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The Diddy trial verdict — and the celebrations afterwards — were difficult to watch

The Diddy trial verdict — and the celebrations afterwards — were difficult to watch

Independent6 days ago
Music mogul Sean 'Diddy' Combs was found not guilty of sex trafficking and racketeering charges by a jury Wednesday after a blockbuster eight-week trial — and found guilty of two more minor charges of transportation to engage in prostitution.
It's a verdict that will disappoint many. But in some ways, the reckoning has already happened. It began last year, quietly but unmistakably, when singer Casandra Ventura (known professionally as Cassie) filed a civil lawsuit under New York's Adult Survivors Act.
In it, Ventura detailed years of alleged abuse, coercion and surveillance by the former partner who launched her career and then, she claims, nearly destroyed her life.
She filed the suit days before the Act's one-year expiry window, and the lawsuit was settled behind closed doors within 24 hours. It was a resolution that looked like closure on paper, complete with a statement from Combs that said he wished Ventura 'the best.'
But it opened the door to something far messier.
A string of lawsuits followed, with allegations ranging from rape to drugging to sex trafficking to forced labor to arson. Authorities launched a federal investigation. Then came the trial testimony from assistants, the security staff, ex-girlfriends, and claims that ranged from the grotesque to the extreme.
Like with Harvey Weinstein, Jeffrey Epstein and R. Kelly, the Combs trial became a cultural mirror, reflecting what we still struggle to name and hold accountable: the way fame, money, and masculinity intertwine to obscure systemic abuse.
In the years since #MeToo exploded, the legal system has been inconsistent in its response. Weinstein and Kelly went to prison — then Weinstein's New York conviction was thrown out, and his retrial resulted in him being guilty of just one criminal sexual act.
Author Neil Gaiman reached an non-disclosure agreement settlement with a woman who accused him of sexual assault while she lived at his home in Woodstock, New York (he strongly denies any non-consensual activity), and then sued her for half a million dollars for violating that NDA by talking publicly about the allegations.
Monica Lewinsky was semi-rehabilitated and re-entered public life, having been the butt of cruel jokes for decades. Comedian Louis C.K. was accused by five women of sexual misconduct, and then he publicly admitted that the allegations were true before releasing a weird film about an older man who's interested in underage girls. He's since toured multiple times and won a Grammy.
And now Diddy has been cleared of sex trafficking and racketeering, but still faces up to 10 years in prison for each of the two acts of prostitution the jury convicted him on.
In other words, it's not clear whether the movement 'worked.' The huge backlash against gender equality in recent years resulted in an emboldened alt-right and an explosion in tradwife content on social media (step right up, Ballerina Farm, Nara Smith and the pronatalists.) Powerful men fall and rise again; civil suits get settled quietly; survivors are discredited or simply disappear from public memory.
The Diddy case felt a little different — not because it's uniquely horrifying, but because of the eerie normalcy of what it revealed:
The assistant, 'Mia', who posed jokey memes on social media about her 'mentor' and accused him of raping her for fun (Diddy was never charged with assaulting Mia).
The partner surveilled, referred to as 'slut' and 'ho,' and allegedly beaten.
Ventura's mother, who says she was blackmailed by Combs for $20,000, but the jury found him not guilty of racketeering.
The testimony given by an eight-months-pregnant woman who gave birth as the trial was ongoing.
The entourage who witnessed it all; the stylist who allegedly saw some of the violence and became a confidante.
Combs' most recent girlfriend, testifying under the pseudonym 'Jane,' broke down in tears as she described so-called 'hotel nights' — one of which lasted three and a half days — where she said she'd been coerced into repeated sexual acts while under the influence of ecstasy, although a jury found Diddy not guilty based on the evidence. Jane described being trapped financially, admitting while on the stand that Combs still pays her rent. Once again, we heard about how much was an open secret.
One of the most striking moments didn't come from inside the courtroom, but from the quiet, calm statement issued by Ventura's husband, Alex Fine, addressing a question that he says he's been asked repeatedly since the trial began: how he feels about his wife testifying.
'I have felt tremendous pride and overwhelming love for Cass. I have felt profound anger that she has been subjected to sitting in front of a person who tried to break her,' he said.
In a culture that so often frames women's suffering through voyeurism or judgment, it was refreshing to see a man refusing to center himself. I'm not a hero, nor am I a victim myself, he told the world: I'm just a supportive witness.
Courts are designed to measure evidence against specific charges, but cultures endure. We've now heard too many variations of this same story to believe it's exceptional. A powerful man. A much younger woman. A dynamic of control masquerading as mentorship, love, or opportunity, or perhaps all three.
The Diddy case was a test of the afterlife of #MeToo. Now, it's not just about believing women; it's about what happens after we say we do.
In a world where controversy is currency — where Kanye West (who tried to get into the courtroom during the trial after tweeting 'Support Puff,' but wasn't allowed in) released a song last week with Combs' son called 'Diddy Free,' hot on the heels of 'Heil Hitler' — it's hard to feel positive about that afterlife.
And it will have undoubtedly been hard for the women who testified during this trial to watch Combs celebrate in the immediate aftermath of the verdict, before his supporters in the gallery began to clap and cheer, and his lawyers slapped each other on the back.
The 'dream team' that Combs' family was chanting about in the courtroom today convinced the jury on a number of counts. But this trial has deservedly cast a reputational shadow.
