I Muted R. Kelly

Why Did I Continue To Listen To R. Kelly’s Songs Long After Supporting His Music Became A Problem? It Took My Own Experience With Sexual Assault To Finally Recognize The Truth.

- Aliya S. King

In the summer of 1984 I was sexually assaulted by a 17-year-old camp counselor. I was 12 years old. The counselor was from my hometown, and I saw him every day at camp and then every day in school for the next year until he graduated.

Like many young girls, I couldn’t quite figure out how the incident made me feel. In many ways I still can’t. I didn’t want to tell anyone, because I was sure that it was somehow my fault. I just took a deep breath and went to school each day. The assault was awful on its own. But then I had to walk by him in the halls and see him at football games or in the cafeteria. He never said a word to me. He didn’t have to. I continued to feel abused by him every time I encountered him. I never saw him after he graduated, but I heard his name from my friends. I knew he had gone to college and become a respected leader of the community.

He eventually popped up on my Facebook feed, commenting on a post from a mutual friend. I clicked on his profile and fell down the rabbit hole of seeing his entire life. He had married, had children, bought a house, and held a high position in the church. I had hot tears on my face as I saw how normal he seemed. I think I wanted him to clearly be a monster. I wanted to see a mug shot—not a Christmas photo of a cheery family in matching pajamas; not an apparently decent man, a loving husband and a doting dad whose church members appeared to be faithful acolytes.

If I saw this man on the street today, would I say a word to him? Absolutely not. Would I visit his church? Never. For me, this man is canceled. Forever. Since 1984. I wouldn’t say I hate him, but I would never want anything to do with him, his family, his friends. I know exactly what canceling someone looks like, and when it came to my abuser, I had no problem doing so.