Harvey Weinstein is sitting in a courtroom begging a judge to go easy on him.
Sean Combs is no longer pacing penthouses or boarding jets. He is an inmate, on the floor of a courtroom praying and crying, then locked in a cell asking President Trump for a pardon he did not get.
R. Kelly is learning that fame doesn’t open steel doors.
Peter Nygard is fading behind bars.
Russell Simmons is hiding overseas, pretending exile is a vacation.
Jeffrey Epstein couldn’t withstand his own shadow.
And Pill Cosby, not funny anymore. Just blind as fuck and a goddamned shamed rapist.
Different men.
Different races, industries, and legacies.
Same problem.
Power without boundaries eventually folds in on itself.
For years these men moved through the world wrapped in applause, insulated by money, and protected by silence. The industry fed them. The culture worshipped them. The entourage system kept hard truths out of their sight. And for a long time, nobody wanted to disturb the power structure. Nobody wanted to upset the machine that made people rich.
But now the receipts are everywhere.
Now the curtain is too thin to hide behind.
Now the law is catching up with men who built their empires in public but did their damage in private.
Weinstein says Rikers feels like a march toward his death.
Diddy is waking up to the reality that the same influence he used to intimidate others means nothing in a federal prison compound.
R. Kelly, once a stadium-filling superstar, is reduced to inmate numbers.
Nygard’s health is collapsing under the weight of his own actions.
Russell Simmons went from yoga philosopher to fugitive with a plane ticket.
None of this is new.
This is a cycle the world has seen for generations.
The only difference now is that the women are finally believed and the culture is finally listening.
And let’s talk about that belief, because I’ve been here long before the spotlight turned on.
I’ve spoken about the Bill Cosby case for years.
Not from a place of shock.
Not from hype.
But from clarity.
I’ve shut down the myth that Cosby was targeted because he wanted to buy a network.
I’ve shut down the lie that dozens of women woke up one day and decided to fabricate an accusation.
I’ve shut down the idea that this was just “America attacking a successful Black man.”
I believed Beverly Johnson from the beginning.
A woman with a long career, no tabloid mess, no agenda, no scandal attached to her name.
She had nothing to gain and everything to lose.
And her story lined up with what the world refused to acknowledge.
I even believed Cosby, himself. Do we just brush off his interview with Larry King where he sits with Larry and laughs about the use of the “Spanish Fly” and then makes the overture “HELLO AMERICA!”
People forget truth when it’s inconvenient.
People ignore facts when nostalgia has a louder voice.
Then Eddie Murphy stood on a global stage and reminded everyone exactly who Cosby really was.
He doubled down, tripled down, and the clarity hit the culture like a bell tower ringing at dawn.
It’s funny how the same truth people fought against becomes acceptable once someone famous repeats it.
But I don’t need a celebrity co-sign to stand on what’s real.
I’ve been that steady voice.
Uncomfortable when it needs to be.
Direct when others prefer the lie.
And since we’re dealing in honesty, let’s widen the lens.
I believed the women in the Chris Brown documentary.
I believed the women who came forward about LA Reid.
I believe Nykee Hinton when she talks about Diddy and Kanye West.
These stories matter.
These stories are part of the same pattern.
These women aren’t erased just because their abusers are talented or protected. Some haven’t been dragged into court yet. Others slipped through cracks in the system. But outrunning accountability doesn’t make them innocent. It just means their time hasn’t come.
This era is teaching something vital.
Teaching that influence is not a free pass.
Teaching that money can’t stop the truth forever.
Teaching that male entitlement doesn’t age well in the light.
Teaching that victims will eventually be heard, whether the world is ready or not.
I’m not a woman.
I don’t carry that pain.
But I honor it.
I respect it.
And I tell the truth about it even when it makes people uncomfortable.
Because truth is medicine.
Truth is correction.
Truth is what stands when fame fades.
These men weren’t destroyed by public opinion.
They were destroyed by the choices they made when they thought nobody was watching.
They built careers on applause but ignored the screams behind closed doors.
And now the world has finally decided that silence is dead.
This is the fall of the untouchable era.
The end of men who believed brilliance excused violence.
The end of men who treated women like extensions of their ego.
The end of men who thought accountability was something that happened to other people.
And I’m going to stay right here, saying it straight.
No dressing it up, no hiding it in metaphors.
I’ll keep putting the truth in your bloodstream, because an honest wound heals faster than a pretty lie.
The next generation deserves better than what these men modeled.
And the lesson is simple:
Character is the real currency.
Power without integrity is a trap.
And every empire built on harm eventually collapses under its own weight.