At the very least, women have shown that they are still willing to speak up about their abuse at the hands of powerful men. We can only hope that gives those with the worst impulses pause.
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Stephanie Rothman first came across the term 'exploitation' in a review of one of her own films. It was 1970, and her second solo-directed feature, The Student Nurses, a small-budget indie about trainees at an inner-city hospital, set against Los Angeles's bubbling counterculture, was doing well at the US box office. (It eventually made more than $1m from a $150,000 budget.) Rothman was pleased but the review took her aback. It called it an 'exploitation film' with 'surprising depth'. Fifty-five years on and Rothman is a cult legend who fully embraces the label. 'I started out with a very snobbish attitude,' she says on a video call from California. 'I was shocked that's what I was making! But as time went on, I began to appreciate what I was able to do, which was to take elements of popular entertainment, weave them into a tapestry of more interesting ideas, and end up with something very different. So while I started out as a snob, I have not ended up as one.' The seven features she directed during her brief, explosive career bear all the traditional exploitation hallmarks: low budgets, quick turnarounds, breasts, sex, violence and risque marketing campaigns. They're also funny and subversive, with explicit politics to match the (equal opportunity) nudity. Now 88, Rothman is warm and funny – and also pin-sharp and precise. The determination and clarity required of a female director pursuing her vision and preserving her principles in the male-dominated 1970s exploitation industry is fully apparent. Nevertheless, becoming exploitation's cult heroine was not what she had in mind when she was one of three women who enrolled on a graduate film course in California in 1962, where she met her husband and future collaborator Charles S Swartz. After graduating, she worked for pulp cinema impresario Roger Corman, the self-described 'Orson Welles of the Z movie' who had built an empire by churning out low-cost, high-shock genre flicks. Always willing to take a chance on a young film-maker (as long as they delivered on schedule and under budget), he immediately put Rothman to work. Soon she was landing her first significant credits, co-directing a messy 1966 horror called Blood Bath (a salvage job, after the initial director dropped the ball), then as sole director, with Swartz as producer, on the beach movie It's a Bikini World (1967). The 14-day shoot was hectic, but Rothman delivered on time and on budget. 'I was thrilled and I threw myself into it,' she says. 'I wasn't afraid.' The Student Nurses followed, with which she translated a thin brief – 'a film about nurses, primarily sexy, with a little violence' – into a multi-layered tale. Rothman personally picked out the film's poster, featuring four alluring nurses gazing outward under the tagline 'They're learning fast!' The film sparked a series of nursesploitation copycats. The Velvet Vampire, a seductive horror set in the California desert, was less commercially successful but has since become Rothman's best-known film, prized for its exquisite camp and European arthouse sensibility – notably its dreamy surrealist sequences inspired by Jean Cocteau. Despite a shoestring budget and the challenges of a desert shoot ('We were always backing up into cacti'), the result was an arresting Mojave gothic with a streak of transgressive queer female sexuality. When Rothman and Swartz broke away from Corman, their films became even quirkier. Group Marriage (1973), a comedy about a polycule who take on the legal system to assert their right to marry, was inspired by the theories of futurist Alvin Toffler and playwright Georges Feydeau's farces. Rothman's affectionate depiction of the central relationship feels prescient, as does a finale in which the group's gay neighbours decide they'd also like to marry. 'I don't know of any other film that, at that time, had a gay wedding in it,' says Rothman. 'When we showed the film, at the scene where the gay couple get married, the audience roared with laughter. Not with rage, not disdain, but surprise.' The Working Girls, about a trio of ambitious young women who use their wiles to navigate the job market, is by far her most personal film. 'I've always thought of it as being dedicated to the Equal Rights Amendment,' says Rothman. 'A woman couldn't get a bank account in her own name. I was a working woman, making my own living, and I couldn't get a credit card!' Ironically, The Working Girls did little to improve Rothman's own finances. She was ready to break free of the exploitation genre, but while fellow graduates of Corman's trash cinema stable such as Martin Scorsese, Peter Bogdanovich and Francis Ford Coppola managed to move into the mainstream, Rothman did not. The Working Girls, released in 1974, was her final feature. 'People often ask me why I left the industry,' she sighs. 'I didn't leave the film industry, the film industry left me. It was very frustrating. I couldn't get work in television. I couldn't afford to join the Directors Guild.' In the 1980s, after turning down a few offers to return to exploitation, Rothman quit the industry for good. 'It wasn't the right time to be making films for me, the opportunities weren't there. They were there for young men, but not for me.' Her films were rarely screened in subsequent decades, but a wave of restorations is now in motion, partly due to renewed appreciation for female 'trash' cinema. A Rothman-esque spirit can be traced in work by Rose Glass (Saint Maud, Love Lies Bleeding), Coralie Fargeat (The Substance), Prano Bailey-Bond (Censor) and Julia Ducournau, director of Raw and the Palme d'Or-wining body-horror Titane. The playfulness of Rothman's anti-patriarchal stories also feels freshly relevant to audiences. When The Working Girls screened in Venice in 2023, she was approached by a group of students who told her it 'didn't feel dated at all'. 'That was deeply gratifying,' says Rothman, 'because of my great age and their great youth! But it also shows how things have regressed.' Stephanie Rothman's films will screen at Cinema Rediscovered, Bristol, from 23 to 27 July and at the Barbican, London, 29 July to 14 August

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