding a permanent “But not if I like his album” clause in our hearts. It doesn’t work that way. It shouldn’t. And yet it does — because this pattern is not just about celebrity. It’s about what we’ve been taught to protect at all costs: the male ego, power, and image.

Meanwhile, Black women and girls — and anyone else who dares stand up and say “He hurt me” — are left to fend for themselves. To carry the weight of being believed or disbelieved. To hear people say, “Well, they should’ve known what they were signing up for.” To watch whole communities twist themselves into moral pretzels to avoid facing the truth that sometimes the people we love to cheer for are the same people destroying lives behind closed doors — or, in this case, on camera.

As an attorney, I take issue with what the prosecution charged in this case. Sex trafficking charges are notoriously hard to prove, especially against people of considerable wealth who’ve spent decades mastering the art of plausible deniability. It matters that we keep fighting for a system that works. But we can’t let the courtroom be our only measure of the truth. We can’t let the system’s failures dictate what we know in our bones to be real.

Because the fact is, the legal system fails survivors every single day. And when the system does come through — when there is a video, when there is a confession, when there is a guilty plea, too many people still close their eyes and press play on the same old songs.

I see people say, “Well, everybody makes mistakes,” as if what we watched was a minor slip-up or an aberration of character, and not a pattern of calculated harm. I see people say, “He apologized,” as if that insult of an apology did anything to repair what he caused. I see people say, “He wasn’t found guilty of sex trafficking, so it must not be true,” as if the truth begins and ends with a technicality in a courtroom.

We need to tell the truth about how exhausting it is to watch Black women and girls and queer people be hurt again and again by the same type of man — only to see our own people run to protect him. To act like their empire matters more than our humanity. To act like the vibes are worth more than our safety.

It shouldn’t be this way. But the line we draw in the sand is ours alone to hold. So let me be clear about mine: Diddy will never get another dollar, another stream, another ounce of respect from me. Not because of what he was charged with, but because of what he did. Because of what I saw. Because sometimes the truth is undeniable — if we’re brave enough to keep our eyes open.

And to the people he’s harmed — named and unnamed, known and unknown — I see you. I believe you. I send you my love and my solidarity. I know what it means to carry the burden of telling your truth, only to watch people pretend they didn’t hear it. You are not alone. You are not invisible — not to me. Not to anyone willing to stand on what they know is right.

To everyone still deciding what they’ll do with this: What you do is yours to own. What you can live with is yours to carry. What your friends and family see when they watch you excuse this man—or any man like him—is up to you.

As for me and my North Star? It’s simple. I don’t need a court to tell me what I know. I don’t need a guilty verdict to validate what my eyes and my gut have already confirmed. I choose to stand on the side of the people he hurt. I choose to believe what I saw. I choose to let my values — not nostalgia or a playlist — guide me.

Always and forever, it’s a no. And it will remain a no. Because our community deserves better than this endless cycle of excuses and protection for violent men. Black women and girls deserve better. Survivors deserve better. And maybe if enough of us hold that line, one day we’ll actually see the world reflect it too.

Preston Mitchum is an attorney, writer, and advocate whose work focuses on the intersections of racial justice, gender equity, and LGBTQ+ rights. He is the Founder of PDM Consulting and a trusted voice on law, culture, and accountability.

SEE ALSO:

Why Sean Combs Was Never Going To Be Fully Held Accountable [Op-Ed]

Diddy Please: Yes, You’re A Bozo For Cheering For Sean Combs

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