Redemption Song

As the 2012 Grammy Awards pressed on, what would normally be a fairly innocuous situation—a famous R&B singer appearing onstage to perform one of his songs—quietly grew into something much more unsettling. While, at first, I gave no eclipsing thought to Chris Brown being a part of the ceremony, I slowly began feeling sick to my stomach. The realization of what I was seeing, of what it all meant, was disheartening, and shook my faith in humanity.

I wasn’t actually watching the Grammy Awards, though. [Seriously, if you’re not between the ages of 6 and 18, don’t actually know the artists themselves, and aren’t in the industry, then why the hell do you care about the Grammys? They haven’t been relevant in 30 years.] No, I was casting a casual eye towards Twitter, as it suddenly roared with a fervent, anti-Brown outcry.

Really, people? This is what lights your souls (and “send” fingers) on fire?

Let me clarify now [Don’t you just love that anytime someone casts a dissenting opinion these days, they have to simultaneously shield themselves from a witch hunt?] that I am in no way condoning violence against women. One more time: I AM NOT CONDONING VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN. I was raised by a single mother, who I love and cherish for everything she has done for me. She instilled in me every value I hold true, and taught me to employ the powers of reason, constructive thinking, and forgiveness. What happened between Chris Brown and Rihanna was a violent crime, and one for which Brown was rightfully convicted (though I feel the punishment doled out by the court was lenient; when you attack someone—man or woman—as brutally as he did Rihanna, jail time is warranted). I have two sisters, female cousins I love like sisters, a niece, several very close female friends…if someone ever did to them what Brown did, vengeance via that person’s slow, painful death may be all that I could accept in return.

…At first.

See, to sit here and contemplate such a terrible fate befalling one of my loved ones is only going to bring about the emotions that I would feel in that moment in which I learn of the attack. What would I feel three years later? Being a rational human being, I have to believe there would still be anger, but that it would be muted by understanding and empathy. This, in addition to opposable thumbs, is what millions of years of evolution has bestowed upon us: The ability to see things from more than one angle, to understand why the guilty did that for which they’re accountable; and the ability to understand that redemption may still be possible for him or her, despite the horrifying wrongs he or she has inflicted. The compassion it takes to accept that a flawed person needs time and support to overcome the demons that caused him to hurt others is an ancient concept in today’s world, thanks largely to Facebook and Twitter giving people a platform to express their unfiltered, in-the-moment thoughts before reflection and logic can refine them.

Just as putrid is the mob mentality that builds via Twitter. When someone with a modicum of fame—and 100K or more followers—expresses disgust towards a person or thing (Brown, in this case), it incites the masses to jump on the bully’s side of the line in the dirt. So rarely is this due to the followers having the same misgivings about the target of the hatred; more often than not they just want to earn a spot at the cool table by identifying this target as something they share with the bully. “I hate him too! I’m just like you! Accept me!” After all, if the cool kids are doing it, then you should be doing it too, right? And if multiple bullies attack the outcast, it only snowballs. It’s much easier to join the crowd in jeering Chris Brown, and to castigate him for one reprehensible episode, than it is to set down the torch and pitchfork and allow him space to try to rehabilitate the mental or emotional illness that caused that episode.

Perhaps this is the chunk of the whole “Chris Brown at the Grammys” mess that has provoked the most irritation for me. So much of the aggressive and derisive sentiment isn’t being spoken truly because the people behind the iPhones and keyboards hate Chris Brown. They may hate his attack on Rihanna (as do I); they may hate the sexist, misogynistic overtones of such attacks (as do I); they may hate that his fame likely shielded him from a much harsher punishment following his conviction (as do I). But aside from those pieces, he’s really just a news story to them. He’s a talking point, an edgy joke to be shared with others in the hope that one might fit in with the same society of which Brown himself was once a prominent figure. That so many comedians and B-list actors are participating in this public game of H.O.R.S.E. on a six-foot-high hoop is more telling of their need for attention than it is of the severity of Brown’s act. What percentage of these pseudo-celebs and Twitter-demagogues are contributing their time and excessive (for non-Hollywood standards) earnings to women’s shelters, domestic abuse awareness programs, and other relevant charities? Which is more sensible as a sentient member of modern society: Catty jokes on Twitter, or taking tangible action to help the millions of victims of the same abuse that you’re using to fuel your aspirations of being Twitter’s prom kings and queens? When did chastising the guilty become a more pertinent piece of the puzzle than aiding the innocent? And when did working to prevent future crimes against humanity take a backseat to being the cleverest “Mean Girl”?

Certainly Brown has done little in the way of handling the criticism and snarky jokes very well. His juvenile responses to his critics—especially on Twitter—have only added rocket fuel to the fire. When I was young and had trouble with bullies, my mom suggested I ignore them. It always seemed like something that was easier said than done. I felt as though I was handcuffing myself while my enemies took shots at me, and that my silence was having little effect in response. I would always get to a point where I felt that, whether I retaliated or not, my attacker was going to keep saying and doing what he felt like to me and my pride. Sometimes the higher road just seems like a dead end. Brown has been a poster child for this frustration. And as the high and mighty have stood around him shoving away, he’s given into the temptation to shove back—which, in the realm of public opinion and media spin, is never going to garner you anything other than more of what you’re already getting.

Here’s the fun part, though: I’m just as guilty as the other bullies and hero worshippers. I’ve taken pot shots at Chris on this page on several occasions, and even sent off a random tweet at the outset of Sunday’s shitstorm. As I watched the stakes escalate, though…well, I’ve already gone into that. But looking back at it all now, I honestly feel ashamed. I wonder: Will the Twitter bullies ever stop to acknowledge that same embarrassment?

Again, I say all of this with no intention of defending Chris Brown’s crime. And, for the record, he doesn’t seem very interested in defending it either. In all that I (or any of the bullies) have been given on which to base opinion, he’s actually showed remorse. He understands that he has a penance to pay for what he’s done. And if he was afforded time to focus on his personal betterment and his career—because, after all, music and performing are his career, and doing such at the Grammys is therefore quite natural—he might be fine. Working means being able to take your mind off of your demons and past mistakes for brief periods of time, and that can do wonders when one is attempting to find salvation. Rihanna herself has forgiven Brown, and is even currently working on a song with him. In other words, the only other person with a truly righteous understanding of the very event that has millions of strangers playing god with Chris Brown’s character and psyche is saying, “Let’s move on. Prove to me you can be better, Chris.”

But who cares what she thinks?