Bill Cosby’s guilty verdict was made possible by decades of activism by black women

Bill Cosby’s legal team was never afraid to invoke America’s history of anti-black racism. During the closing arguments of his trial on sexual assault charges —which just ended with a guilty verdict on three counts of indecent sexual assault — they referred to the #MeToo movement as a “witch hunt” and likened the men who had been accused of criminal behavior to the victims of lynchings. Earlier, they had sought sympathy for Cosby by suggesting he was the victim of the racist justice system.

Many of the complaints against Cosby predated #MeToo, but he became the first celebrity to be tried during this era of heightened awareness. While Andrea Constand, whose accusations led to the recent trial, is white, his dozens of accusers over the years were women of many races. The judge allowed testimony from five other women besides Constand as the prosecution set out to prove Cosby’s pattern of sexual predation.

The racial elements of the trial offer an opportunity to recall that the first “me too” movement — literally using those words — was launched a decade ago by an African-American woman, Tarana Burke.

Indeed, it’s important to recognize that years of black women’s anti-rape and anti-sexual assault activism have helped produce our current robust national conversation about sexual violence. It may not be a full moment of reckoning just yet, but the tireless organizing of black women has made it possible for us to have more productive conversations about rape culture and the meaning of consent.

There is a decades-long modern history of black women’s anti-rape activism. Anti-rape activists such as Rosa Parks are part of a long tradition of black women advocating for the victims/survivors of sexual violence. Contemporary anti-sexual violence activism is deeply and directly indebted to the formation of organizations such as A Long Walk Home, Black Women’s Blueprint, INCITE Women of Color of Against Violence, and We Are the 44% Coalition. These groups center on the experiences of women of color while providing tools and strategies for ending sexual violence against all people.

Whether it’s demanding that R. Kelly finally be held accountable for his alleged predatory behavior or organizing to support the victims of Daniel Holtzclaw, the former police officer convicted of raping or assaulting eight black women in Oklahoma City, black women have been in the trenches of anti-rape activism. They have reframed conversations about sexual violence to account for the distinct experience of black women, girls, trans, and gender nonbinary people.

INCITE, for example asserts that “women, gender non-conforming, and trans people of color live in the dangerous intersections of sexism and racism, as well as other oppressions,” and that “it is impossible to seriously address sexual and intimate partner violence within communities of color without addressing these larger structures of violence.” These assertions anchor their work and the work of similar groups as organizing at the intersections and working toward inclusivity.

Anti-rape activism has achieved a certain “glamour” in the past year — witness the magazine covers, the mainstream media recognition, the accolades for reporters uncovering abuse. This is new. Often, speaking out has been quite costly — especially for black women calling attention to intracommunal sexual violence. They have faced accusations of being race traitors, sellouts, or puppets of white supremacy.

To be sure, there is a long and inglorious history of false cross-racial accusations that led to lynching as well as enduring racist stereotypes about black men as innately violent and hypersexual. People questioning the validity of rape accusations will cite everything from real cases of false, racially motivated accusations to fictional stories such as To Kill a Mockingbird to discredit rape and sexual assault allegations. Black women encounter these historically loaded land mines when advocating for accountability for sexual violence committed by black men both within and outside the black community. Shamefully, Cosby and his defense team tried to use this horrific history as a shield.

The Cosby trial in many ways epitomized the unique challenges black women encounter in anti-rape activism. Cosby is, or at least was, a powerful, “revered,” and beloved African-American man accused of rape and sexual assault by dozens of primarily white women — though quite a few are women of color.

And yet black women were among those demanding he be held accountable for numerous acts of sexual violence. Allegations corroborated through his words about drugging women were beyond alarming. What perhaps was equally disturbing were the responses to his behavior, which included some shrugs. It became clear that far too many people have no idea what consent means.

An important takeaway from this trial, despite the guilty verdict, is how far we have to go on making enthusiastic consent the norm. This has been the work of black female anti-rape activists and many others groups committed to ending sexual violence. Finally, in 2018, there appears to be a greater appetite for learning about consent and holding those who commit acts of sexual violence accountable.

This appetite was nurtured by black women and helped to shape the Cosby trial. From the powerful documentary NO! The Rape Documentary, directed by Aishah Shahidah Simmons, about sexual violence against black women to the #MuteRKelly campaign, black women have advocated through multiple mediums that we must hold all perpetrators accountable.

It remains an uphill and arduous battle, but it seems like the army of those warring to end sexual violence acquires new members every day. The effort crosses all races and ethnicities, but black women have played a central role in the fight.

Treva B. Lindsey is a professor at Ohio State University. Find her on Twitter @divafeminist.

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